Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Finding a good table at school lunch depended on getting in the cafeteria line early, so you got your food faster and thus got your pick of the tables. But if you didn’t get your food at school, you could beat the kids who made it to the front of the line and have all the options.

Modern problems, modern solutions.

Maria sat at the corner table by the window, lots of natural light streaming through. With autumn finally in the air and winter coming soon, she wanted to savor the warmth while she could. Besides, her apartment didn’t have windows like this. She was a sucker for them. She decided that if and when she ever got to the point of owning a house, the first thing she’d look for was big windows, no matter how much she’d have to clean them.

As the lunch line stretched along the cafeteria walls, Maria pulled out her reading assignment and one of three granola bars she’d snagged that morning. She’d already eaten one for breakfast. She’d save the third for if she got hungry later.

Gotham Academy didn’t have those long, brown tables with the benches. No, instead they had several dozen smaller, circular tables with actual chairs. So she was downright comfortable, nursing her granola bar and reading Shakespeare—honestly, Othello kinda slapped—when Damian set his tray next to her. He frowned. “Is that all you brought for lunch?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. She thought about lying—he did it all the time to keep Robin a secret, even though he didn’t know that she knew. But that felt unfair.

“Our fridge is out,” she admitted. “Went out sometime last night, so most of the food spoiled. Mom, Em, and I spent the morning saving what we could and taking out so many trash bags so the place wouldn’t stink up.”

The greatest loss was what they’d stored in the freezer, food that was destroyed much more quickly and couldn’t be salvaged at all. Lucia had sworn in both English and Spanish while tossing at least half a paycheck’s worth of soggy pizza and cartons of milky soup that had once been ice cream.

“…is lunch here too expensive?” Damian asked, probably realizing just now that Maria had never bought anything from the cafeteria. She’d always brought food from home, sandwiches and snacks carefully tucked away in a beat-up lunchbox that had been old when she’d got it second-hand for elementary school.

It was only about three dollars for lunch at Gotham Academy, more if you went back for seconds. Emily’s school charged a buck fifty.

Lucia had only had three dollars cash.

Maria had insisted on the granola bars, saying how the meal that day was supposed to be lasagna, anyway—a dish she hated.

(It wasn’t. It was some sort of meat and rice dish, or veggie and rice if you were Damian, with a plethora of veggies and fruit as a side and pudding for dessert.)

“Lunch everywhere is too expensive,” Maria grumbled. “Don’t worry, we already called the landlord. They should have it fixed soon.”

“I can get you lunch today,” Damian offered.

“Absolutely not! We only have another fifteen minutes and you’ve barely eaten anything.” She nudged his tray closer to him.

“I’ll eat your granola bar while I wait in line.”

“You’re not buying me lunch, Damian,” she said. “I’m fine. Barely hungry, anyway.”

She took a small bite of her granola bar to prove her point. Damian made that “Tt” noise, but dropped it, tucking into his meal.

“Have you had the new chemistry teacher yet?” he asked.

“Mr. Brown? Yeah, he said he was surprised to see a ‘girl like me’ in a ‘school like this.’” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if he meant someone from Crime Alley or someone Latin. What happened to Miss Weston, anyway?”

Damian’s mouth thinned. “I overheard the faculty say that her paramour officially reported her missing, either last night or in the early morning.”

Maria sucked in a breath. That…that wasn’t good. It wasn’t good anywhere, but in Gotham, if someone went missing without some sort of ransom note, you had about two days before you should start looking at the bottom of the harbor.

“Maybe it was the boyfriend and he’s covering his tracks?” she suggested. “That’s usually how that works.”

“He has an alibi.”

“…well, I’m out of ideas.”

He tsked, smirking playfully. “Some scholarship student.”

Maria laughed. In the last month and a half, she’d learned that Damian had a rather dry, acerbic sense of humor. She was never offended by it; when Damian didn’t like you, or thought you were somehow incompetent, he let you know. Bluntly.

Since he never called her stupid—had even, in fact, called her intelligent—and only poked fun at her in situations like this, she was pretty sure that meant he respected her, if not liked her.

He popped a grape in his mouth, then scowled. “Ugh.”

She leaned forward in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve had grapes before, but they were much sweeter and more pleasant. They were also green.”

“Oh, yeah. Candy grapes. Love those.”

“Well, these are awful.” He dropped the whole bundle in front of Maria. “Here. Jason will have my hide if I were to ever waste food.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as he resumed his meal as if nothing happened.

You’re not subtle, she thought, but didn’t say as she ate the grapes.

--

“Got it!” Maria cheered as the handcuff slipped from her wrist.

Stephanie clapped, sitting next to Maria against the wall of Wayne Manor’s (ridiculously massive) home gym. It also had excellent, tall windows, so Maria couldn’t complain.

“Nice! Let’s do it again.” Stephanie re-cuffed her wrists. “This time see if you can get it in under five minutes.”

“Hardy har har.” Still, Maria got to work, using the hairclip Stephanie had procured and snapped in half as a make-shift lockpick.

Every Saturday morning for the last five weeks, Damian had invited her to his home for “family workouts.” Maria had no interest in learning how to fight—certainly not as fiercely as Tim and Dick going at it on the mats while Jason and Damian heckled them—but she still found it fun, and Lucia wasn’t going to discourage her from learning a few basic escapes. She’d discourage it less if she found out those lessons came straight from Batman’s brood.

But today had been a little different. Rather than learning how to escape someone’s unwanted grab or grapple, Stephanie had brought out duct tape, zipties, and handcuffs.

Duct tape and zipties were surprisingly easy to get out of—so long as the hands were restrained in front of the body. “If they tie you up behind your back, you’re kind of screwed,” Stephanie had admitted. “Unless you find something sharp to cut through it, or dislocate your thumb.”

Once Maria had mastered escaping the duct tape and zipties (without the thumb-dislocation), they’d moved on to actual handcuffs. It was a unique challenge, one that Maria found herself enjoying, probably because it took more patience and strategy than brute force and dexterity.

“Got it again!” she cheered, hearing that lovely click of victory as the cuffs once again released.

And sure, Maria could chalk up the extensive knowledge of restraint-removal as part of the ransom training all the rich kids went through. Except that training stressed obedience to the kidnappers. Do as you’re told, don’t fight back, stay calm, and some combination of the parents, police, and superheroes will handle it. Angering or frustrating the kidnappers would just lead to them injuring you, or worse.

Of course, if the kidnapping wasn’t about ransom, then you needed to fight. And Maria would never be taken for ransom. Her mother worked two jobs—one at Batburger, the other as a cleaning lady for a conglomerate service—just to keep them housed in a crumbling Crime Alley two-bedroom apartment.

And if the Bats ever got kidnapped while in uniform…well. That wouldn’t be for ransom, either.

“Nice!” Stephanie high-fived her. “We’ve got another half hour before lunch. Anything else you want to cover?”

“Nah. I’d rather run away so I don’t get put in cuffs, so I’m gonna hop on the treadmill.”

“Preventative strategy. Smart.”

One thing Maria liked about Stephanie—and Jason—was that they were both born and raised in Crime Alley. None of the Waynes openly pitied her. There was no contempt or disdain even from Bruce or Tim. But there was a certain level of understanding with Stephanie. A relatability that Maria just didn’t have with the others.

So when Stephanie asked, “You thinking about joining a sport at your school?” Maria didn’t hesitate to answer,

“No. Too expensive.”

“Ugh. Even track? Or swim?”

“It’s at least $125 just to join. Even in Emily’s school; it’s why she can’t do cheerleading.”

“Oh, fuck that. And they wonder why everyone’s joining a gang these days. Sure, you’ll get shot, but admission’s free.”

Maria snorted, snagging a treadmill next to Duke, who gave them both an amused “I don’t know if you’re joking or not” look. (Stephanie definitely wasn’t joking.)

He hopped off of his treadmill. “Anyone up for a push-up contest?”

“Oh lord,” Maria grumbled, adding some speed.

What should have been a simple push-up contest turned into a contest of handstanding push-ups between Duke, Jason, Dick, Damian, Tim, and Stephanie. Cassandra broke her usual silence to say only, “Bad idea.”

Surprise surprise, by the time they all shuffled down to lunch, none of the boys nor Stephanie could lift so much as a paperclip. Not even Jason, who’d won. (And promptly collapsed immediately after Damian did.)

Bruce Wayne—already seated at the table with the very generous lunch spread Alfred set up—frowned at them over his tablet. “What?”

“Handstand push-up contest,” Maria explained as Dick dropped into his chair with a groan. Still not using his arms.

“Ah. And you let them?”

She sputtered, even at his playful smirk. “Sometimes you have to let the kids touch the hot stove, Bruce!”

She’d tried calling him Mr. Wayne several times. He always shot it down, saying it made him feel old. As if his dark hair wasn’t going silver at the temples.

Honestly, she hadn’t been sure what to expect from Bruce Wayne, even before figuring out he was Batman. She didn’t follow the tabloids, but everyone had heard of “Brucie’s” playboy status. Although that had definitely mellowed since he started collecting kids like Pokémon. Then she realized he was Batman, and she didn’t know what to think of his personality. Which one was the front? The goofball, or the stone cold vigilante?

Turned out, a little of both. Goofball appeared in the very dad sense of humor he portrayed that always made the rest of the table groan, and the vigilante came out just a little when he had to be stern with his kids (like when Tim and Jason had been seconds away from fighting for real a couple weeks ago. Hadn’t Red Hood beat up Red Robin a couple of times a few years ago?)

It was hard to judge someone completely when you only saw them for an hour a week, but Bruce had been nothing but kind and dorky to Maria. And Damian rarely had a bad thing to say about his father.

She should probably tell them that she knew about their nightlife, but…no. That seemed like something they (Damian) had to tell her. Like when someone realized their friend was a meta, or gay.

Maria couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the group as lunch got started. Stephanie’s arms were as functional as wet noodles as she tried to reach for one of the little sandwiches. The trembling limb dropped on the table halfway there. And she was one of the more functional ones; Damian was outright shaking. Maria took pity and put the sandwich on her plate.

“Thank you,” Stephanie moaned. “And one of those brownies, please?”

“They’ve got nuts and peanut butter. Damian said there weren’t any allergies…?”

“Only shrimp,” Tim piped up, slightly muffled, as he’d dropped his head on the table next to his plate in exhaustion. (He’d been the first to go down, quickly followed by Stephanie. It’d still taken an impressive twenty-one hand-stand push-ups to bring him down, which was twenty-one more than what Maria could do.)

Even though Maria could get to Wayne Manor via the bus—or Lucia driving her, on the rare occasions her work schedule cooperated—Damian always insisted on sending Alfred (or one of his brothers) all the way across town to pick her up. And so Maria always made sure to bring some sort of snack, dessert, or side dish, since the poor man was also in charge of feeding the lot.

If Bruce was going to feed her, then she refused to step foot in his house without a dish in hand, dammit. Didn’t matter that he was a billionaire, it was the principal of the thing.

And there was a certain pride in doing so, especially with the refrigerator still out of commission. (Damn landlord moved slower than syrup on everything except collecting rent.) Maria had scoured the internet for brownie recipes that didn’t require any eggs, milk, butter or other refrigerated goods, and while she’d found some good contenders, Mrs. Harriet had been her ultimate savior. When she’d gone over to clean the old woman’s apartment and mentioned her baking plans, Mrs. Harriet had flicked through some of her own recipes—handwritten on index cards and kept in a box on the counter—before finding one of her favorites. Her mother had been an adult during the Great Depression, and so had had to master the art of whipping up meals and snacks for a house of eight children with almost no ingredients.

Turned out: vinegar and coffee were the secret substitutes. And holy hell, was Mrs. Harriet’s mother a genius. The Waynes obviously agreed, because those brownies were gone by the time Maria started packing up to go home.

“Miss Maria,” Alfred called from the kitchen as the table was cleared. “A moment?”

“Sure.” She dropped her bag back on the chair and joined him. The kitchen alone was big enough to swallow her whole apartment, and the butler made good use of the space. “What’s up?”

“It appears I made a miscalculation,” he said sheepishly, opening the fridge to show it stacked. “I’m unable to put all the leftovers in here, and I hate to see food go to waste as much as Master Jason. If you could take some of this off of our hands, I’d be most grateful.”

Maria hesitated, but only for a moment. Yeah, her fridge was still busted. But Mrs. Harriet had said they could use hers, which Lucia had agreed to. Maria would insist the old lady help herself to the Waynes’ generosity as payment. So she snagged more than a few Tupperwares and ziplocs of deli meat, a spiced corn-and-rice dish, and the sacred Alfred cookies.

Honestly, Alfred wasn’t that subtle either. How this family managed to hide being the home of Batman was beyond her. But she appreciated the kindness, anyway.

Chapter Text

It took another week for the fridge and freezer to get fixed, during which time Lucia grumbled about how she ought to work for Mr. Freeze if only for the ability to preserve leftovers. Maria couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, and didn’t ask. Honestly, of all the Gotham Rogues, Freeze wasn’t the worst. He was arguably better than the Riddler, who Maria’s father had briefly worked for. Frankly, if Maria ever got to the point where she had to take illegal work, her first choice was Ms. Ivy.

Crime lords were a step below those types of Rogues, given how often they and their minions were shot by other criminals and beaten up by the Bats. Joker was at the very bottom of the pile, with only the most desperate or genuinely insane working for him.

Although on Thursday, Maria would also add Scarecrow to the list of “people I would rather die than work for.”

It was during chemistry when she got the call. Mr. Brown was still substituting, Miss Weston still missing and at this point written off as dead. Rumors ran wild throughout the school: she’d been killed by a Rogue, she’d been a drug lord, she was herself a Rogue or had been one of the Bats fighting a Rogue and the fight had gone bad.

Maria ignored it all. The kids at Gotham Academy weren’t used to sudden disappearances in their neck of the woods. In the ten years Maria had spent in public school (Pre-8), she'd had three teachers wind up arrested and one dead. Crime Alley teachers got paid even less than usual, meaning they had to get money somewhere, be it a part-time job at the docks, a side hustle with DoorDash, or running errands for a crime lord.

Mr. Brown was lecturing on proteins when Maria’s phone dinged with a text.

Her face heated as the substitute narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. “You know the rule.”

“Sorry. I don’t usually get texts.” She pulled it out and set it to silent, then paused when she saw it was her mother.

“Well, come on. If it’s that important I’m sure the whole class ought to hear it.”

Embarrassment tickled Maria’s chest, but her mother only ever texted her when it was important, so she took the opening for what it was and read the text out loud: “Call me as soon as you can, your sister’s school’s been hit by Scarecrow…”

Maria’s throat closed and her classmates started whispering. Even Mr. Brown looked surprised. “Uh…”

“I’ve gotta go,” Maria announced, shoving her notebook into her bag and hitting the call button.

“Yeah, sure. Grab the pass, or whatever,” Mr. Brown said, waving her away.

Maria barely remembered to take the pass when Lucia answered: “Maria! I’m driving to Emily’s school now. Can you take the bus and meet us there?”

“Yup. On my way.” The lockers blurred around Maria as she ran, ignoring the janitor who sputtered after her for her rudeness. “I think you should call the school. Is Emily okay?”

“I don’t know; I just got the alert.”

“Well, it’s Scarecrow. He doesn’t typically kill people, he just likes freaking them out.” Maria didn’t know who she was trying to convince: herself or her mother. Sure, Scarecrow wasn’t one to put bullets in people himself. But he caused so much chaos. People did weird, dangerous things when hit with his stuff: they jumped off buildings to run from their hallucinations, they cut themselves open to get at imaginary bugs beneath their skin, they attacked their friends and family that they were convinced were out to kill them.

But a school? Scarecrow didn’t go after kids. Normally he stuck to freaking out other crime bosses and the Bats, and occasionally banks. These days he was usually in the background, making money by selling his product to other Rogues and criminals so they could weaponize it.

Why gas a middle school?

Lucia took a deep breath, staticky through the phone. “I’ll meet you there. Stay safe, sweetie.”

Maria reached the front office and dropped the pass on the desk with shaking fingers. “I’ve gotta go. Call my mom; she’ll explain.”

The receptionist scowled at her. “What’s your name?”

Maria gritted her teeth, but gave the older woman her full name and tapped her foot as she pulled up Lucia’s contact information and called her. Maria couldn’t hear what Lucia said, but when the receptionist’s eyes widened she took that as her cue and left, bursting out the front door and hurrying to the bus stop.

--

It took far too long to get to Emily’s middle school, just on the edge of Crime Alley. The buses always took forever, especially since this route required two transfers, and as Maria drew closer the traffic got more and more congested, police cars and ambulances demanding the space to do their job, other people slowing down and gawking at the shiny new controversy. There were even some news vans. Finally, she got out six blocks away and ran the rest of the way.

The entire faculty and student body were out of the building, washed blue and red with the lights of government vehicles. Most everyone wore some sort of gas mask, most of them fabric from the COVID-19 days. Great for sickness, completely worthless against fear toxin. Only a handful had been able to buy actual gas masks that filtered out Scarecrow’s work, and unless they were produced and sold by Wayne Enterprises, it was hit-or-miss whether they actually worked.

At least two ambulances had long lines stretching out of them—people seeking fear toxin antidote. The police did their best to keep everyone in line. Given how much they were actually managing to succeed, with only a handful of people screaming and crying and everyone else just jittery, Maria guessed that the worst cases had already been seen to. In fact…

Ah, yes. Signal’s golden armor reflected the sunlight as he helped hand out antidote to EMTs and talked to police officers, a massive, industrial-sized briefcase open on the ambulance next to him. He must have swung over with it as soon as he got the call.

Much as Maria would have liked to talk with Duke, she couldn’t. Not without compromising his identity. And besides, she was far more concerned about her sister.

She’d already texted both Emily and Lucia with her cracked phone, but they had yet to reply. She tried not to panic as she ducked under the police tape, scanning the faces in the long lines.

“Hey! You can’t be back here, miss.” A police officer intercepted her.

“I’m trying to find my sister,” Maria said, her voice watery despite her best efforts. “She goes to this school and hasn’t been answering my texts…”

“You have to stay outside the police barrier.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her away. Maria was forced to move.

“My mom said she’d meet me here.”

“Don’t get hysterical, kid.”

Maria sputtered. “Hysterical? I haven’t even raised my voice, and as family I do believe I have the right to make sure my sister isn’t dead—”

The officer squeezed her arm, and Maria froze. Stephanie’s voice whispered that she should stomp on his foot and wrench herself free, but he was a cop. He could arrest her or…

“Hey! Chill out.”

The officer and Maria both paused as Signal strode up to them, smacking the officer’s hand away. “We’ve got protocol for family, and it doesn’t include being an asshole.”

The officer’s face turned red. “Excuse you—”

“Go work the line. I’ll handle this.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Signal glanced down at his badge. “No, but if I tell Batman to look into an Officer Hendricks, badge number 4256, I’m sure he’ll find something for Gordon.”

The officer blanched and went to the line.

Duke—no, Signal, call him Signal—gave her a tight smile. “Sorry about him. There haven’t been any serious injuries or deaths, so your sister’s probably okay.”

Maria relaxed, just a little. Just because there were no physical injuries didn’t mean there weren’t psychological ones. Emily must be so scared.

“What’s her name?” Signal asked.

That was probably a valid question. Maria didn’t talk much about her family to the Waynes. She swallowed, rubbing the part of her arm where the officer had grabbed her. “Emily. Emily Johnson. She’s twelve years old, seventh grade, with blond hair and she was wearing makeup, a green top, and a blue backpack. Given the time of the attack, she would’ve been in math class, on the south side of the school.”

“If that’s true, then I don’t think she was one of the nastier cases. See the principal over by the track? She’s in a gray suit.”

He pointed across the parking lot. The middle school didn’t have much in terms of extracurricular facilities, having to send their kids to other schools for things like swim class, baseball, or theater. But it did have a small track that was used for things like the mile, the edge of which Maria could just barely see around the corner of the old concrete building and rusted metal fence.

“She’s been keeping track of all students and faculty,” Signal explained. “She’ll know where your sister is, whether she’s in line to get antidote or already got it.”

Maria breathed a tiny sigh of relief, managing a quick, “Thank you,” before running for the track.

It looked like half of the administrative staff had set up shop here, all of them on tablets as anxious parents waited in line to ask about their children. Several others were sitting or standing on the grass nearby. Maria was trying to find the end of the line when…

“Maria!”

All the tension left her body as soon as she saw her sister and mother, sitting on the grass. She left the line and barreled into Emily. “You’re okay! You are okay, right? Tell me you’re okay!”

“I’m fine,” Emily insisted, but didn’t stop Maria from hugging her. “Got jabbed with the antidote and everything. I barely got any of the gas before we were evac-ed.”

Maria pulled back, looking her up and down. Emily’s blond hair was a little askew, and there were fresh sweat stains on the new blouse she’d been so excited to wear. But there was no blood or signs of self-harm.

“I was just about to text you,” Lucia said, tucking her phone into the pants of her pale blue cleaning service uniform. (It would take another hour for her phone to notify her of the text Maria had sent. They couldn’t figure out if it was because of Maria’s ancient, cracked phone, or Lucia’s ancient, dented one.) “We just need to talk to the principal so she knows we’re taking Emily home.”

“Do we know why this happened?” Maria asked. “Scarecrow doesn’t go after schools.”

Lucia shook her head, and Emily’s breathing was a bit shaky. “Don’t know, don’t care. Can we just go home now?”

Chapter Text

Emily’s school was closed the next day, and Maria also asked Lucia to call her off. She wasn’t going to be able to pay attention, and it was a Friday, anyway. She was on the fence about her usual Saturdays with the Waynes, and texted Damian as such. Well, first he texted her: Are you all right? People are saying you ran out of class because of something to do with a Rogue attack?

Scarecrow gassed Emily’s school, Maria reported. It didn’t surprise her that Damian didn’t know. Rogue attacks didn’t make the news or trend on social media unless multiple people died.

Is she all right? Damian asked.

She’s fine, just shaken. I’m staying with her today. And maybe Saturday? Don’t know yet.

Family is far more important than watching my brothers get humbled, Damian assured her, making Maria crack a smile. Does your family not have gas masks?

She snorted. The good ones cost $100+ each. What do you think?

He didn’t respond to that one. At least, not over the phone.

Maria spent most of Friday getting a jump on her homework (her teachers emailed her the assignments), doing some chores, and helping Mrs. Harriet with her household duties for some of that extra cash—but only when Lucia was there. She didn’t want to leave Emily alone. The twelve-year-old insisted she was fine, but she’d woken up that night screaming from nightmares, and got jittery when she didn’t see someone close to her, her brave façade cracking when she thought she was alone. So Maria made sure she wasn’t alone.

Lucia’s manager at the cleaning service was understanding and gave her the day off. Her manager at Batburger, on the other hand…

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, but my child had to deal with a Rogue attack yesterday,” Lucia hissed into the phone. She’d taken refuge in her bedroom, but Maria had finished with the bathroom and could hear her through the walls.

She could just barely make out the manager’s voice: “And you said she’s not seriously injured. I’m short staffed tonight, so either get here on time, or don’t bother coming back.”

Maria gritted her teeth, but smoothed her face into something more pleasant as Lucia came out of her room, grumbling swears. “You heard that?”

“Yeah.”

It should be an easy decision, right? In the battle between career and family, family was always the most important. Lucia should tell her manager to fuck all the way off and be there for her traumatized daughter.

But that was for people who had more than thirty dollars in their savings account. That was for people who weren’t one paycheck away from eviction. That was for people who didn’t need two jobs to put food on the table.

Maria hugged her. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after Emily.”

Lucia rubbed her back. “Thank you, sweethear—”

Someone knocked on the door.

The two frowned at each other, then came out of the hall in time to see Emily look through the peephole. She raised her eyebrows. “It’s Damian.”

Maria gaped.

Emily opened the door. “The heck are you doing in Crime Alley?”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Damian replied drolly. “I’m not here for long. I simply wanted to drop this off.”

“Emily, don’t make our guest wait in the hallway,” Lucia scolded. “Did you want something to eat, dear?”

“No, thank you, Ms. Johnson.” Damian hauled in a heavy-looking cardboard box, setting it down on the coffee table with a grunt. He was still in his Gotham Academy uniform, and school would’ve let out half an hour ago. “My father is just having some difficulties with the board of directors, as usual.”

“I thought your brother Tim handled that stuff,” Maria said, reconsidering her thought of not joining the Waynes tomorrow. She’d heard of Tim’s non-existent sleep schedule and extreme caffeine addiction. If he was even more stressed than usual, she wanted the excuse to get him to properly hydrate and have a sit-down meal.

Unless entertaining a guest “ignorant” of the family’s night life just caused him more stress…

“They both do,” Damian said, ignorant of Maria’s clashing thoughts. “There’s been a surge in orders for gas masks, of course. So we’ve ordered and created more. Too many, in fact. My father and brother want to lower the prices, or even do giveaways. The board thinks that would be a waste of money and resources.” He rolled his eyes, letting Maria know exactly what he thought of that.

“So they’re just going to hoard all those extra masks?” Emily grumbled, crossing her arms. “Classy.”

“Some have even advocated for destroying the extras, to create scarcity, and also to create more room in the warehouses for ‘more profitable products,’” Damian said, disdain dripping from his voice.

“Oh, I’ll bet Bruce and Tim just loved that idea,” Maria said. She wasn’t close enough to either of them to call them friends—could really only do that with Damian and maybe Stephanie—but she knew them well enough that there had probably been several choice words shared.

“Tt. I think if those specific directors make one more vile suggestion, I’ll have to help Father and Timothy hide their corpses.”

“I’ve got a shovel you can use,” Lucia offered.

“Just dump ‘em in the harbor,” Emily argued.

“Honey, that’s no good for the environment!”

“Sure it is. Fish need food.”

Maria ran a hand down her face, not missing Damian’s little smirk. “So what’s in the box?”

“Ah, yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, since we do have too many of these clogging up the warehouses, and their future was uncertain, I thought I’d grab as many as possible and give them to you.”

Maria sputtered as Lucia dug into the box. “Seriously?”

“Father’s already claimed several boxes’ worth and is planning a charity project giving them to shelters and such, from his personal finances instead of his business ones,” Damian continued. “But I thought you could also use some.”

“This is too much,” Maria protested.

“Shut up and be happy about it,” Emily argued, helping Lucia with the goods, setting each mask on the coffee table one by one. “Although, there are only three of us and eight masks…”

“I got a variety of sizes,” Damian explained. “And thought you could sell or give away the ones you don’t need. They have a lifetime guarantee, so if they break, you can get them fixed for free.”

Although Maria’s brain knew that this was both a kindness and something her family obviously needed, her pride prickled.

“You didn’t have to do this, Damian,” Lucia said kindly. “But thank you. I’m sure Mrs. Harriet could use one of these.”

“I took a few other boxes, as well,” he continued. “Alfred has them in the car. There should be enough for the whole building.”

That soothed Maria’s feathers a little. “I’ll help you carry them up,” she said.

“I’ll take these to Mrs. Harriet, and make sure Ben and his kids get some,” Lucia added. “He’s just down the hall. Poor guy works the docks. I think he’s seen more of Batman and his Rogues than half the city combined…”

Maria followed Damian down the hall to the stairs. As soon as they were encased in concrete, she said, “You know I’m not your friend because of your money, right?”

He gave her an odd look. “I’m aware.”

“We’re not a charity case, Damian.”

“No, you’re not.” His forehead furrowed further in confusion. “But your sister was hurt, and it could’ve been prevented. I have the means to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

She let out a breath, looking away as her face heated. “Sorry. Some of the kids at school keep calling me a charity case, and it just gets under my skin. I don’t like the idea of anyone pitying me.”

Damian laughed, voice echoing in the stairwell. “You will know if I pity you, Maria. It usually comes with disdain.”

“Pretty sure all your emotions come with that,” she managed to tease.

He rolled his eyes. “If you had the means to help your sister, or mother, or Mrs. Harriet, or me or my family or anyone else, you’d do it without hesitation. But you must admit that you’re not all-powerful all the time.”

Maria sputtered. “I know I’m not all-powerful!”

“Neither am I,” Damian said. “Asking for help is something I and my family all struggle with. My father is the worst, although he’s slowly getting better. It’s…” He shook his head. “Last year I broke my leg, and I refused to ask anyone for any kind of assistance. Richard had to sit me down and ask how I would react if he or any of my siblings had broken a bone and refused the help they so obviously needed. I would’ve called them an idiot, but of course I was more embarrassed that I had been in that position in the first place.”

Maria didn’t ask him how he’d broken the leg.

She crossed her arms. “For me, it’s…everyone already sees me like I’m scum. The daughter of a teen mom. The sewer rat from Crime Alley. Even from my neighbors! When I was applying for the scholarship, all my classmates thought I was nuts. I heard You’re not good enough and That’s not for people like us so many times. Teachers told me to manage my expectations. And that’s just the scholarship. Before Mom got her second job, she…well, we had to use the food shelf more than once. Still do, sometimes. And it shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is, because people see that and think we’re lazy or welfare queens or whatever and we’re not! My mom’s the hardest-working person I know. She got away from her husband. We should have our happy ending! But the rent keeps going up, and I know she’s lied at least once this month to say that she already ate dinner when she obviously hasn’t, and I’m too young for an actual job so I can only add twenty or thirty bucks a week to the pot, and I just…it makes you feel like a failure. A burden.”

At some point during her venting they’d stopped on the stairs, the cold leeching through the concrete. She was taller than Damian, with him two steps down, but had rarely felt so small.

“You’re not a failure, Maria,” he said. “You’re living in a world that’s doing everything in its power to hurt you. It’s…” He made a frustrated noise. “Richard would know what to say. I’m still trying to learn this lesson myself…”

They drifted into somewhat uncomfortable silence. Maria knew what he was trying to say. And she knew, intellectually, that it was okay to ask for help. After all, she’d never begrudge a friend asking her for assistance. But it was different when it was her. She was the older sibling. The gifted child. The mature one. She was supposed to be the one her mother didn’t have to worry about, the one the grown-ups liked because she was responsible and could handle any inconvenience the world threw at her.

But sometimes, she just wanted to be a kid.

She shook her head. “We shouldn’t keep Alfred waiting.”

Damian cleared his throat. “Right.”

“And thank you. For this. You really didn’t have to, and I don’t want you to think I only hang out with you for your money.”

“Tt. You’re skilled at many things, but gold digging is not one of them.”

--

There were two things and two things only that Lucia liked about her second job at Batburger.

One was the obvious: the extra paycheck. That three to five hundred dollars every other week had been the difference between the apartment having electricity or not more times than Lucia cared to count.

The second was the Bats.

It was usually a couple of the Robins. According to Lucia’s coworker Maggie—who’d been working at Batburger since it was founded over a decade ago—the first Robin (who had probably graduated to Nightwing) had started coming over first, getting a huge kick out of the whole thing and dragging the other vigilantes with him. Especially when there was a new toy or special, or conversely, when there was a new Robin. Like some sort of initiation. Welcome to vigilantism! Here’s the heart attack on a bun named after you, and a cheap plastic toy that’ll wind up in a landfill by the end of the week.

They didn’t come every night. In fact, they were rarely here more than once a month. It was usually some combination of Nightwing, Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, and the newest Robin. It was almost never Batman.

So Lucia was genuinely shocked when the big bad Bat himself came in behind Nightwing, Spoiler, Robin, and even Red Hood, dropping down in the nearest booth with a heavy sigh.

“Uh…welcome to Batburger,” she said behind the register, trying not to feel too ridiculous in her cheap Batwoman costume. Honestly, t-shirts with the Bat logo would be more than enough. “Can I get any of you an ice pack? Bandages? Advil?”

Hood snorted. “You’re worse than your daughter.”

Robin glared at him while Lucia laughed, surprised and a little flattered that the vigilante recognized and remembered her. “Good to see you again, Hood.”

“How’s the old lady?”

“She’s doing well. Taught my eldest how to make brownies with only half the ingredients. And the window’s holding up beautifully,” she said. “But seriously, Nightwing has a bruise the size of Texas on his face, and you all look terrible. We’ve got a pretty stacked first aid kit in the back.”

Nightwing put a hand up to his cheek, the bruise almost matching the blue of his uniform. “Nah, thanks, though. It looks worse than it is. I’ll have the…”

He gave his order, Spoiler, Hood, and Robin gave theirs. Hood hollered over his shoulder, “Hey B! Whaddya want?”

The Dark Knight, terror of Gotham, grunted.

“Was that supposed to be in English?” Lucia whispered to Nightwing.

He snickered. He may be the eldest Robin, but Lucia recognized a child at heart when she saw one. “We’ll just go with his usual: cheeseburger, fries, Coke. Medium.”

“We’ll get those started for you right away!” cheered Lucia’s manager, Peter. He smirked at her, as if saying, Aren’t you glad you came to work tonight instead of staying home to tend to your child?

She had to restrain herself from shoving his head into the broiler while Nightwing paid, giving them both an odd look.

Lucia handed him his change. “Can I ask, what’s going on with Scarecrow?”

“Lucia! Don’t bother our guests,” Peter scolded.

“He attacked my girl’s school,” she snapped.

“It’s fine,” Nightwing said, holding up a hand. “Totally fine. It was a scary day for everyone. But we got him just an hour ago.”

Tension Lucia had been carrying for two days seeped out of her. “Really?”

“Asshole was experimenting with a new type of toxin and distribution method,” Red Hood growled, his helmet distorting his voice. Lucia knew to be wary of him, but she honestly couldn’t be scared of him. Especially not after he’d helped her pull poor Mrs. Harriet off the floor last month. “We’re pretty sure he was also trying to intimidate one of the local crime lords into buying his product, too. Hence the school.”

“Phenomenal,” Lucia grumbled.

Young Robin tipped his head, studying Lucia behind the impenetrable domino mask. He was so short, barely going to Lucia’s chin—and Lucia was not a tall woman. He had to be Maria’s height. And probably her age, too. “Your daughter was caught in that attack?” he asked.

“My youngest,” she admitted.

“…what are you doing here?”

“That’s a great question!” She smiled at her manager, all teeth. “Want to answer that, Peter?”

The middle-aged, barrel-shaped man cleared his throat. “Well, we’re short-staffed this evening, and you said it yourself that Evelyn—”

“Emily.”

“—didn’t get hurt. She’s a big girl.”

“She’s twelve.”

“…dude,” Spoiler said, crossing her arms. Even Batman turned his head, frowning at the manager.

Red Hood sputtered, a spark of static through his helmet. “What the shit? When one of my lieutenants’ kids gets hit with fear toxin—or even has a cold—I give them the day off. And I’m a fucking crime lord!”

“Yeah, that stuff has incapacitated all of us, including Batman, and it took him years to learn to shake it off within twenty-four hours,” Nightwing added with a drawl. “Most people need at least two or three days, to say nothing of the psychological trauma. And on a kid? Even worse.”

Peter’s face got paler and paler with every condemnation. Robin said, “Tt. I suggest you let your employee go home for the evening. Perhaps with bonus pay to make up for your mistake.”

Something about Robin’s words struck Lucia as oddly familiar, but she was so relieved that she was getting backup for this bullshit that she didn’t give it much thought. Peter wrung his hands. “I wish I could. But we’re short-staffed…”

“You’re the manager. Hiring workers and creating staff schedules is your responsibility, not hers,” Robin snapped, and Lucia suddenly recalled that this teenager had a habit of fighting several men at once. And the sword strapped to his back was not for decoration. “If you decide to fire her over this, we will know.”

“R-Right. Right. Uh, Lucia, why don’t you take the rest of the evening off?”

Lucia was already shedding her Batwoman costume. “See you Monday. And thank you. Stay safe out there, all right?”

“No promises,” Red Hood said.

Chapter Text

“So your mother’s manager ultimately gave her the night off?” Damian asked during Monday lunch.

Maria bit into her cheese and turkey sandwich to hide her smile. As if Damian hadn’t been there himself, hadn’t chewed Peter out with half of his family for her family’s sake. “Yup. She’s got another shift this afternoon.”

“He won’t fire her, will he?”

“Probably not. If he does…well, I can probably find Red Hood easily enough. If he’s not too busy. Fast food managers might not be in his job description.”

“Perhaps you’ll get lucky and it’ll be a slow week for him,” Damian suggested, popping a carrot in his mouth.

Maria had ultimately decided against going to the Waynes’ on Saturday. Emily had continued to scream herself awake Friday and Saturday night. Maria spent those nights holding her sister while she cried.

She didn’t ask Emily what the fear gas made her see. That was one of Gotham’s unspoken rules, right up there with “let the Bats do what they want,” “assume all cops are crooked,” and “if you saw something, no you didn’t.”

So with her limited sleep, she’d called Saturday off. Damian had been understanding, and she’d received several texts from the other Waynes and Wayne-adjacents: Alfred had given her condolences and asked for that peanut butter brownie recipe (HA. She knew the old man appreciated her desserts), Duke had told her he was looking forward to seeing her next week, and Stephanie had asked if she wanted to hang out after school a different day, once things settled down.

Maria had been surprised at the offer. Spoiler asking to hang out with her? Outside of self-defense training?

She’d tentatively agreed to a movie on Tuesday. After all, she’d need Monday afternoon to catch up on the assignments she’d missed. And the local theater had $5 tickets on Tuesdays, which was pretty much all she had in her pocket.

Aw, yes!!! Love that theater!! Stephanie had replied. I swear they sprinkle cocaine on the popcorn.

“How is your sister?” Damian asked.

“She’s all right,” Maria said. “She stopped having nightmares yesterday, and she’s back to school today. I know they upped the security something serious.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered, reaching for his juice box. The motion tugged on the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing bruises.

When Lucia had arrived home early from work with the incredibly satisfying story of the Bats yelling at her boss, she’d also mentioned how tired, worn-out, and bruised they all looked. Considering they’d been fighting Scarecrow less than an hour earlier, Maria wasn’t surprised.

Still, she motioned to the bruise and asked, “Steph?”

“Cassandra,” he said. “She was ruthless on Saturday.”

For all Maria knew, that could be true.

“I’ve got ibuprofen in my bag,” she offered, as she always did.

And as he always did, Damian shook his head. “It’s not that serious.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

--

Maria was still less than impressed with Mr. Brown, the chemistry substitute teacher.

He knew the material well enough, she supposed. But he had no discipline in his class, the other students constantly whispering and passing notes to each other even under his nose. He only stepped in when a cell phone pinged. And he always lectured in a bored, monotone voice.

Maria tried to focus on it. Just because she didn’t like the teacher didn’t mean that she could afford to fail his class. If she got anything less than a B-average across her report card, she forfeited her scholarship and wouldn’t even be able to go to the Academy. On top of that, college applications would start in a couple of years, and she wanted to avoid pulling loans as much as possible. Her chances of getting a full-ride scholarship were much better if she got as close to a 4.0 GPA as she could manage.

Still, the whispers of her classmates behind her cut through her concentration. Especially when she heard Damian’s name, followed by “little terrorist.”

The lead of her mechanical pencil broke against her paper. She turned around and whispered, “What?”

The two rumor-millers were Rachel the theater nerd and Jessica the cheerleader. They were both from Maria’s history class. Jessica shrugged, flipping her hair. “Nothing.”

“No, what were you saying?” Maria whispered.

“Just that we noticed some bruises on Damian’s arms,” Rachel admitted, having the grace to look guilty. “It looked like he’d gotten into a fight.”

“He spars with his siblings,” Maria said. “They do it every weekend.”

“Is that what he told you?” Jessica asked pityingly.

“I go to his house every Saturday. They’ve been teaching me self-defense, too.”

That made both girls pause. Jessica glared at her. “Well, you should be careful. Wouldn’t want him to radicalize you or anything.”

The way she said it made something like dread stir in Maria’s gut. But something else, too. An unfamiliar surge of cold rage, deadening her voice as she asked, “What does that mean?”

Jessica shrugged. “Just saying.”

“What. Does that. Mean?”

Jessica continued to play innocent, but Rachel fessed up: “Just that…well, guys like Damian are more likely to be…violent. Extremist.”

“Guys like Damian,” Maria repeated.

“Well…his mom is from the Middle East.”

Maria set down her pencil. “So. Because Damian isn’t white, he’s more likely to be a terrorist? Is that your conclusion?”

Rachel’s face was completely red by now. Jessica shrugged again. “You’re the one who said it.”

Normally, Maria would ignore bullies and rumors. Nothing she ever did stopped them, and she had better things to do with her time and energy.

But that was when they were bullying her.

“First of all, the vast majority of terrorism in this country is done by white men, not those of Pakistani descent,” she said, her voice clipped. “Second of all, it is extremely prejudiced, idiotic, and immature to accuse someone of being a violent criminal based on their ethnicity and skin color. Stop being racist trash bags and grow the fuck up.”

That got Jessica to stare at her, mouth agape, while Rachel’s face somehow got even redder.

“Maria.”

She turned back to the front, Mr. Brown’s call pausing the class. “Yessir?”

“Care to share your conversation with the class?”

Ugh. He enforced the most arbitrary rules sometimes!

She smiled sweetly, her blood still pulsing with cold anger. “Just helping my friends with one of the more difficult compounds! They kind of zoned out for a little bit there. Happens to all of us.”

He grunted, turning back to the board. “Anyway, proteins…”

--

“Did you call Jessica a racist bitch?”

Maria snorted, pulling on her coat. It was an old one of Lucia’s that she’d let Maria steal last year, a little too big but buttery-soft and warm. Maria prayed that she didn’t get bigger boobs, hips, or gut than her mother; they borrowed from each other’s closets so much they were practically one, even Emily dipping in now and then (although that was growing rarer as the youngest Johnson developed an actual sense of style instead of “warm, cheap, no holes, good” that the rest of the family adhered to.)

Damian had the most confused look on his face she’d ever seen from him.

“I did not call her a racist bitch,” she corrected. “I called her a racist trash bag.”

“…why?”

“Because she was being a racist trash bag.”

“To you?”

“No. To you,” Maria admitted, looking away. It’d been hours and she still couldn’t believe she’d said it. In the middle of class. With the F-bomb!

Damian frowned. “You could’ve gotten in trouble.”

“I honestly wasn’t thinking about that,” Maria admitted, face heating.

“And I could not care less about the opinions of the likes of Jessica.”

“No, I know. But she doesn’t get to say that type of thing about you. Or anyone. She straight-up called you a terrorist!” Maria hugged her backpack to her chest. “Besides, you literally did the same thing for me.”

Now it was Damian’s turn to blush, tanned skin turning red. “Yes, well…if her insults were based on truth, I’d have been more lenient.”

“Honestly, same.”

“‘Racist trash bag’ is a decent insult, considering it’s the first one I’ve ever heard you use. Simple, but not too crude.”

Maria giggled. “I did follow it up by telling them to grow the fuck up.”

Damian stared at her. “You’re spending far too much time with Jason.”

“Stephanie, actually. We’re catching a movie after school tomorrow.” Maria was kind of surprised that the blond didn’t go to GA, but apparently she wasn’t “actually” a Wayne and had never been adopted by Bruce, what with her mom still alive. Her school was only a few neighborhoods over, still in the nicer part of town, and she’d offered to pick Maria up so they wouldn’t have to take the buses.

“That’s a much better teacher,” Damian said, following her down the hall toward the exit. “She’ll have you wielding sharp insults in no time.”

“Oh my god, it happened once!” she laughed. “It’s not like I’m going to make it a habit.”

“We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

When asked later, Maria would admit that she was surprised it took as long as it did for the Waynes to pull her into their unique brand of trouble. Accidentally, of course. And not even because they were Bats! But still. This was Gotham.

The school day went on as usual on Tuesday, with the exception of Maria texting Stephanie to confirm their movie plans that afternoon. “Did you want to come with us, or have her drive you home?” she asked Damian over lunch.

He shook his head. “Mr. Brown asked that I speak with him after hours.”

She frowned. “For what? I thought you’ve been getting good grades there.”

“Apparently my behavior during the most recent labs was less than satisfactory.” He glared at his pesto pasta. “I didn’t even insult anyone.”

Maria made a face. “Weird.”

A couple of hours later, when the final bell rang for the day, Maria dumped what she didn’t need in her locker, grabbed her coat, and left, reading the text from Stephanie that said she’d be there in about twenty minutes.

It was fifteen minutes into scratching out her math assignment on the bench that Maria realized she’d forgotten part of her Spanish homework in her locker. (Yes, she was already mostly fluent in Spanish thanks to her mother. She still took the class because it looked good for colleges and it’d be an easy A. If she did all her assignments on time.)

So Maria went back inside, the school halls suddenly larger and darker without hundreds of students bustling back and forth. It made something itch beneath her skin; she wasn’t used to hanging around school after hours.

She was halfway through entering her locker combination when hurried footsteps caught the edge of her hearing. She dismissed it; probably someone running late for sports practice.

“Hey! You.”

She looked up, face-to-face with Mr. Brown and a police officer.

She blinked. Her Crime Alley schools swarmed with police, who constantly arrested kids that just got sent to the principal’s office anywhere else. She’d never seen one in Gotham Academy.

“Maria?” Mr. Brown asked as the two men reached her. The police officer put his thumbs in his belt, hand dangerously close to his gun. “Have you seen Damian?”

“Not since sixth period. Why?” she asked. Her locker was open, but she didn’t dare reach into it.

“It’s…well, it’s not really your concern.”

“Are you going to arrest him?” she asked, looking at the officer.

“I’m investigating the disappearance of Miss Weston,” the officer said. Benson was stitched into his shirt. “And I have reason to believe Damian is involved.”

She gaped at him. “What.”

“To top it off, as soon as he saw me, he ran. That’s not a good look.”

“How on earth could Damian have anything to do with Miss Weston?”

“Well, it looks like she found evidence that he was either doing or dealing drugs to the rest of the students.” Benson studied her. “Tell me, has he ever tried to sell you anything or tried to get you to try something? You’re not in trouble.”

“Damian doesn’t do drugs,” Maria insisted. “And he certainly doesn’t sell them. He has no reason to.”

Benson narrowed his eye suspiciously. “And how do you know that?”

“I’m the Crime Alley scholarship kid,” she deadpanned. “I know.”

Her cell phone dinged.

“That’s my friend Stephanie, probably wondering where I am,” she said. “We’re going to a movie. I just came back to collect my homework, so if you don’t mind…”

She turned her back on the officer and substitute teacher, collecting the book she needed before closing the locker door. When she turned back, Mr. Brown was shaking his head while Benson gestured to her. Maria awkwardly cleared her throat and stepped around them. “Excuse me…”

Had this been why Mr. Brown asked to see Damian after class? So Officer Benson could arrest him? That was so weird. Normally, police just pulled students straight out of class to question or arrest them, rather than wait patiently for them to finish their day.

No, not normally. Always. Police always did that.

And for drug charges of all things? Damian didn’t have any of the signs of that. Hell, Maria could think of five kids at this school that probably were addicts—or who at least knew dealers—but everyone left them alone because they were from some of Gotham’s richest, most powerful families. Their parents had good lawyers and could sue anyone over a whisper of rumors, rather than let their darling rich asshole babies face consequences.

Meanwhile, at her middle school, Maria had been questioned twice by police who thought she was “acting suspicious” (re: carrying a backpack while Latina, and hurrying after the bus while Latina). Most of the kids questioned by the school police had been Latin or Black, regardless of whether they were actually affiliated with drug dealers or not.

So maybe this was just a case of racism? Damian was Pakistani after all, but one would think his status as a Wayne would protect him. Maybe Officer Benson was hoping Bruce Wayne would throw money at him to make it go away? Although the only way that would work was if there was evidence found on Damian, which would probably mean Benson would have to plant some, which just seemed to be playing with fire. Just go after one of the students actually dealing drugs…

Yeah, okay, this whole thing was really fishy.

Maria dug her phone out, seeing the text from Steph. Hey, I’m here!

Hesitating a brief moment, Maria texted back, Omw. A police office showed up to arrest Damian. Something about drug charges? Which makes NO sense. Mr. Brown was with him.

Send.

She found Damian’s contact and hesitated again. She stopped by the water fountain, jutting out of the wall, and used the opportunity to not only drink, but look behind her without being suspicious.

Mr. Brown and Officer Benson were following her. Slowly. Still whispering to each other.

She drank, wiped her mouth, and continued to walk through the school. The main entrance never seemed so far.

She hit call and pressed the phone to her ear.

It was only two rings before Damian answered, “Maria, I can’t talk right—”

“Stephanie!” she interrupted. “Hey, I’m so sorry, but I forgot some of my homework in my locker. I’m on my way right now. What car are you driving?”

There was a beat, then Damian said, “Did Mr. Brown and Officer Benson question you?”

“Yeah. It’s been a weird day. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”

“Listen to me, Maria,” Damian said, suddenly serious. “Brown is responsible for Miss Weston’s disappearance. He and Benson are hoping to kidnap a child from a rich family for ransom. I barely got out of his classroom.”

Maria opened and closed her mouth.

It was one thing to know that the police in Gotham were crooked. It was one thing to hear the stories, even from neighbors and friends and family, about them accepting bribes or working with drug lords or even altering evidence.

It was quite another to have a crooked cop tailing you ten feet away.

In a flash of insight similar to “oh my god, Bruce Wayne is Batman,” but a lot less fun, she realized why they were following her. Why they were still whispering to each other.

They were arguing over whether or not to kidnap her. Or hurt her. Or maybe just kill her.

She cleared her throat, walking like her heart wasn’t pounding in her ears. “Holy shit, Steph. That’s…are you okay? Did you want to cancel?”

“I’m fine. I assume you’re pretending to speak with Stephanie because of eavesdroppers?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s been a weird day. Though apparently not as weird as yours.”

“Are Brown and Benson nearby?”

“Yeah-huh.”

Damian said something harsh in Arabic. “Get out of there. They’ve already failed in their initial kidnapping attempt. Desperation can drive men to extremes. Especially since you’re now considered a witness!”

She wanted to run. Sprint. Get outside where Stephanie—Spoiler—was undoubtedly waiting for her and there were other students waiting for their parents to pick them up. The front doors led to the cafeteria/lobby area, and she could see the sunlight coming in through those big windows. Freedom was right there.

She continued her usual walk. To not act suspicious. Benson and Brown were coming closer, still whispering to each other. But not charging at her. So long as everyone was still walking, she had a chance.

“I mean, if you’re sure,” Maria said, keeping her voice level even as sweat pooled beneath her arms and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “But then how are you going to get home without a car?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can manage. Just get to Stephanie.”

The men were getting closer. Barely five feet away.

If they were going to grab her, there was nothing she could do.

Except…

“Yeah, she’s always been such a Spoiler fangirl,” she blurted.

Damian didn’t respond to that. She couldn’t tell if it was confusion or not.

“In fact, didn’t you go as Robin for Halloween last year?” she added. “And your dad went as Batman? Those pictures were hilarious.”

Take the hint. Take the hint! I know you're Robin. Whatever you've gotta do to get me out of this situation, do it!

Damian hissed out a breath. “Maria. Are you saying—”

The phone was yanked out of her hands.

Maria yelped, but it was cut off by Mr. Brown’s hand on her mouth, his other arm wrapped around her chest, keeping her in the hall, away from the cafeteria and the front doors.

Officer Benson spoke into her phone. “Hello, Damian. If you want your friend to stay alive and unhurt, please report back to Mr. Brown’s classroom. Immediately.”

Chapter Text

Officer Benson hadn’t finished speaking when Maria moved.

Stephanie and Damian had both worked to show her how to get out of this. It felt odd; Mr. Brown was much wider and taller than Stephanie, his peppermint body spray cloying in her nostrils.

But a foot was a foot.

Maria slammed her heel into the arch of his foot, then in the kneecap. With enough force, it could break bone.

She didn’t have enough force. But Mr. Brown still wheezed and let her go.

Maria ripped free, dropping her backpack and its extra weight, and sprinted for the doors.

Officer Benson shouted behind her. She ignored him, crashing through the first set of doors, then the second. Chill autumn air and sunlight smacked her in the face, and she kept running—

Something big and heavy slammed into her from behind, throwing her to the sidewalk.

Luckily it was her shoulder that took the brunt of the concrete’s damage, not her head, as Officer Benson tackled her. She tried to push him off, but he wasn’t a fake teacher. He easily rolled her over and wrenched her arms behind her back. “All right, you little bitch. You’re under arrest.”

Through the mess of her hair, Maria could see about half a dozen of her classmates and their late-coming parents watching. Some were in their cars, not driving away. Others were on the sidewalk, cameras out and recording. Maria gritted her teeth, forcing herself to breathe in and out.

“Let’s see how well you run after I’m done with you,” Benson whispered in her ear.

Maria swallowed. “You have too many witnesses.”

“There won’t be any cameras where we’re going.”

Icy fear shot down her spine as the cuffs locked into place. At her back. She had to find a way out. Had to—

“Whoa!” The familiar sound of a grapple whistled through the air. “What’s going on here?”

Maria almost melted at the blindingly yellow armor of Signal landing in front of them.

Officer Benson grunted, hauling Maria to her feet. “Nothing to worry about here. Just some teenage rebellion.”

She dug in her heels and yelled, “He and Mr. Brown killed Miss Weston!”

Several of their witnesses gave her bizarre looks. One—Jessica, go figure—even laughed. She ignored them, even ignored Stephanie running out of her car toward them, focusing on Signal, who tipped his head curiously. “They killed her so that Mr. Brown could substitute and get his hands on a rich kid. Damian Wayne.”

“Who is the next kid I need to arrest,” Benson interrupted. “Drug charges. Signal, this is well below your paygrade. She's just blowing smoke.”

“Signal, I will happily get arrested, but not by this man!” Maria pleaded. “He straight-up threatened to murder me just now, and I don’t know what he’ll do with Damian. So please, call someone. Anyone else. And I won’t resist.”

Benson started dragging her away, toward his car.

Signal blocked their path. “Set her down.”

The officer snorted. “You don’t believe this BS, do you? I found cocaine in her and her friend’s lockers. That’s why she’s spouting all this nonsense.”

“Set. Her. Down.”

Benson sighed and unceremoniously dropped Maria onto the concrete. She folded her legs at the last minute, sitting cross-legged.

Signal put a hand to his ear. “Oracle? Hey. Can you send—you’re already on it? Awesome.”

By now Stephanie had reached them. She stopped just behind Signal. “Where’s Damian?”

“I don’t know,” Maria admitted. “Still in the school, I think? I don’t think he’s hurt—”

“I’m right here.”

She could’ve cried when Damian stepped outside, his clothes ruffled, but not a scratch on him. “Signal, I overheard this officer and the substitute teacher Mr. Brown plan on pretending to arrest me, then take me to a safehouse rather than a precinct to demand a hefty ransom from my father.”

“He’s lying,” Benson spat.

Signal smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

“Batman, Robin, and I have been investigating Beatrice Weston’s disappearance,” the vigilante said. “We’ve been having a hard time because of the lack of CCTV cameras in the area where she vanished. Except, did you know that there’s this one really nice neighbor across the street who just installed a Ring camera?”

The blood drained from Benson’s face.

Signal’s smile widened, a toothie grin not unlike a shark's. “You wanna know whose face we saw on that footage?”

Benson went for his gun.

Signal was faster.

Maria blinked, and the officer was on the ground, writhing as Signal tazed him. She scooted away, helped along by Damian and Stephanie—who each grabbed an arm and helped her up—as Signal got his own cuffs on the corrupt police officer.

“So,” Signal said as police sirens neared. “You said something about a substitute teacher?”

--

The next couple of hours were a blur.

More police showed up. Someone put a blanket around Maria’s shoulders. Someone else—probably Signal—uncuffed her. Mr. Brown was dragged out of the school with a limp, cuffed.

Detective Montoya was nice. She got Maria some hot chocolate. It was more like lukewarm chocolate-water, but it helped jar Maria back into reality. The older Latina spoke in a kind but no-nonsense manner. Maria answered all of her questions—leaving out the part about hinting to Damian that she knew he was Robin. She wasn’t that out of it.

Then she was bundled into a car, and—

Wait. This wasn’t her mother’s car.

“So, no movie today,” Stephanie said from the driver’s seat. Maria could only see part of her face and a lot of blond hair, since she was in the back seat. With Damian. Who had her backpack on his lap next to his own. “Let’s get you to the Manor. First kidnapping’s always the roughest.”

“I don’t think they wanted to kidnap me,” Maria said faintly. “I think they just wanted to kill me.”

Damian patted her shoulder. The touch grounded her. “You conducted yourself admirably. Most people would’ve lost their heads far sooner.”

“…I think I need to call my mom.”

“We’ll handle that," Damian promised, pulling out his phone. "I'm texting Father now. I believe he has Ms. Johnson's number?"

Maria nodded numbly, though she didn't think the two parents had actually talked to each other. The number-swap was more of a precaution in case Maria broke a leg during workout Saturday.

The drive was largely silent, until the Manor and its iron gate was in view, and Maria suddenly realized, “I didn’t bring a snack.”

“Oh well!” Stephanie cheered. “You’ll just have to bring two next time! Preferably something chocolate, but I’ll also accept strawberry.”

The levity made Maria crack a smile.

Alfred was waiting for them at the door, because of course he was. “I shall get some hot chocolate started. Miss Maria, Master Bruce is currently on the phone with your mother, so she knows you’re in good hands. I suspect I’ll be dispatched shortly to pick her up from wherever she’s been sent to clean today.”

Right. Because even though Lucia had a car, she only drove to the company’s office. They then bundled everyone into a shuttle to go to wherever they needed to go.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She instinctively went to check her phone, only to remember that Officer Benson had it.

“Ah, your phone was taken as evidence,” Damian said apologetically. “But I overheard the police say that it was damaged beyond repair. I believe Officer Benson dropped it.”

Maria rubbed her forehead. So they were going to have to pay for a new phone. Phenomenal.

He tugged her into one of the living rooms. Maria was really only familiar with the upstairs gym and the kitchen/dining room area, but she’d seen this room in passing, the big TV with video games littered around it. The couch practically swallowed her, and Stephanie threw another, much thicker and softer, blanket on top of her. “Shock is a bitch, but a blanket burrito makes everything better.”

“I haven’t lost nearly enough blood for it to be shock,” Maria protested.

“I meant emotional shock.”

Damian dropped next to her. He didn’t have any blankets. Probably because this was a pretty average Tuesday for him.

“…just brought her in. Yup, she’s right here.” Bruce came into the room, speaking into his phone. He held it out to Maria with a kind smile. “It’s your mother.”

Maria snatched it. “Mom?”

Lucia blew out a breath. “Are you all right?”

“Y-Yeah.” Something wet slid down Maria’s face. She wiped it away. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just got some bruises, but…they weren’t after me. Only Damian. I just kinda…wrong place, wrong time.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a good thing that she’d gone back for her Spanish homework, or bad. Had she distracted the kidnappers, giving Damian the opportunity to escape? Or had she only complicated things?

“Bruce said it was a corrupted officer after you?” Lucia demanded.

Maria swallowed, remembering the bite of steel around her wrists. Knowing that everyone on that sidewalk would have let Benson carry her away no matter what she said or did.

Well. Not everyone.

“It’s okay, Signal got to me in time,” she said. “I don’t think this is going on my record.”

Bruce shook his head no. And right, she hadn’t even been fingerprinted or processed.

“Fuck the record, I just want to make sure that cop doesn’t get out,” Lucia snapped.

Bruce gently took the phone back. “Lucia? Me, again. I’ve already got lawyers on it. He’s not getting back on the streets for a very long time. That I can guarantee.”

Lucia audibly collected herself. “Right. You’ve got rich lawyer money. Thank you, Bruce. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll take you up on your offer for a driver.”

“Text me an address, and Alfred will be there shortly. ‘Til then, Maria’s in good hands.”

“I know. Thank you.”

They hung up. Maria had to wipe her face again, because she couldn’t stop crying. Damian wordlessly handed her a box of tissues.

“Ugh. Sorry,” she said after blowing her nose. “I know you guys are used to this type of thing.”

Stephanie shrugged. “It still sucks. At least you didn’t get any new bullet holes.”

“And you’re a civilian, not exactly trained for this,” Bruce said, sitting in the cushioned chair across from her. His look was more calculating than she was used to. “How long have you known about our identities?”

Alfred came in with the hot cocoa. Maria gratefully took her mug and waited for Bruce to give the man her mother’s address before admitting, “The first time you invited me over. It was just…a lot of little things clicked into place, even though it was mostly just a guess. I started doing research after I got home, created a timeline lining up all the adoptions with appearance of new Robins and capes, figured out that Dick was probably Batman while you were doing I don’t even know what, and then realized, ‘Wow, I’m leaving a fantastic evidence trail’ and destroyed it.”

“Thank you for that,” Bruce said, smiling.

Stephanie slurped her hot chocolate. “He was stuck in time. We all thought he was dead until Tim figured it out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Damian asked.

She shrugged. “It seemed like the kind of thing you should tell me? Also I…I thought maybe you needed something normal. Not cape-related.”

Lord knows she and Lucia had needed what little slivers of normalcy and safety they could reach when they’d been stuck under Lionel Johnson. It wasn’t the same, but still.

“Also, the last time I made an assumption about your family without any hard proof, that was way off the mark,” she added, heat flooding her cheeks.

Bruce laughed, crow's feet crinkling. “That sent us into a bit of a flurry.”

Her face heated more. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It gave me the perfect excuse to get all my kids under the same roof every week."

“Yeah, and it wasn’t that much different from the usual schedule,” Stephanie added. “We just usually do our workouts in the Batcave.”

Maria looked between the three of them. “You have a literal Batcave?”

“Complete with actual bats,” Stephanie added. Damian nodded sagely.

“That cannot be hygienic.”

“The medical wing is completely sealed off and regularly sanitized,” Damian assured her.

“They carry rabies!”

“Our colony is perfectly healthy and cared for.”

She ran a hand down her face. “That is so not the point. Also, how do you insulate a whole cave in winter? You’re going to get sick!”

“The cold is good for the super-computer.”

“It’s not good for you!”

“Our suits have thermal heating!” he argued.

“Oh my god, not the point.”

They continued to bicker until Alfred texting saying he and Lucia were five minutes away. Bruce asked, “You didn’t tell your mom or sister?”

“No,” Maria promised. The hot chocolate was gone, she’d shed the blanket, and while her hands shook a little she was already feeling better.

“Please keep it that way.”

“Yeah, sure.” She glanced at Damian. “So…can I still come over on Saturday?”

Damian visibly relaxed, even smiled as Stephanie squeezed her in a half-hug. “Girl, you just survived your first kidnapping. On Saturday, we’re celebrating.”