Chapter Text
Dear Tim, my brother:
I hope you never read this.
***
Dear Stephanie,
Words don't come easily. They never have.
***
Grandfather,
I hope I had a chance to call you that before you died.
***
Hi, Barbara.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
***
For Jason:
First off, if I have not given it to you yet, there is a book beneath my bed.
***
Damian.
My littlest brother.
I hope you're okay.
***
The letters are passed out in silence, and they are read the same way. They are sealed with black wax, a bat-shape pressed into the middle, and their names written in cursive on the front. Tim looks at the letter in his hands as if it is a dagger. Stephanie rips hers open with shaky hands. Alfred carefully peels back the wax on his.
Damian uses a knife to cleanly slice underneath the wax, flicking it open.
They retreat into the shadows to different parts of the house.
This is for them. Individually.
***
It's selfish. I have always been selfish when it came to our family. You feel the same way. We may all come from different places, but one thing we all have in common is that we are (over)protective of people in our family. I hope that holds true.
It's been true. Since we joined. Every one of us. Every time I see you limp, I just want to bundle you into a hug. I don't think that I have ever felt a greater need for vengeance than when I see what that clown did to you. It's a reminder. Of what he did to Jason, to all of us. I think it's fitting that Jason was the one to enact revenge. I still think he deserves worse.
I still think you deserve better.
***
You know this. You know my struggles. You helped me. For that, I will eternally love you.
I know you're hurting. And I know you can't find your words yet, either. I don't know if you picked it up from me, but I know how it feels. To not be able to express yourself in a way that others understand.
You, me, Duke. We've all lost our words at some point. Whether it's magic or technology or grief. We've been there. For each other.
You helped me do that, Steph. You gave me my words.
I'm sorry I'm not there to give you yours back.
***
There isn't really much else to say. I love you. We all do. You'll probably outlive all of us, Alfred. You're our Agent. Our rock. Sturdy. Invincible. Or, at least, the image of it.
I hope that you remember you can relax sometimes, too. You don't have to be the parent that you were for Bruce.
You raised someone who turned out good, human. He taught us the same thing. No matter how hard it was for the message to get across. We can survive on our own for a day, too.
It might not seem that way. But we can. Bruce raised us like you raised him.
Strong.
***
I think that Batgirl should die with me.
Maybe it's already died. You, me, Steph. I took the shadows, you took the screens, and Steph changed the name. Batgirl is a myth, like Robin. Maybe it's dying. Robins are more popular, now.
But I think that Batgirl should be for us. For Gotham, yes. But for us. Oracle, Black Bat, Spoiler. Our mantle.
I'm not making much sense, am I?
***
It's something Bruce showed to me, before he died. Something that I've kept. It hurt all of you to look at it, but I couldn't risk them being thrown out.
I don't think you would. But you tend to be brash when you grieve.
I know about lashing out, too.
***
You've always taken grief the hardest. Ever since Dick...
You're good at hiding it. But I'm better.
You don't have to be so good, Dami.
***
Tim exhales, breath trembling as his hand ghosts over the elegant script, pain flaring up in his knee.
Don't deny it, Tim. You deserve so much more. More than what that bastard did to you. More than what Jack and Janet left you with. Or didn't leave you with. You deserve to have a family that stays alive.
We all do.
We both know what happens when we want things.
Tim, you deserve so much more. A goodbye that doesn't involve letters. I hope we get one. I hope that life gives us that.
But after Duke -
I need this.
If I didn't get a goodbye, you deserve one. In pen or in voice.
You don't know how much this family loves you, Tim. So much. So, so, much. You don't know how much they worry about you when you do reckless things on still-healing leg, or how they fret when you pushed yourself into casework because you were benched because of your knee. You don't know how much they love you.
You don't have to be useful, Tim. You can just be you.
You don't have to earn love anymore.
***
Do you remember the night after Duke died? We laid in the bed, again. I couldn't speak at all. I was so mad, Steph. So, so, mad, in a way only this family can make me.
Steph remembers that night. She remembers closing her eyes and wishing it were a dream. She remembers shuffling closer to her siblings and drawing them close. She remembers sunny skies that she yelled at.
You gave me my words back when I couldn't. You gave me everything.
I'm sorry I can't give you anything.
You'd probably be scolding me for apologising too much. But I cannot help it. You should have your words. It pains me to think that you lost them because of me.
But not as much as it should hurt. Because you will get your words back.
You will, Steph.
You are every bit the girl I first met. Brilliant, cheeky, determined. Batgirl.
The girl I know you are doesn't give up. And you are that girl, because I have seen you through grief and pain, and you have never wavered.
You are Stephanie Brown-Wayne, and you do not give up.
***
Alfred's fingers trace the grooves of the bat in the wax, firm and cold.
You are our glue. But you're human.
I don't think even you can get used to this. The dying. I hope you aren't.
You've lived through Bruce, Bruce's parents, and now four of his children. You have weathered all this, and you have held strong. I hope you aren't thinking of breaking anytime soon.
That means that you need to crack.
You are cracking. I see it, grandfather.
(Alfred chokes when he sees the word.)
You are cracking, and you will shatter if you do not break first. If you break, you can build yourself up. If you shatter, you'll be lost.
Don't leave us like that.
Don't let us shatter.
***
Robin was Dick's, first. It was passed down from Robin to Robin to Robin until Robin and Batman came hand in hand. Until Gotham became them and they became Gotham.
Batgirl doesn't have that. Batgirl is not Gotham's protector. Batgirl is us. We are Batgirl.
We didn't have a Batman, like Robin.
I don't care if Batgirl isn't well-known, or if Gotham doesn't know us.
Just the people that know Batgirl know that we did it ourselves.
You're strong, Babs. Independent. You got involved with no reason. Before you, before Bruce, I never understood getting involved because it was the right thing to do. I was born, made, into this.
I admire you. Everything about you. How you don't give up.
You may not be standing, but you got back up.
Barbara laughs hoarsely.
***
It's a picture album. Collected from Bruce's childhood. Alfred knows about it. We've been adding to it.
Not just Bruce. Dick, you, Tim, all of us. Birthdays, random photos.
I know that you usually like words in your books, but I think it'll be a nice change of pace.
Jason stares at the white cover of the book, yellowed pages peeking out.
I know it hurts you. Looking at memories from your time as Robin. But you need it.
You hurt so much, Jason. It hurts me. It hurts me so much just watching you.
You're barely holding yourself together.
You need to remember who you're doing this for.
Our family. Gotham.
So that a Robin never gets his wings clipped again.
***
You're with us. With family. We might be bad at showing it, but we love you. For whoever you choose to be, Damian. If you choose to kill, or if you take your grandfather's position.
I don't think you understand that fully.
You're not a soldier, anymore. You're not an heir. You're our brother, and a grandson, and Robin.
Do you know that?
Damian twirls the knife in his hand, almost absentmindedly, the facade cracked by the fingers slowing, before he puts the blade down.
Do you know who you are?
***
I give you my love freely. We all do.
Don't forget that. You can ask for help.
Your intelligence is the reason you came in. You are the reason you stayed. You are the reason you are a Wayne. You were always a Wayne. You just had to realise it.
I love you, Tim. Don't beat yourself up over my death. Over any of our deaths. We were destined to die early.
With all the love in the world that I can and cannot give you,
Cass Cain-Wayne, your sister.
03/04/2018
***
You don't have to use your words right now. God knows I didn't right after.
But promise me that you'll try. For all of us.
Words don't come easy for us Waynes.
Don't let that scare you. You haven't let anything else, why start now?
I love you, Steph.
With all my words and my voice,
Your sister,
Cass.
04/04/2018
***
When I see them, I'll tell them how much you love them.
I hope you take my advice to heart, as I have taken yours.
Thank you, grandfather, for all these years. Live many more.
Thank you for helping to make me into the person I was when I died.
My thanks and love,
Cassandra Cain-Wayne.
05/04/2018
***
Thank you for giving me Batgirl. Thank you for being my Batgirl - my mentor. Thank you for giving me a chance to be myself.
It has been an honour, Oracle.
Your friend, former Batgirl, former Orphan, former Black Bat,
Cass.
06/04/2018
***
Our memories are the most important part of us. More than our words, our skills.
You are our memories. Our memories of a Gotham that was old, and that didn't have a Red Hood. We have no other memories.
Jason, you are us. Alfred is our glue, Stephanie is our backbone, Barbara is our safety, Tim is our protector, Damian is learning, but he'll grow up to be our love. You? You embody all of us.
Keep Gotham safe. Keep our family alive.
That means keeping yourself healthy, and safe, and sane. Take a break. If Alfred doesn't make you, or the rest of our siblings don't, then I will. I don't care if death lies in between us.
With my worries and my care,
Cass.
07/04/2018
***
I'm sorry for giving you another reason to grieve. I'm not sorry for whatever reason I'm dead.
I'm proud of you, Damian. For how far you've come. You've learnt to love, to accept family, to trust.
Don't forget those lessons. Don't forget any of us.
With my pride, and my regret that our time is up,
Your sister,
Cassandra Cain-Wayne.
08/04/2018
***
Tear stains mark each and every one of their papers.
In her room, below her bed and tucked safely in the bed frame below the mattress, is a small envelope, sealed with the same wax and written in the same writing, unnoticed by anyone. It sits there, collecting dust, ten words never to be read.
***
My brothers. My father.
I hope I’ll be seeing you.
Cassandra.
09/04/2018