Work Text:
Stephanie had been dead for three days now. she stared at the graveyard, stones lined up methodically around her. She sighed. She was bored.
Being dead sucked.
She outstretched her arms-arm? if you could call it that-it was kind of clear, and felt light. and soon realized she didn't need to stretch. She wasn't even sore.
Huh.
Maybe being dead wasn't so bad after all.
She wandered around the graveyard, running her finger along the stones. It wasn't as if she could touch it, but she could pseudo-touch it. It was weird, and she didn't really understand it. Lots of different names here- Smith, Daniel, Rodriguez. No other ghosts, as far as she could tell. She was the only one.
Wait.
Why was she the only one?
Was this the afterlife?
She had heard of near death experiences, of going to the great beyond(whatever that may be), but now she was experiencing it. Why, then, was she still on earth? Maybe hell really was on earth, and she had gone to hell. Well, that wasn't fair, she thought to herself. She hadn't done anything to deserve this.
Well. Maybe a few things, but what happened to the whole 'Jesus forgives' thing?? Also, her memory was fuzzy, but she was pretty sure she had just been murdered. If anyone deserved salvation, it was her.
She crossed her arms and sat down as these thoughts ran through her head, and found herself floating in the air. Freaky. So she really was a ghost.
Which begged the question, what, then, could she do?
After hours of testing, this is what she could do:
- if she blew really hard, she could move small objects, like sticks, or paper
- She could..float?? She quickly fell when she saw Batman patrolling out of the corner of her eye
- she could. uh. be a really big inconvenience to the bats on patrol.
It wasn’t on purpose, Nightwing just happened to be in her field of vision-which had gotten a lot better, by the way-and she had made it her life's mission to talk to him. It was mainly just gibberish, like,
“Hey. What are you doing?”
And:
“Where are we going now?”
It was mostly those two phrases, repeated over and over. Nightwing didn’t seem to notice at first, but he was getting visibly more and more irritated. Stephanie would have stopped if it wasn’t so funny.
And then, she did stop.
He was at the scene of a car accident-nothing unusual, sure. The bats would help with all kinds of cases, and Nightwing was no exception. In fact, Stephanie was pretty sure that Nightwing would help with the ‘trivial’ cases more than Batman would. Not that any case was trivial. Actually..this case..
There was blood, which was expected. Someone probably died. No ghosts either-Stephanie was the only one for as far as she could tell-but there was no life in that car. She could feel it, somehow. The atmosphere had gotten lighter, like someone was released from suffering. It was a strange feeling, but not an altogether unpleasant one.
Okay, focus, Stephanie.
The car was rolled over. It was sitting on its roof, metal shredded against the pavement. There was no evidence of any other cars, no ice, nothing for the car to have slid on except maybe…those two spikes in the road.
But that on its own should have led to shredded tires, and you don’t usually die from shredded tires. Something else was going on, she could deduce that much. Stephanie looked at Nightwing, who was just as puzzled as she was. Not to mention, her teasing might have gone too far, since he already looked kind of on edge. Then, she heard crying. She looked up.
A kid was sitting next to a police officer, who was desperately trying to soothe her. ‘Ice cream?,’ he tried, then asked, ‘Cotton candy?’
Poor kid, Stephanie thought. Nightwing was there, though, which would probably mean that she would be safe. Nightwing was related to Batman, and Batman had provided for her daughter.
Wait.
Her daughter.
She did a double take: blue eyes, blonde hair, even the freckles-it couldn’t be. Her (imaginary) heart sank. Why was she-Bruce had said-
Maybe this wasn’t her daughter. Maybe this was all just-
“I’ll talk to Batman,” she heard Nightwing say, “He’s got a lot of records on this particular kid, for some reason”
Shit.
Was she not supposed to swear in hell? If she was, she was sure this would be an exception. Her daughter, who was supposed to be safe, with a loving family, being watched over secretly by Bruce, was sitting on the curb of an alleyway in Gotham, sobbing her eyes out. If she wasn’t dead, she’d kill Bruce.
“Don’t worry, we’ll put you in foster care-”
“Foster care?,” the girl screamed, and it occurred to Stephanie that she didn’t even know her daughter’s name. For the better, she supposed, but she was dead now, and it couldn’t matter. She made her resolve:
She would protect her daughter until her dying breath.
Nevermind that she was already dead.
First things first, she had to prevent this girl from ending up in foster care. She’d probably end up in a system, and Gotham City’s foster care was famously bad-with most of the kids running away, due to the horrible vetting-so Stephanie had to act quick. Her mind reeled. She couldn’t exactly call someone, and say, ‘hey, I’m dead, if you didn’t know, could you watch over my daughter until further notice? Until i find a lazarus pit or something, and drag myself back to life’. She couldn’t get her mother, because she had been dead for-this girl looked about, what, seven or eight? She was probably dead for about five years then.
She could get her mother, but she had also put her mother through enough, and she really didn’t want to mess that up.
She could get Bruce, figure out some way to create paranormal frequencies-he’d probably understand it, as paranoid as he was-but she wasn’t exactly happy with how he had handled this thus far.
Cassandra? Probably busy with Batgirl stuff.
Nightwing had already leapt off, so that meant he would be taking his time with the girl. Probably more unnerved by the circumstances surrounding this accident. Stephanie’s daughter, too, seemed convinced that this was not, in fact, an accident. She was protesting loudly against the police officer as she was pushed into a car.
Stephanie took a deep breath.
She needed Tim.
She hated needing Tim. Every time she needed him, that tended to blow up in her face-figuratively and literally. He was loyal, to a fault, to Batman, and she was loyal, to a fault, to her devoted cause. It had changed every once in a while, but right now, it was undoubtedly: Protect my daughter.
She found his apartment with ease, and stepped inside.
Gross.
He was always a clean freak when the two of them had dated, but there were microwave TV dinners, dirty plates in the sink, and dust piling up on the counter.
The only nice thing about the apartment was the view, and even that was obscured by the curtains being closed.
The door opened, and Tim stepped through. He had clearly aged-not by a lot, just a bit, but the circles under his eyes didn’t lie. He locked the door, and fell onto his couch.
Was he…going to sleep like this?
Stephanie tried to grab a blanket, but her fingers passed right through. The curtains? She was not able to move those. She even tried screaming, but Tim didn’t bat an eye at what was probably, at best, a whisper-shout. She was running out of time here. For all she knew, her daughter was in Arkham already.
Fine, she thought, if she couldn’t bring her daughter to Tim, she’d bring her to him.
She tried grabbing paper-she could do that-then a pen. She could not do that. She groaned, tossing her head back. Fine. She went to the police station.
“Maria Jackson,” the police officer was narrating, “Adopted daughter of -,”
Maria interrupted, “Adopted??,” she asked, wide-eyed. Stephanie winced. No one had told her?
So her daughter’s name was Maria. It was a nice name, but she could’ve done better-no. She was in a loving family, she knew that. Stephanie wouldn’t have been able to guarantee that.
Bruce hadn’t either, a voice snarked from inside her. She pushed that voice down.
“You didn’t know?,” the police officer stopped, voice softening. Maria shook her head vehemently, clearly feeling betrayed. The police officer cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Who’re my real parents?”
“I-honey, I don’t know if-”
“My other parents are dead! Are you gonna send me to live with them?,” Maria spat out the them, and Stephanie felt a piece of her sink. Them. Of course she wasn’t happy with ‘them’.
Except, ‘them’ were both dead. She was pretty sure her ex-boyfriend had died in another earthquake, and Stephanie herself was, well. You know.
“Your biological parents are deceased,” the police officer said carefully. Stephanie read her badge. Aria. Aria was feeling very awkward.
Then, it hit Stephanie. All she needed to do, then, was find a newspaper that mentioned Tim. There were probably old newspapers here, and she was pretty sure she could find her eulogy with the date she died. Tim would be in the picture of the funeral. She could deduce it from there.
She scanned the old records, shuffling through them as quietly as she could, until she found it.
Stephanie Brown: a Tragedy
She scoffed. Tragedy didn’t even begin to describe it. Also, why tragedy? Why not, ‘super cool girl dies because batman failed her’ or even ‘Stephanie Brown: a friend?’ It was cliche, but it was better than making her into a martyr for tragedies. She didn’t have time for semantics right now. She had to find tim in the photograph. Lucky for her, it was a headline, too. There was a photo and everything. Her mom, some distant family members, standing around the casket, even some kids from school.
Where was Tim?
She squinted her eyes. Did he not attend her funeral? Was he that mad at her?
Sure, she had messed up, but she had died. Surely that had to be a big enough apology.
She scanned the article. Crystal Brown, bla bla bla, survived by bla bla bla, there: Timothy Drake-Wayne.
Wait a second.
Drake-Wayne?
When had he gotten-
Oh. Tim’s parents had died, too. You only get adopted by Bruce when your parents die, and you only inherit the family title when you get adopted. So Tim’s parents had died. And Stephanie had died.
Oh no. Had the gang war..killed them?
Nevermind that- She could feel sorry later. Right now, her daughter was going to die, or worse, if she didn’t get Maria to Tim’s house.
The article mentioned them dating. That would have to be good enough-her daughter would have to be smart. She would be smart, because Stephanie was too. She got herself killed, but she got far enough to get herself killed, which had to count for something.
She briskly picked it up and flung it on the desk, startling the police officer, but not Maria.
Maria looked at it. Stephanie had made a dent where it said, Timothy Drake-Wayne, leaving a clue. She willed Maria to get it. This was her bloodline. She would get it.
“That must have been the wind. It’s drafty in here today,” Aria stood up to close the windows-which were already closed, and Maria read the newspaper.
She looked up, eyes sparkling. Yes.
“Who’s Timothy Drake-Wayne?”
Stephanie pumped her fists in the air. That was her girl! Her daughter, who, even if she hadn’t raised, she had birthed, and she would take credit for that much.
“Timothy Drake-Wayne? He’s one of Bruce Wayne’s adopted sons. Why?,” Aria asked, sitting back down, clearly a bit shaken.
“Where does he live?,” Maria asked, leaning in.
“I can’t give you that information,” Aria smiled gently, “But I promise foster care will do you nicely. We’ll keep an eye on you”
“No. I don’t want foster care. You can’t make me,” she huffed.
Aria smiled.
-
They could make her. They did make her, in fact, and she was now living in a group home with three other children. Their names were Jacob, Olivia, and Samuel, and they were, to put it nicely, not well behaved children.
Jacob was always fighting Olivia, like-physical fighting, pummeling each other into the ground, and Samuel was always screaming songs at the top of his lungs. They left Maria alone, who was starting to piece the pieces together.
Their foster parents also left them alone for hours of the day, and Stephanie watched as Maria made cookies. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to do anything if anything caught fire, but she would watch regardless.
She made countless batches, until she deemed one worthy. Did she like cookies that much?
Stephanie watched as she took out a card, and wrote:
To Mister Wayne-Drake.
It was for Tim. She was going to Tim’s house.
She didn’t know where his apartment was, but Stephanie did. She could leave a trail of twigs for her. Tomorrow morning, then. She was going to get Maria to safety.
-
The next morning, she woke Maria up with a gust of air. She was carrying a basket of twigs-which, she had discovered, were not visible to the living unless she put directly in contact with the living, like on the ground or in the dirt-so she watched as Maria rubbed her eyes. She placed a twig gently at her footsteps, and Maria blinked, looking out the window, confused.
Stephanie nodded encouragingly. She had noticed her, that was good. She led the trail of twigs to the bag of cookies she had made and out the door.
Maria followed them, picking up each twig as she went. She was half asleep, and she may not even remember this by tomorrow. No matter, Stephanie was going to get her to safety.
She led her through the streets of Gotham, methodically placing each twig, one by one, until it reached Tim’s apartment. Maria stared, holding the twigs in hand, at the large apartment. She looked around, now awake, and clearly confused. That wasn’t good. She might start rationalizing that she was sleepwalking, and go home.
Maria just shrugged, and left the twigs on the doorstep, walking into the building. Good. It was the third apartment on the third floor. This apartment needed better security.
Stephanie was able to trip the motion sensors of the elevator, and held it open for Maria, who followed into it. She placed three sticks on the ground to signify ‘third floor’. Maria pressed the third floor button. She was trembling. Stephanie hadn’t meant to scare her, but whatever awaited her would be much scarier than a ghost. She was also a nice ghost, like Casper. Not when she saw Bruce, though. When she saw Bruce, she would turn into a poltergeist.
Maria stepped cautiously out of the elevator, and it was as if heaven above sent a message because there was Tim, going into his apartment. Maria looked around for confirmation, and Stephanie placed a stick on the ground pointing to him. Maria stepped forward, slowly, carefully, and hesitated at the door. Stephanie said, unconsciously,
“Knock. You can do it”
And even though Maria didn’t seem to hear, she knocked. Pride swelled up in her gut as she watched her daughter with baited breath. This was it. She would be safe now, she would be happy. Stephanie could rest now, whatever that meant.
Five seconds later, Tim opened the door.
Maria cleared her throat.
“My name is Maria Jackson, and I am here to avenge my parents. I bring you the finest chocolate chip cookies in exchange for your assistance”
This wasn’t good.