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Stephanie Brown, unlike the liar that is Batman, does work alone, in every aspect of her life.
She gets up in the morning and makes sure her mom has food waiting for her, she walks to school and sits alone, does her homework at lunch, and generally glares away any prospective friends.
Spoiler was her own creation, that she built separate from Batman, from anyone. She, alone, put her father away for all the crimes he committed, and she, alone, sat on her fire escape and cried until she hyperventilated as she watched the police lights fade.
Then, in a million different coincidences and mistakes, she ends up tied in with the Wayne’s, and suddenly, she isn’t alone anymore.
***
“Spoiler, you’re with me,” Batman says, and Stephanie looks up, blinking in surprise.
“Did you say Spoiler? As in me, Spoiler? Stephanie?”
“Yes.”
Looking back at Tim, Stephanie gestures to Bruce. Tim shrugs back, eyes equally as wide as hers.
“Okay,” Stephanie says slowly, following Bruce to the Batmobile.
“I’ll bury you somewhere near the ocean,” Jason whispers as she passes.
The inside of the Batmobile is quiet, and Stephanie has to focus very hard on not bouncing her knee. Finally, she gives up, throwing her hands in the air. “So spill it!”
“What?”
“What I did wrong. Why I’m here. I don’t think I’ve broken protocol more than I usually do! And definitely not more than Jason.”
“You’re not in trouble, Spoiler,” Bruce says, glancing away from the road to furrow his eyebrows at her. “I just realized that I haven’t been giving you as much attention, I figured a night one on one would be good for us.”
Stephanie shuts her mouth, after that.
***
“So what did you do wrong?” Tim asks her as soon as she gets back.
“Nothing,” Stephanie says, watching Bruce make a beeline to the Batcomputer with a bewildered expression. “It was fun.”
“It was what?” Five voices chorus.
Stephanie shrugs.
***
“You could stay for dinner, you know.”
Stephanie yelps, barely keeping herself from falling two stories out of the guest bedroom window she is currently trying to sneak out of. “Jesus!”
Bruce huffs, stepping further into the room to offer her a hand. “I’m alright with you being friends with Tim and Cass. Especially Cass, she needs more social connections.”
Timidly, Stephanie takes his hand, allowing him to pull her back into the room. “I figured you’d think I’m a bad influence.”
“Why?”
“My dad is a criminal, my mom is a drug addict. Most people find that combination offputting.”
“If we were our parents, I’d be working night shifts as a doctor, not a bat.”
Stephanie hums, shifting on her feet. “So… what’s for dinner?”
“Roast and potatoes,” Bruce says, gesturing for her to follow. “And there’s plenty, so don’t worry about intruding.”
After a moment's hesitation, Stephanie skips a step to catch up to him. “I mean, I'm already doing that, like, in the literal sense. I climbed through your window to get in here.”
“I’ll have Alfred put a latter up for future use.”
Stephanie stares at him, and she genuinely can’t tell if he’s serious or not. She clears her throat, “Hey, do you think your dad would be proud? You know, that instead of a doctor you decided to be a ninja furry?”
***
The clatter at the dinner table is loud, and Stephanie watches in almost awe as they all interact, passing food back and forth and talking with their mouths full, despite Alfred’s chiding.
“Hey, Damian, pass the peas?”
“Of course, maybe you’ll choke on one.”
“We both know you’d give him the Heimlich before he even had a chance.”
“Doing it before would be counterproductive.”
“Oh! So you’re admitting you’d save me?”
“Aw, the demon’s gone soft!”
“Baby.”
“What-- Cassandra. I am not a baby.”
“Mm, baby.”
“Damian, the peas.”
Stephanie realizes her fork has been half raised off her plate for the last two minutes, and she shoves it in her mouth hurriedly. She looks down to stare at her plate, at the hot meal Alfred spent hours cooking, and then back up at the family having a genuine conversation.
“Hey,” Duke says, nudging her, “you okay?”
“Fine. I just…” Stephanie shrugs, “I didn’t realize this happened. Outside of movies, I mean.”
Duke smiles softly, but glares when a pea bounces off his forehead, followed by Tim’s apologies, and his excuse that he was aiming for Damian. “Unfortunately, this happens every night.”
No, Stephanie doesn’t think that’s unfortunate at all.
***
“What question can you never answer yes to?” Nigma asks, leaning on his cane.
Stephanie taps her chin thoughtfully. “Can Riddler ever shut the hell up?”
Behind her, in the shadows, comes the clear sound of an amused snort. Stephanie turns, eyes wide, to find Batman turned away slightly, obviously trying to control his breathing.
“Did you--” The Riddler shakes his head. “No. The answer is “are you dead?”.”
“I have at least three people on speed dial who can prove you wrong, bud.”
Once again, there’s a snort. A little louder and more muffled this time.
Stephanie, grinning, takes advantage of Riddler’s shock and punches him square in the nose.
***
“If you think that was funny, wait until you hear the nicknames I made up for you.”
“I would rather not.”
“Batterman, Bobo the Bat, Unironic Father of the Year, Mothman’s Husband--”
“Stephanie.”
“Oh, please just one more? It’s the best one.” When Bruce waves his hand for her to continue, she grins. “Dracula’s Fursona. Get it, because--”
“I rescind my permission to let you speak.”
“That’s lame. I’m hilarious. You even thought so, tonight. You thought I was funny.”
Bruce sighs, but nods. “Yes, I did think the joke you made about Riddler was funny.”
With a manic giggle, Stephanie takes off, bounding up the stairs to the main area of the manor. “Jason! Guess what happened on patrol?”
“Stephanie! They are sleeping!”
She either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him. He sighs again, debating having her come back to do her report, but decides in the end that he can manage with just his own for tonight.
***
Stephanie sits at the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She’s not sure if it’s the rain outside or something inside of her that’s keeping her hands from getting warm.
Above her, the kitchen lights turn on. She doesn’t turn to see who it is, she can already tell by the deliberately heavy footsteps.
“Tea?” She asks hoarsely, pointing to the kettle on the stove. “I didn’t want to wake Alfred up, so it’s kind of shit.”
Bruce pours a mug anyway. He stands across from her, on the other side of the counter, and she keeps her head ducked, but can still feel him staring at her, sizing her up. “Usually when you come over late, you climb through Tim’s window.”
“It scares him every time. He still can’t figure out how I get past his security.”
“Is everything alright?”
Stephanie laughs, and then sniffs. “I’ve come to the conclusion that all of your kids are better people than I am.”
“Why is that?” Bruce asks gently, and a second later he presses a soft hand towel into her hands.
Oh yeah. She forgot she walked up the driveway in the pouring rain. Her hair must be dripping everywhere. “Sorry about the floor.”
“Water is easy to clean up,” Bruce says, and, apparently realizing that she’s made no move to dry her hair and doesn’t plan to, picks up the towel again and drapes it over her head, rubbing softly at her dripping hair. “So, why is it that all the other kids are so much better than you?”
“I mean, they must be, for you to put up with them. You’re a great dad, and you love them, so I must be doing something different or wrong because my--” She stops, takes in a rattling breath, and goes back to staring at her tea.
“I wasn’t aware Cluemaster was out,” Bruce says. He doesn’t say his name, or “your dad”, just Cluemaster. The criminal.
Stephanie shrugs, “Couple days ago. I have no idea if it was legal. Doesn’t really matter either way.”
“If it was legal, or at least through legal channels, I would have known.” Bruce sighs quietly, pulling his hands away from the towel on her head. She misses the contact. “Stephanie, why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Stephanie just shrugs again. “He hasn’t hurt anyone, yet. I would’ve told you if he was planning anything.”
Bruce tilts her chin up with his knuckle, and she’s not sure when he moved into the stool next to her. “He hurt you, Stephanie.”
“I get hurt all the time,” She says, turning away from him and the hand that’s reaching towards her black eye. “It’s part of the job.”
“Having someone hurt you who’s supposed to protect you and care about you--” Bruce pauses, obviously composing himself. “--that’s not part of the job.”
Stephanie’s bottom lip quivers, her hands tighten around the mug. “What am I doing wrong? What makes your kids so different?”
“Nothing,” Bruce says. He stands, walking over to the freezer, and Stephanie watches him, waiting. Waiting for more, for an explanation. He doesn’t give it until he’s gingerly pressing an ice pack to her swollen face. “They aren’t better people than you. There isn’t some magic formula or action that makes your parents love you. The difference is between me and him, not you kids.”
“You’re a better person,” Stephanie whispers.
“I try to be.”
“You are. You help so many people, especially your own kids.” And she got the good luck of being born to an abusive, cheating, manipulative, asshole. She wonders if it’s genetic.
“Stephanie,” Bruce says, and this time he’s successful at tipping her face towards his, “you are a wonderful young woman. You’ve exceeded my expectations, and you’ve worked hard to gain our trust. If there is one thing that I can say with absolute certainty, it’s that you don’t deserve anything you've had to go through at your house. None of it. You are a child, and children are not at fault for their parents failings.”
“We just suffer the fallout,” Stephanie says with a ghost of a smile. It drops a second later. “I hate him, Bruce. I hate my dad.”
“You aren’t obligated to love him.”
“But I want to,” Stephanie says, then shakes her head, hissing when it pulls her cheeks muscles and bruises. Bruce guides her head back to a comfortable position and she swallows thickly. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to love him, I just-- I want to have a dad I can love.”
“Your room is waiting upstairs,” Bruce tells her, and Stephanie bursts into tears.
***
The next morning, no one asks about her black eye, but Alfred gives her an extra scoop of fruit at breakfast, and offers to teach her how to make tea.
Stephanie doesn’t see Bruce until that night, when news of Cluemaster's escape and recapture makes the news.
***
“Well,” Stephanie says, staring at the souped up motorbike. “This is new.”
“I thought you’d like your own.”
“Oh, do. Thank you!”
Bruce smiles, obviously relieved, “Of course—“
“You’re like a literal sugar daddy. Without the sexual innuendo.”
Very, very tiredly, Bruce closes his eyes. Stephanie grins.
***
Dropping back onto her bed, Stephanie groans loudly. “I hate my life!”
Somewhere down the hall, Jason shouts, “Same!”
“Do you have cramps the size of Texas while you’re simultaneously trying to learn calculus?” Stephanie shouts back.
“That actually sounds way worse and I apologize!”
Snorting, Stephanie sits up again, an arm around her stomach. She looks around her room, at the blank walls and single dresser and desk, the boring bedsheets with the boring cover. Bruce offered to take her shopping, but she really just wanted her old stuff from her old room.
Duke and Tim valiantly volunteered to go get it for her, apparently sensing that the last thing she wants to do is go back there right now, and Stephanie called her mom this morning to tell her what was going on.
Things, actually, are starting to get pretty okay.
“I’ve got chocolate,” Bruce says, leaning into her door.
Stephanie gasps, making grabby hands, “You are my new favorite.”
“Damian’s warming up a heating pad for you downstairs.”
“And people say siblings suck,” Stephanie says, and then freezes, staring wide eyed at Bruce.
He laughs quietly and steals one of the chocolates out of the fun sized bag, “Say that again when you find out how many sweatshirts are missing from your closet.”
Stephanie gasps again, this time in betrayal, and if a few tears prick at her eyes, Bruce doesn’t mention it.
***
“Oh! Oh! The Love Child of Justice and Dracula!”
“Please stop.”
***
Bruce toes off his shoes in the doorway, heading down the hall. For once, he has the house alone. All his kids are off spending time with friends or each other, which means he gets an entire afternoon of blissful silence.
When he gets to the living room, however, he stops short. A familiar mess of blonde hair peeps over the couch.
Inwardly, he groans.
“Stephanie? I thought you were going out with Tim?”
“I was, but his friends --aside from Cissie, obviously, how often do you meet an Olympic gold medalist and a tv star-- are kind of lame.”
“You love Tim’s friends.”
Stephanie makes a face, “You’re right, I do.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Why are you here, instead of with him or Cass? Didn’t Alfred take her and Damian to a foreign film?”
“Well, yeah, which is cool, but uh--” Stephanie bites her lip, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Is everything okay?” Bruce asks, concern creeping into his tone.
“Yeah! I’m fine.”
“Then what--”
“I just thought you might be lonely!” Stephanie blurts in one breath.
“You thought I might be--” Bruce stops, rubbing at one eye. “Okay. That was very thoughtful of you.”
Stephanie grins, “I know! Popcorn?
She holds out a large bowl, full to the brim, and after only a few seconds, Bruce reaches out and takes a small handful. “Thank you.”
“Wanna watch trashy action movies and make fun of their fighting choreography?” Stephanie asks, excitement written all over her face.
Bruce thinks about all the paperwork he has to do, and about the once in grasp dream of having the house to himself, then he looks at Stephanie’s face, and that dream sounds more like a nightmare. “Absolutely.”
“Yes,” Stephanie hisses, pumping a fist. The bowl in her other hand tips a little, spilling popcorn across the couch cushion. She freezes. “Uh…”
“I won’t tell Alfred if you don’t.”
“You got a deal, old man.”
***
“I have an idea.”
“Wonderful.”
“No, no! It’s a great idea, I swear.”
“Does it include you dressing up as Catwoman and trying to steal people’s wallets at the gala?”
“No one needs that much money, Bruce.”
“No.”
“No as in you agree or no as in you’re a capitalist scumbag?”
“No as in I’m not dealing with you. Goodbye.”
“Wait! Wait, what if I don’t dress up! What if I just steal wallets? Bruce? Hey!”
***
Stephanie tugs on Bruce’s arm until he leans down, and she cups her hand, whispering in his ear.
When he straightens back to his full height, he stares down at her. “No.”
“Please, Bruce. It’ll be so cool. It’ll be like your og Dynamic Duo days.”
After a few seconds, Bruce sighs, dropping his chin to his chest in defeat. He waits for a little, then jumps through the skylight, down into the ring of thugs below.
“Spoiler alert,” He growls.
Stephanie, with a cry of joy, jumps down after him, “It’s the Batman!”
“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks over the comm.
Dick gasps, “Does this mean I can go back to saying holy--”
“No.”
***
Technically, she didn’t run away. Technically that’s not even her house, she’s just staying with a friend who happens to live in that house. So technically, she couldn’t have run away, because that wasn’t her house to run away from.
“Sorry I ran away,” She says when Batman lands on the roof behind her.
Bruce huffs, walking towards her, obviously purposeful in the way he lets his footsteps echo on the roof. “You decided to hop a few buildings to Crime Alley. That’s nothing. Once I found Jason halfway to Metropolis.”
“Why was he going to Metropolis?”
“He wanted to punch Superman.”
“Why?”
“Apparently, he wanted to know if it would break his fist.”
Stephanie stays quiet for a moment, and then says, “Did it?”
“He never got the chance.”
“Damn.”
Then, big bad Batman sits down next to her on the roof ledge, his legs swinging next to hers, their ankles knocking. “Are you okay?”
Stephanie hums, “I think I’m making a big mistake. I miss being an only child. Going from zero to like, ninety? Not an upgrade.”
“Stephanie.”
“Oh no, are you here to tell me there’s another one? Younger or older? I think I could handle being older but if they’re older we’re gonna have some problems, the whole power struggle thing, you know? Might get messy. Better for me to duck out now, spare us all the bloodshed--”
“Stephanie.”
“Fine, so I got overwhelmed,” Stephanie admits with a huff. “You’re all too nice. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and it never did and I-- I don’t know.”
Bruce hums, “You’ve been living your life in survival mode for years. It’s normal to feel like you’re lost when you suddenly don’t have to any more.”
“We live in Gotham. Everyone here is always in survival mode.”
“Alright, so specifically family survival mode.”
“Pretty sure Damian tried to poison me last week.”
“That was a vegan smoothie, and you’re deflecting.”
Stephanie sighs, and before she even thinks it through, tips to the side to lean against Bruce’s shoulder. Her heart stutters in a split second of panic when she realizes what she’s done, and then Bruce puts an arm around her, and she relaxes, just a little. “I’m sorry I ran away.”
“I forgive you.”
“I think…” Stephanie takes a deep breath, “I think I’m bad.”
“I don’t.”
“So what, I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“I am Batman.”
Stephanie snorts, “Yeah, you are… but what if I’m still bad?”
“Then I forgive you.”
***
Stephanie pads into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes blearily. She walks up to Bruce as he pours a cup of coffee and takes it right out of his hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Bruce grumbles, grabbing another mug. “Creamer is in the fridge.”
“Caramel?”
“Hazelnut.”
“Freaking Duke,” Stephanie whispers, pulling it out and pouring a generous amount into her mug. She watches with raised eyebrows as Bruce sips his own without adding anything. “Black coffee is for losers.”
“Black coffee is for father’s who deal with being called losers daily.”
“If you get called a loser that much, maybe it’s a you problem, not an us problem.”
“Go to school, Stephanie.”
***
Stephanie used to dream about going to galas, dressing up in rich clothes and eating rich food and fake laughing with snotty rich people. She thought it would be fun.
It is not.
She’s already danced with Dick, Tim, and Cass, and Duke promised to find her later when they put on the “actual banger music”, which, sure, like they have banger music at old people gatherings.
Damian has been steadily avoiding her, probably because he knows she’ll make him dance with her. It was kind of fun trying to track him down for the first half hour, but now she’s pretty sure he’s hiding in the vents, and she can’t fit in there. Lucky bastard. Jason is still effectively dead, at least until the whole plan that starts next month, so he’s off patrolling and probably laughing behind their backs.
Which leaves one person she hasn’t danced with.
“Bruce!” She calls in her chirpiest voice, swooping in to tug on his arm, smiling apologetically at the swarm of people around him. “Dance with me?”
Bruce looks relieved, smiling down at her. “Of course, Steph.”
“Who’s this?” A woman asks, and her hair is bigger than Stephanie’s whole face, “Another runaway?”
She’s joking, but Bruce stiffens next to her anyway. Stephanie waves a hand, “He wishes, that way he could give me back.”
It sends a wave of polite laughs through the group, and the woman with the big hair smiles, “Oh, and funny, too! What a lovely young woman.”
Bruce leads her away, and she turns over her shoulder to hiss, “Beehive. I’ll kick your ass.”
“Stephanie.”
“Fine. I won’t kick her ass.” Stephanie perks up, “I’ll tell Tim and he’ll kick her ass!”
“No.”
“What about trashing her investments?”
“...Acceptable.”
***
“This is the worst day of my life.” Stephanie points at Bruce accusingly, “and it’s all your fault.”
“Because I said we’re not stopping at Batburger,” Bruce clarifies dryly.
“Yes.”
“Remind me why we patrol together so often?”
“Because I’m hilarious. Also, I thought of more.” Stephanie clears her throat and takes a deep breath, “Babe Ruth’s Fursona, Dracula With Jorts--”
“Fine! We can go to Batburger!”
“I knew you’d come around.”
***
“Hey, Bruce? On average, how many times a day do you cry?”
“I don’t know, Stephanie,” Bruce says without looking up from the file in his hands, “how many times a day do you talk to me?”
Stephanie’s jaw drops, eyes wide with glee, “Mr. Batman! Did you just roast me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
***
Stephanie huffs, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her face as she stalks into the room, stopping in front of Bruce with her hands on her hips. “I’ve decided that you are the meanest, most annoying, obnoxious, helicopter dad there is. You drive me insane!”
“Why’s that?” Bruce asks smugly, his ankle propped on his opposite knee as he reads the paper.
Groaning, Stephanie slams her hands down on the table. “You told Wonder Woman my curfew is eleven o’clock! Wonder Woman! I can never look at her again! Eleven? What the hell kind of curfew is that?”
“Tomorrow is a school day.”
“Oh, I’ll school you, you-- you--” Stephanie huffs again, turning on her heel to leave the room.
“Be back by eleven!” Bruce calls after her.
“I know, you hovering old man! God!” She shouts back.
All of thirty seconds later, she comes slinking back into the room, pointing at something on Bruce’s plate, “Is that an apple danish?”
Bruce pushes the plate towards her, “You can have it.”
“Hell yeah,” Stephanie says. She shoves a bite in her mouth, talking around the bread and fruit as she backs out the door again, “I won this argument.”
***
“That was incredibly reckless, Spoiler,” Bruce bites as Tim helps her limp to the medical bench.
Stephanie rolls her eyes. “I sprained my ankle, so what? We got the guy.”
“That isn’t the point. You ignored a command and ran straight into danger. You could have been killed. What am I supposed to do then?”
“Probably bring my mom flowers once a week,” Stephanie snaps, curling in on herself, “Hang a stupid glass case with my uniform inside.”
Silence settles over the cave, and Stephanie shrinks back even more.
“Tim, Damian, go,” Bruce says lowly.
Damian gets up from the Batcomputer, tugging at Tim’s arm when the older boy hesitates. The stair door slides shut with a hiss and Bruce turns back to her, yanking his cowl down. She takes a deep breath through her nose. “Look. I get I didn’t do what you wanted. I know I was in danger but I couldn’t let that kid get crushed, Bruce.”
“He would have been fine if--”
“You don’t know that! You don’t know any of it! He could have died! He probably has a family, people who care, who want him home safe--”
“So do you!” Bruce interrupts, and it’s the closest he’s ever come to shouting at her.
Stephanie recoils, then looks away. “It’s my job to save people.”
Bruce, with a grunt, kneels down in front of her. “You can’t do that job if you aren’t committed to getting yourself home safe every night, too. You just can’t.”
“Speaking from experience?” Stephanie asks wryly, swiping at her nose.
“Stephanie, look at me,” Bruce says, waiting until she does to keep talking, “I am speaking from experience. I know what it’s like to put your all into this, and expect it to take everything from you in return. I know what it’s like to insist that you’re alone.”
Stephanie shrugs. “Okay, and?”
“And you’re not.” Bruce holds out his hand, offering comfort that Stephanie never gets. “You’re not alone, Steph. Neither of us are.”
Stephanie hesitates, for one second, then two, then three, then she takes his hand. Her bottom lip wobbles, and Bruce stands up again, pulling her hand forward until she’s pressed against his chest, breathing in the musty scent of Kevlar and hints of Bruce’s cologne. She sniffs, then laughs wetly. “Remember when I said I was bad?”
“I do,” Bruce says, running his fingers through her tangled hair.
“I was wrong,” Stephanie says, “I think I’m just broken.”
“Would you mind if I stayed and helped you heal?”
“No,” Stephanie whispers, “I’d be okay with that.”
***
Stephanie Brown, like the unwavering rock that is Batman, doesn’t work alone, in almost any aspect of her life.
She gets up in the morning and to find a table of rowdy siblings and a plate of food waiting for her, she drives to school in a packed car, helps her friends with homework, and generally welcomes any prospective friends.
Spoiler was her own creation, that she built separate from Batman, from anyone, but she perfected it in the cave, training with an acrobat and sparring with an assassin. She, alone, put her father away for all the crimes he committed, and she, alone, sat on her fire escape and cried until she hyperventilated as she watched the police lights fade, but when the anniversary of that day comes, she finds herself sandwiched between her two best friends, talking in ASL through trashy movie marathons.
Because in a million different happy chances and with a lot of luck, she ended up tied in with the Wayne’s, and now, she isn’t alone anymore.
***
“Bruised Wayne, Joker’s Punch Line, Bat Breath-”
“Stephanie.”