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Stephanie wept.
Stephanie sobbed, whole-heartedly, crying like her soul had been ripped out of her body, and Batman was shhing her, his heavy gauntlet so light against her armored cape that she could hardly feel the touch of his hand through all that, pressing against her back. Robin clutched her hand, and leaned so far over that she could touch their foreheads together with just a knock.
“I’m so sorry, Stephie,” he whispered.
“I hated him!” she blurted, and then she started crying again.
“I know,” Robin said. “I know. I hated mine too.”
Until you knew he was dead. And then you got mad.
Jason had told her all about that. He’d been kind of ashamed of it. To hear him talk about Willis, Willis was the worst guy around, but also probably not so bad maybe, if Two-Face hadn’t murdered him, and Willis was a shitty dad who’d walked out on Jason and his mom when Jason could barely remember, but maybe he wouldn’t have been so shitty if he hadn’t been murdered, and maybe he would have come around someday? Someday?
Maybe he’ll come around someday. Oh that was a song Steph knew the lyrics to by heart.
Used to sing it. Can’t sing it now.
Why did this hurt so much? All she’d ever wanted was to be free of her father, and every bad thing he’d inflicted on the world. And on her.
Why did she have to find this out on patrol. Why was Barbara still being like this? Steph thought they were through this. They’d struggled so hard to be sisters, real sisters, sharing Jim Gordon—Dad, my dad, I get to call him Dad—and a house.
Why had Oracle’s voice stuttered in the middle of that report to Batman?
Why did Steph have to be standing next to Batman and Robin, playing rock-paper-scissors with Jason over who had to patrol the Bowery tomorrow, when Bruce’s ear comm malfunctioned, and he patched it through to his wrist, scowling, and they all heard that report -
“peat, B—I have—I have a solid confirmation that Arthur Brown was killed about an hour ago. Jailbreak went wrong, apparently. Please advise—Bruce I need to talk to y-”
Steph had never seen Batman move that fast. Or maybe time had just gone slow for her, because the next thing she knew, she was sitting on the rooftop, staring at a brick wall, and she knew that Robin was sitting next to her, and Batman was somewhere over there, on another roof, perfectly out of hearing.
“I don’t think that’s right,” she’d said to Robin. “My dad isn’t the kind of guy who’d just die.”
Robin’s face had been kind of funny—oh no, it was just that he’d taken off his mask, and he’d been being just Jason. She’d never made up her mind which she preferred. Robin made her heart beat faster, but she liked Jason’s eyes.
Those eyes had been so anxious, scanning her face, looking for something that was never going to come. Arthur Brown had ruined her life. So he’d finally come to a bad end? Fine. At least it was over. He couldn’t hurt her any more.
She held Robin’s hand though, so tightly she lost feeling in her fingers.
Then Bruce had rejoined them, his face somber under the cowl, and he’d put his hand on her shoulder, and she knew for sure, forever, that it was real and it was true. A whole world lifted off her shoulders and took flight. Stephanie was so light with it she wanted to dance, but when she took in a breath, her body aching to move, all that came out was a long, bitter wail.
***
Jason walked Steph to her house. He didn’t stop at the door, and he didn’t look back to check on Bruce, sitting patiently in the driver’s seat of the Granturismo, the engine of the car off, pretending to leaf through the copy of Watership Down Jason had lent her that she hadn’t gotten more than a chapter into and kept leaving in his dad’s car. He kept bugging her about that, and she wished he’d just shut up about Fiver and Hazel-rah and rabbits.
Steph let Jason open the front door, and walk her down the hall, and follow her into the living room, where Dad and Barbara were waiting for her. Dad was vibrating with tension, but Barbara’s face was the thing that nearly stopped Steph in her tracks.
It was so twisted, so weirdly guilty.
“Stephanie,” Barbara said, “I am so sorry about your father.”
“I bet you are,” Stephanie said, and in the next second, she snapped in a direction she didn’t know existed. “Because now that my real dad is dead, you know he’s never going to take me back, so you’re stuck with me forever.”
Dad gasped, and Barbara recoiled. “What the hell, Steph...Stephanie, that’s not what I meant!”
“Yes it is,” Steph said, venom pouring out of her mouth, dribbling acid and burning everyone close enough to touch. Everything that was Stephanie Sarah Brown, daughter of Arthur and Crystal, tonight, was this poison. “You never wanted me here, you just pretended, and then you got tired of me, and then you pretended again so Dad wouldn’t get mad at you for hating me, but you do hate me, and I hate you too!” The last part came out as a shriek and Steph didn’t know why.
“Stephanie,” Jim said, in a half-stopped voice like someone had slammed him in the gut. Steph knew that sound, the sound when you’d been hit and been hurt, just like she knew the sound of her own lungs breathing. At the same moment Jason said “okay, no, Stephie—” and Barbara’s twisty, guilty face got even twistier and guiltier.
“I know I’ll never be able to live up to your standards, Batgirl, because you’re the best thing in the world,” Steph spat at her, because once someone started looking half-beaten, that was the right time to finish them off, that was what Stephanie knew from watching Arthur doing his work. “I’m not good enough for you, I’m not good enough for Dad, and l’ll never be good enough for Batman and Robin, not as far as you’re concerned.”
The words wouldn’t stop. She hated them and hated herself, but her whole soul hurt so much all she could do was keep saying things, or else she was going to go look for a punch—one to give or one to take, either would do—and there was a tiny voice inside her saying not that, not again, not yet.
And Barbara’s face was still being like that.
“Stephanie,” Barbara said again, her voice low.
“No!” Steph said. “No! No! No, no, no!” She couldn’t be here, she couldn’t stand still, she couldn’t stand herself, and something even worse inside of her seemed to break, and she turned and bolted out the front door. She slammed it brutally behind her, and told herself she couldn’t scream, because someone would hear, and they’d want to know what was wrong, and then there would be trouble. There might be cops; the cops might come. She couldn’t scream. It might mess everything up. But she couldn’t stop the sound inside of her.
Steph threw her head back against the door, fingers clawing back against its solid wooden surface, and screamed until her throat stopped working.
***
“I’m sorry,” Steph whispered, sitting on the lawn, shudders still running through her. Dad had wrapped her up in a blanket, and she sat limp, her head against against Barbara’s knee, while Barbara leaned over, resting her chin on Steph’s head, and Dad sat on the grass next to them, one hand reaching up to hold Barbara’s free hand, and the other trailing up and down the shivery muscles of Steph’s back, through warm wool, slow and soothing.
She didn’t have it in her to be specific about whether her shitty apology was for the fact that the neighbors had called 911 and there’d been an awful, and loud conversation on the lawn, which she’d been sort of aware of—plus Jason having to go out and talk to the whole neighborhood on their behalf—or the horrible, unforgivable, awful things she’d said to Barbara. She would cry about that, if she wasn’t so exhausted she couldn’t even move anymore or probably ever cry again.
Jason trekked back from the end of the street to chat up the last remaining cop, lingering by her patrol car. The rest of GCPD’s finest had long-since departed, after they’d made their apologies and obeisances to the Police Commissioner.
Dad had been gruff, but kind, and correct. If it’s a domestic at my address, you still come, he’d told the first responding officer. Yessir, the officer had said, and Steph wished she could trust that.
Steph saw Barbara’s hand flickering out of her peripheral vision, like she was touching her face. “I didn’t mean for you to hear it that way,” Barbara said, her voice thick. “I’m so sorry. That was...exactly the opposite of what I’d meant to do. I’m sorry, Stephanie. I truly am.”
“Yes,” Steph whispered. “I know.” She had to whisper, because she’d screamed so loud her voice wasn’t working right. She had a notion that she had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, or maybe the day after—things had gotten a little hazy there, but there’d been Bruce there with her, for a couple of minutes, before someone had sent him packing, with a harsh admonition to “move your ass, Wayne, and move your Maserati before the cops show up and ask why you’re on my lawn right now!”
Jason gave them a little wave, from the street, somber-faced. She could see the little smudges under his eyes, and Steph knew them for what they were—the remnants of tears, barely wiped away, so she knew he’d been crying, too, at some point since she’d gone howling out of the house.
Him or Batman would have been the ones to call the otolaryngologist.
Figures you’d have one on call, she thought, fondly, of Batman and Robin. It was her favorite thing about Batman—he always knew somebody. The right somebody.
Jason—Robin—came trekking up the lawn to where they were all sitting, as the last cop finally got in her car, tossing off one last nod at the commissioner, and drove off. Jason crouched down in front of Steph, and leaned forward to give her a welcome, lingering, somewhat one-sided hug. She might have snuffled against the side of his head, and gotten some snot on his collar, but she knew he’d never rat her out even if she did.
“Doctor’s appointment at 2pm,” Jason said. Dad nodded, and Barbara made a little affirming noise over her head. This had been decided without her actual input, possibly by committee. Should she be mad? She didn’t feel mad. It felt nice to feel taken care of.
Arthur never made her feel taken care of. Neither did Crystal.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Stephie?” Jason said, and kissed her on the side of her head, before he stood up to leave. He squeezed her hand. “I love you.”
She nodded, looking up at him, and mouthed it back.
“He’s going to show up tomorrow in that damn flashy thing Bruce bought him,” Barbara said, once Jason was out of earshot, in that obnoxious, disapproving tone she always used when she was comparing her own exploits and Dick Grayson’s to Steph and Jason’s. Steph actually found herself rolling her eyes at the normalcy of the sisterly judgement.
Then she jammed her elbow sharply up into Barbara’s forearm, and was rewarded with a harsh yelp. (Jason’s car was cool. Barbara was just jealous she didn’t have a snazzy green Mclaren.)
Jim sighed, heavily. Stephanie snuggled against him, and he tucked his arm firmly around her shoulders. Barbara snorted, and then plunked her chin more firmly on Steph’s skull. “My silly little sister,” she said.
Stephanie sat still, and let herself feel loved.
This is my family.
She touched her throat, and it still hurt. It was going to hurt, for a while.
And then, she thought, I think it’s going to get better.