Chapter Text
6:00 A.M.
Michael threw his head back and sighed in relief, falling back into his swivel chair which creaked at the sudden force of weight.
He could still hear the stirring of the animatronics as their gears slowed down to a halt, and the free-roaming setting finished. It gave him peace of mind, and promised him another day of safety. Not that it mattered much; he had already died, nothing else could kill him at this point.
“You won’t die.”
Michael shook the thought and stood up abruptly, the chair threatening to give out. He looked back at the cameras one more time, just in case the animatronics were finished attacking, and was met with lifeless suits, adorned with animal features any kid from the 80s would’ve loved. He had been one of those kids, not so long ago. But he didn’t like animatronics anymore, not after what had happened.
He picked up the only thing he ever brought to his nightshifts (other than his will to live, of course), his younger brother’s small golden Fredbear plush. Though now it was more of a mouldy golden, and the purple hat and bow were almost grey.
Maybe I should wash it when I get the chance, he considered, staring into its soulless eyes. Evan always liked keeping Fredbear clean.
“Michael! Michael Afton?!”
Michael sighed. A knock on the door would’ve been plenty, he thought. Though it was odd for someone to be calling his name. No one knew he existed anymore, unless they were really obsessive or they searched for him deliberately. He was both figuratively and literally dead to Hurricane, and for no reason did anyone contact him unless it was Mr Emily. Even then, Mr Emily only rarely contacted him. He had become less fond of any Afton after finding out the truth about Charlie.
He heaved himself from the couch, turning on his illusion disc and pulling a glove over his arms. He walked towards the door, taking care not to step on the clutter on the ground– mainly consisting of paperwork, bolts, screws, anything he had found of no importance while looking for his father’s remnant project.
It seemed like an eternity before he managed to reach the door. He might’ve been there quicker if not for his energy being significantly depleted from the seemingly endless nightshifts he worked. That, and he had no sense of urgency anymore. Still, the person seemed determined on yelling out his name until he did, and just about ready to break down his door had he not answered.
He creaked open the door slowly to be greeted by two people: one of them was a lady with a neat bun bounding her hair, dressed impeccably formally. She stood with her arms crossed and chin high like she owned the world. The other man with her looked a lot younger, and had loose, ginger flyaways dangling off the side of his head.
The lady looked at him with judging eyes and a cold stare before giving her partner a nod. It was hard not to judge someone that was believed to be dead or missing, so Michael ruled it out.
“Michael? We’re from Children’s Custody Service.”
[]
“So, why’re we here again?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Todd? We’ve got nothing better to do, so Alfred asked us to meet the new kid.”
Jason huffed, and leaned back against the wall of Wayne Manor with his arms folded.
“Are you sure you should be calling him a kid? He’s probably older than you.”
“Since when did you care about trivial things like that?” Damian questioned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not sure why Father isn’t here, though, he seemed to want to meet the kid.”
“Master Bruce was called for duty,” Alfred replied, before continuing to straighten and fix the cuffs of his sleeves.
“Hey, isn’t that them there?” Duke pointed to a car rolling into the driveway.
All of the children watched, quietly discerning the situation. It was a natural habit of the Wayne family, both bad as it was good, to immediately begin assessing whatever situation was laid out before them.
Dick noticed the state of the car above all things. It was an old, company owned car, rusted only slightly, with one of the back windows crooked. The unnecessarily loud growl of the engine as it came to a stop suggested that it was a manual, most of which had been replaced by automatics at the time.
A lady was the first to exit the car, along with the driver, a boy about Jason’s age. They were both talking casually, so Dick could guess they were from the company responsible for dropping the new kid and his things off.
Bruce hadn’t told them anything about the new kid, which had made them all equally irritated and curious. And the one time they needed an explanation of some sort, he was called on somewhere else in Gotham.
After a long few seconds the new kid came out. He looked a bit older than Damian, maybe 15, 16? His most notable feature was his weight; he looked malnourished– at best. His brown, curly hair was tied into a loose ponytail that reached down to his lower back, and his eyes were… Pink? They were a vibrant pink that he had never seen before, yet as unnatural as it seemed, part of him believed that they were his real eye colour.
The kid retrieved his suitcase from the trunk with more effort than seemed necessary, before walking cautiously and carefully to the front door. His eyes flicked back and forth between Alfred and the others, before settling on the ground.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor,” Alfred greeted with a warm smile, “my name is Alfred.”
The lady smiled back.
“It’s our pleasure, Alfred. My name is Iris, this is my colleague Oliver, and Michael.”
So his name was Michael? That was more than they had been told by Bruce, at least.
Dick looked at Michael as he clutched onto a golden bear plush like one of them might steal it if he wasn’t careful.
“Would you like to come in for tea, Miss Iris, Master Oliver? Master Bruce will be slightly late, if there is anything you need to discuss with him.”
The lady -Iris- smiled, and politely excused themselves, saying they had work to do elsewhere, but were honoured to meet the Wayne’s.
When they quickly left, Dick saw Michael’s nerves peak, and he tried to relax him and maybe break the ice between them.
“Heya Mike,” he waved, “I’m Dick. That’s Duke, Jason’s the gangster-looking one, Tim’s the dead-looking one over there, and Damian’s the little devil over here.”
Michael waved quickly, still not making eye contact with any of them as they groaned at Dick’s unamusing descriptions. Alfred chuckled.
“Well then, Master Michael, shall we head inside? I’m sure Master Bruce will join us shortly, but for now the others can keep you company.”
[]
To call Wayne Manor impressive was an understatement. Everything had its place, both inside and out, and Michael hadn’t been able to spot a speck of dust since he had arrived. The Manor was lavish as it was luxurious, with rows of hallways and rooms each with their own use. The furniture was all antique, similar to his own house, but not nearly as small and limited. To think he would be living here was a thought even he couldn’t properly comprehend.
Alfred and Dick had been quite nice, but Michael still couldn’t tell how the others were. Were they all Bruce’s children? Most of them didn’t look related at all, no matter how hard Michael tried to justify it. Maybe they were adopted too?
Alfred showed them to a small lounge with multiple couches lined up against the wall. It had the same antique feel as the rest of the house, with multiple couches having silk patterns embroidered into them. How much money did this Bruce guy have?!
“Please sit, Master Michael,” Alfred gestured to one of the couches. “I’ll be preparing dinner, so I need to take my leave. Master Bruce should be here shortly.”
Michael found himself sitting next to Jason. Or well, who he thought was Jason from Dick’s earlier description. He had a white streak in his hair and wore a leather jacket, giving him the ‘gangster-looking’ vibes that Dick had earlier stated.
“So, Mike,” Duke said with a warm smile, “how old are you?”
Michael hadn’t really wanted to talk, but being in a new house and not talking wasn’t normal or polite.
That’s a good question actually, Michael wondered, how old am I? Fath- William died the same year I did, which was two years ago, so 17? 18?
“I’m 17,” he mumbled, much quieter than he had hoped.
He coughed, unused to the itchy feeling in his throat. He would have to start talking more often now that he was in a normal household. He’d have to frequently charge his illusion disc, too.
The others looked at him curiously before Jason spoke up.
“You’re British?!” He exclaimed, a lot louder than Michael liked.
He nodded.
“Hey, you’re only a year younger than Tim,” Dick grinned. “I can already see you guys being the bestest buddies.”
He nudged his brother’s side with his elbow, to which Tim rolled his eyes and forced it away.
“So are you from Britain?” Jason asked with a smirk. “When’d you come over? What do you guys eat?”
“Um, I grew up in America,” Michael quickly clarified, “I’m from Hurricane.”
“Damn.”
Dick facepalmed.
“How’s Hurricane, Mike?” He questioned.
Horrible, he wanted to say. Everyone can be bribed with money, and no one cares about death unless it has something to do with them directly. Even after all the deaths of the missing children, no one questioned why it was swept under the rug.
Michael sighed. There’s no way I can tell them that, he thought, they wouldn’t understand.
“It’s… Okay, not the best I guess.”
Jason snickered.
“Just wait ‘til you see Gotham, it’s a perfect representation of ‘not the best’.”
“There’s good things about Gotham too,” a new, husk voice argued, making Michael’s head turn to the door.
At the door a middle aged man stood, his chest rising and falling quickly which made Michael wonder if he had run here. He had slick black hair and dark blue eyes, similar to William’s and his own. Before they became pink, of course.
He smiled at Michael, and sauntered towards one of the free armchairs.
“Hey Michael,” he said, obviously trying his best to hide his exhaustion from (probably) being quick to get to the room, “I’m Bruce.”
Michael smiled back. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire. He never expected him to also be William’s cousin. Oliver had told him that his parents died before he was able to meet any of their family. The Afton’s can’t ever seem to get a rest from death, Michael thought with a sigh.
“I have to disagree with you, Father,” the youngest boy- Damian, if Michael remembered correctly?- countered. “The people and crimes here overshadow the only good thing in this town.”
“Which is?”
“Batburger, of course.”
Everyone agreed either verbally or silently.
“Batburger?” Michael questioned.
“It’s the best takeaways ever,” Duke explained, eyes glistening. “And one of the many bat-themed things in Gotham.”
Right, there was a hero in Gotham that I used to hear about growing up. Batman or something, he’s probably the reason for all the bat-themed things.
“There aren’t any vigilantes or heroes where you’re from, right Mike?”
Michael glanced over to see Tim sipping a fresh cup of coffee, steam bubbling from the mug. Where had he gotten that? Mike could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen anyone leave the room yet…
He nodded in response.
“Well you’re bound to see Gotham’s vigilantes eventually with the amount of danger here,” Jason commented.
Then he smirked.
“Hey, Dick, I’m pretty sure Tim’s over his coffee limit for the day.”
Tim shot him a look of betrayal as he set his coffee mug to the side.
“You traitor,” he muttered, glaring daggers at Jason.
Dick just chuckled, and positioned the cup away from Tim’s reach.
This family and its dynamics were different than what Michael was used to, but not unwelcomingly different. It was more a breath of fresh air for him. There was never a peaceful moment in the Afton house after Elizabeth’s death, so the atmosphere of Wayne Manor was surprisingly nice.
He remembered how trapped his sister must feel, stuck underground for the last 6 years. Even after scooping him to escape, she had somehow ended up somewhere underground again. It didn’t feel fair. He had to get back to Hurricane as soon as he could, so that he could-
“Michael?”
Everyone’s eyes were focused on him in anticipation. It made Michael feel uneasy, having so many eyes on him.
“I- I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Damian straightened his posture and cleared his throat.
“I call everyone by their last name, and I was wondering what yours was?”
Despite looking a few years younger than him, he called everyone by their last name?
Michael filtered through all possible last names other than Afton, he wasn’t going to live in his Fath- in William’s shadow anymore. He had used Schmidt as a previous alias, but he didn’t want them to find out he had used fake identities to dig into the pizzerias’ secrets.
“Smith,” he finally replied.
Michael Terrence Smith was close enough to Schmidt.
“Smith,” Damian repeated.
He stood up quickly, and brushed off his pants. Michael doubted there was anything on his pants, given the state of the house, but it was probably for effect.
“Well, that’s all I need, I’m leaving.”
Bruce groaned.
“Dami-”
“He’s right, Bruce, Alfred’s probably finished cooking dinner by now anyways,” Dick interrupted.
Right, normal people eat, Michael thought.
“Are ya coming, Mike?”
“Oh, um…”
How do I get out of this? ‘I don’t have anymore organs?’ ‘I’m still full from lunch?’
“Michael’s probably tired,” Bruce interjected. “it’s up to you, Michael, really.”
Michael smiled.
“I was, um, actually planning to sleep early, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Do you need any help getting to your room?”
“I’ll help him!” Dick volunteered. “His room isn’t far from mine at all.”
[]
“So, how do you like the Manor so far? Pretty daunting, right?”
Michael nodded, forgetting that Dick couldn’t see him as he was walking in front.
“It must take time getting used to,” Michael said.
“It does!” Dick agreed in a dramatic tone. “I tried to create a map of the place when I was adopted, I only knew my way to my room and the kitchen.”
“You were adopted too?” Michael questioned.
Dick chuckled.
“Yeah, all of us other than Damian were adopted. But even Damian didn’t live with Bruce until a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask something like that, that was insensitive.”
“No, no, it’s okay, really,” Dick chuckled again. “You can ask anyone anything
in this house, and they’ll answer. We have secrets, but we’re not secretive, if y’know what I mean?”
Michael nodded again, before realising Dick couldn’t see, and slapped himself mentally.
“Yeah,” he corrected himself.
“Hey, by the way, here’s your room. Make yourself comfortable, decorate, do whatever with it, really. It’s yours from now.”
Michael opened the door and put his golden bear plush on the bed. Alfred had already put his suitcase against the wall neatly. The rest of his room was equally as neat, too. I guess that’s what a butler’s job is.
“I should probably head off now, I’m starving. Night, Mike, see ya!”
Dicked waved goodbye, before disappearing behind the wooden door.
“Good night.”