Chapter Text
It began on a Wednesday. Mid-rain. Gotham’s version of peace. The Batcave echoed with quiet beeping and the low hum of data streams. Bruce looked up from the main monitor. His team had returned—Damian, Stephanie, Cass, Bette, and Tim—but something was off.
They didn't wear their suits.
They wore something else—robes, cloaks, masks of another world. And their eyes… gods, their eyes didn’t belong to children anymore. They held the stillness of death and the weight of old wars.
Damian stepped forward first, no longer Robin, no longer the aggressive, hyper-trained grandson of Ra's. Instead, she radiated a calm, ethereal grace. She wore a black long-sleeved shirt and a light purple apron-skirt over shorts, crimson thigh stockings and a red bracelet at her wrist.
“I’m Rin now,” she said. “Not Damian. Not anymore.”
Stephanie twirled beside her, dressed in a flowing dark kimono that whispered around her ankles. “You can call me Shizune,” she smiled softly. “I missed my hands being used for healing instead of punching.”
“...What the hell is going on?” Jason’s voice cut in. “What are you wearing?”
Cass—no. Shisui—stepped forward in his sleek ANBU uniform, crow mask hanging at his hip. “These are not costumes,” he said, voice low and lilting. “We remember our past lives, our real ones. Gotham isn’t the first hell we’ve lived through.”
Behind him, Bette adjusted the loose, wide-sleeved kimono draped over his shoulders. Three bubbles etched into the back danced like ghosts. His orange sash was knotted lazily, grey pants peeking beneath the silk. “I was Utakata,” he said, and for once his face bore a serene smile. “Now I’m just trying not to explode over small things.”
Tim stood beside him, silent, clad in a weasel mask and tight ANBU gear. Then, he tilted his head and murmured, “I am Itachi. I chose this.”
Bruce’s fingers twitched. “This is a joke. A game.”
“No,” Rin—Damian—said gently. “It’s remembrance.”
Jason moved forward, lips curled. “Wait. You’re all having a group psychotic break? Tim just called himself Itachi—”
“Uchiha Itachi,” Tim said with quiet firmness, removing his mask to reveal eyes that had the same weight as the Mangekyo. “Red Robin is dead.”
“Are you hearing yourselves?” Dick interjected. “This isn’t cosplay! You’re quoting names from a manga—”
“Not a manga,” Shisui interrupted, folding his arms. “A life. One I died in. One I lived for someone else.”
Itachi turned to him, his eyes soft and intense. “You mean me, don’t you?”
Shisui flushed crimson, mouth opening, then closing. “Don’t flirt with me in front of… them, Itachi.”
“But we’re alive again,” Itachi said, closing the space between them with effortless grace. “And no longer shackled to the clan or war. What excuse do you have now, Shisui?”
“I—!” Shisui turned away, but not before everyone saw the blush that made him seem years younger. “I loved you,” he mumbled. “I died for you.”
“I know,” Itachi whispered. “And now I’m going to make you regret that in only the best ways.”
Tim—the real Tim—might’ve died inside just then. Shisui nearly fainted.
Bette flopped onto the Batcave steps and sighed. “Back in the Pure Land, we watched it all—everything Obito did. God, that boy fell hard. Literally caused a war and became a god because Rin died.”
“Obito?” Bruce asked, trying to latch onto anything sensible.
“Her ex,” Shizune chirped, nodding to Rin. “He went kind of bonkers when she died. Did a whole massacre, genocide, broke the moon, summoned a tree demon. Classic love story.”
“Rin,” Bruce repeated, turning to Damian. “You’re saying that you were her? That’s who you identify as now?”
“I am her,” Rin answered. “And yes. I died by Kakashi’s hand. Voluntarily. For the village. For my friends.”
Cass let his ANBU mask hang on her hip and stepped in, arms crossed. “I died too. For peace. For the hope that my death would be enough.”
“Didn’t work though,” Shizune whispered under her breath.
“Who are you now, Cass?” Dick asked softly.
“I’m Shisui Uchiha. The one who gave everything to stop a coup. Including both eyes and, eventually, myself. I thought if I died, Itachi would be safe.”
“You were wrong,” Itachi whispered, brushing his hand lightly against Shisui’s. “But I forgive you.”
Again, red painted Shisui’s cheeks.
Jason waved a hand in the air. “So we’re just skipping over the part where you literally murdered your entire clan?”
“I did what was asked,” Itachi said, with a soft shrug. “But this world is different. Here, I have him.”
“So!” Bette shouted, eager to pivot, “What’s the first mission for a group of past-life ninjas reborn as Gotham vigilantes?”
“No missions,” Bruce snapped. “Not until I know what you’re capable of.”
The group shared a look. A silent, amused, knowing look.
Rin stepped forward, touched the edge of the Batcomputer, and murmured in Japanese: "Shinra Tensei."
A pulse—barely visible—crackled from her palm. The lights flickered. All of the systems restarted.
“Language compatibility, chakra manipulation, high-tier medical ninjutsu,” she said sweetly. “Also, I might be able to summon slugs now.”
Shizune snorted. “Mine’s better. I have poison mist. Also healing. And I can multitask like a boss.”
Utakata leaned back, blowing a small bubble that hovered in the air. “I can weaponize soap. Don’t laugh—ask anyone who ever saw my Bubble Technique.”
Shisui adjusted his mask, eyes flickering red. “Genjutsu. I can cast illusions on everyone here and make you think you’re fish. Don’t test me.”
“And I can kill you,” Itachi said quietly. “But I won’t. Unless you hurt him.”
Jason looked to Bruce. “We need a containment plan.”
“I can hear you,” Rin said, raising a brow. “We don’t want to destroy Gotham. We want to protect it. Maybe this time we’ll succeed.”
Alfred’s voice echoed in from upstairs. “Might I suggest tea, Master Wayne? It sounds as though your family has... grown.”