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Stephanie Brown, aka super awesome badass vigilante Casey, is a little bored with this new life.
Don’t get her wrong, being a funded vigilante is awesome. But there’s just something so monotonous about sitting there with the same guys, doing the same things. Go to school. Bother Tim. Hang with Raph. Patrol with Babs. Tease Dick. Mess with Bruce.
Stephanie supposes that there’s one person she doesn’t spend enough time with. Damian.
At first it was just because he was little, an angry little assassin chihuahua. Then, he was Mikey—but Dick, Jason, and Tim decided to hoard him until Bruce could figure out how to bring Damian into the legal world.
Damian was enrolled in elementary school just under a month ago. And, according to Timmy, struggling to make friends.
That doesn’t sound like the Mikey she knows. That is the thing though, how much of these lines are blurred? For Stephanie, at least, being Casey was just a different part of her life. It formed how she thought. It changed how she reacted to things.
She’s been thinking about it a lot recently. How Dick is still Dick. Leo couldn’t do a quadruple somersault. Leo didn’t wear green, yellow, and red. Well, technically, Leo didn’t wear anything at all on most days.
Jason still has his snark and red color scheme, but he also has more knowledge of the streets. He knows the pain of losing someone to addiction, of having to fend for himself with no one to help him.
Tim is… well to be honest Donnie and Tim are pretty much the same. But she supposes the interest in photography is new, and the fact that he doesn’t have that cute tooth gap that whistled when he slept that Donnie had.
Not to say that Tim isn’t cute, it’s just different—wait a damn minute.
Since when has she thought that Donnie was cute? Did she… like Donnie? Back when she was Casey Jones?
Stephanie makes the decision to put the sexuality thoughts on the back burner. She was supposed to be thinking about Damian! Not having a crisis.
It’s different, for Damian. There are moments of Mikey. Minute sparkles of the familiar youngest. But most of the time, it’s just Damian. Damian who is a retired(?) assassin. Who never got to have a childhood.
Stephanie was told about the League of Assassins—the barebones version, due to Bruce’s intervention—and that doesn’t sound like the type of place that Mikey could thrive.
Donnie suggested that it was a trauma response of some kind. Instead of allowing the League to stomp Mikey out completely, he buried those parts of him. Keeping them separate.
It’s a huge bummer, actually. Mikey’s the fun one. The one who was always down to have a good time.
So, she decided that she’s going to help. And she already has the perfect plan in mind.
“Heyyy, Dami,” Steph drawls, plopping onto the couch next to where Damian is doing his homework. “How's it going?”
“Fine.” Ah, yes, one word answers. At least he didn’t call her ‘Brown’ again. Seriously, her last name is kinda trash.
Steph looks over his shoulder at the paper. Math. Gross. The worst part about reincarnation was having to do math again. Or maybe just school in general.
The two sit in silence for a few moments. Steph not making the first move. She doesn’t have to wait long as Damian lets out a suffering sigh, sounding much too old for his age. “Did you need something, Stephanie?”
“Actually, yes. Yes I do,” she says. Then she takes a moment, hemming and hawing, just enough for Damian to turn fully away from his homework. Hook. “It’s something I need your—Mikey that is—expertise for.”
Damian's eyes widen ever so slightly. Stephanie may or may not have noticed that Damian has been a little aimless recently. Even when he offers to help out with things, the only one who takes him up on it is Alfred.
No doubt he wants to feel needed. Maybe even just wanted.
“I’m listening,” Damian says, trying to avoid looking directly at Steph. Line.
“I feel like we need to spice up the house a bit. Now that they’re official vigilantes, they’ve gotten boring,” Stephanie explains. “How do you feel about bringing back Dr. Prankenstein?”
His eyes lit up immediately, something distinctly Mikey overtaking his expression. Or maybe it’s just the child that Damian never got to be.
That’s depressing though, so Steph is gonna go with Mikey.
“There is something I always wanted to try,” Damian trails off. Sinker .
The two are downright giddy as they make their way into Damian’s room. What Steph is now dubbing the ‘Super Secret Prank Planning Room’ (SSPPR for short).
Damian fumbles for some paper, pictures of the past falling onto the floor. Ice Cream Kitty, Leatherhead, Splinter…
Stephanie picks them up slowly. “These are nice.”
“Thanks,” Damian offers a small smile. Not for the first time, Steph thinks of when it was brighter. “I know Jay has that whole artist thing going but—”
Steph snorts. “He doesn’t have the art monopoly here, little dude. I think it’s nice.”
Damian smiles up at her, a small, weak thing. Then he turns his attention to the paper, writing down what he needs. Steph nods along, offering certain ways to streamline the plan, or make it more chaotic.
By the time they’re done, the plan is solid. But Steph needs to be sure, “And you’re sure you can do it?”
“Please, I’m left alone for most of the night,” Damian scoffs, “as long as you get what I need, we will be sitting in Prankville, population us, for the foreseeable future.”
Steph cackles in delight.
The night they chose to strike was really, too perfect. Steph needed Tim and his nerd skills for a case, which means Alfred is in the Batcave on comms. It was like the stars aligned for this very moment.
She doesn’t get to help Damian with the actual doing of the prank. Unfortunately. She does, however, have faith that Damian will execute it perfectly.
By the time patrol is over, she’s sweaty, exhausted, and all around ready for some amusement. Though she does have to all but shove Tim up the stairs, yelling about teenage boys and sweat. The locker rooms in the Cave are under renovation. Truly, the fates conspired to allow this to happen.
Stephanie plops next to Damian, who is pleasantly sitting on the couch, waiting silently. The smirk on his face is small, but powerful. They sit in silence, anticipation flooding the room.
“MIKEY!” Jason’s voice echoes through the Manor. After that, it's only a few moments before other screams of shock and outrage fly through the halls. Post patrol showers are the best way to get everyone at once.
Damian’s face seems to be losing the battle of staying calm as his grin begins to grow, slowly splitting his face open into unrelenting mirth.
Somehow, Tim is the first one to storm into the living room, closely followed by Jason.
Their hair is… it really is. God, it really is. The mad lad had actually done it.
Glitter clings to each strand, shimmering in the light like tween movie vampire skin.
“I’m going to beat your ass,” Jason growls, fisting his hand into the ends of his hair before showing it off, his fingers covered in the stuff. He storms up to Damian. “How am I supposed to go to school like this?!”
Damian snorts, a hand coming to cover his face. He doesn’t speak yet.
“I’m sure Steph put him up to it,” Tim mediates. And also snitches. Fucking narc.
Bruce and Dick appear before Jason can actually beat someone’s ass. Dick is… playing it up for lack of a better word. All but wailing, hands running through his hair to try and get it out. Damian’s shoulders are shaking, his hands clamped over his mouth.
Bruce is the next to speak, but man, it is so hard to take the man seriously when he looks like a social media filter. “Damian,” he says, an exhausted sigh on his lips. Oh, that’s where Damian got it from. “Why?”
That seems to be all Damian can handle, hinging at the waist as giggles fall from his mouth.
“Y-yo-you,” Damian stutters, failing to get the words out through his laughter. He inhales deeply, steadying himself. “You just got Dr. Prankenstein’d son!”
Steph can see in real time as the four vigilantes soften. Anger, dismay, and panic all melt from their form, being replaced with pure fondness.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Jason says, ruffling his hair.
Tim sighs, “I don’t know how we’re supposed to go out like this. Especially not as vigilantes.”
“I guess Dami wanted some time with his brothers,” Dick says, ignoring Damian’s still wheezing laughter.
“Not necessarily,” Steph says, trying to keep down her own grin, “you could just put on some cowls?”
Damian’s laughter, which had just started to die down, starts back up, full force.