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Stephanie’s vocal cords were raw with misuse, eyes itchy as she swiped at them roughly. Today had not been a good day.
Her boyfriend had been such an asshole today, bitching and whining about how Steph didn’t want to watch the shows he wanted. It wasn’t just that as the problem, even though Steph liked him as a guy, he was just so selfish all the time!
The fight had gotten bigger and louder until he had stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut. The movement had rattled the shelves so much it had knocked over one of Steph’s framed pictures of the two, completely shattering the glass.
Steph had walked out then, only grabbing her bag and phone, not bothering to pick it up. It felt like a sign from some higher power, a sign she would act on when she could think past the haze of anger clouding her vision.
Sitting on the apartment roof, Steph tried to distract herself by scrolling through social media. No messages. But of-fucking course a post came up on her feed.
Four familiar faces, all bunched into a restaurant booth, smiling and faces squished together.
Her college friends, girls she had thought she was close with, had gone out to her favorite restaurant all together, without her.
Sure, they weren’t obligated to bring her along every time they hung out, but all four? Today? And did they have to post it?
Shutting her phone off before the urge to throw it off the edge of the building grew too strong, Steph leaned her head back against the brick wall. Tears pricked in her eyes, dried tear tracks ready for a second round of sobs.
The buzzing of her phone barely registered in her brain, but when she finally looked down, she could make out the contact name through blurry vision.
“Hey Mum.” Steph hid the tears in her voice, but she still sounded tired. “What’s up?”
“Hey baby.” Crystal sighed, already a bad sign. “I’m so sorry darling, I know you were looking forward to tonight, but I’ve just been called into work, non negotiable.”
Swelling in her throat almost choked her voice. “Oh, okay.”
Guilt was clear in her mum’s tone, and Steph tried not to be angry at her. “I’m so sorry baby girl, we’ll try again next week, hm?”
“Yeah, okay.” Steph pulled her phone away for a second to sniffle, running a hand under her nose. “Hey Mum, I’ve gotta go, love you, bye.”
Steph hurriedly ended the call, not waiting for an answer. Instead she dropped her phone carelessly beside her and pulled her knees to her chest, face buried as she cried.
Happy eighteenth Stephanie Brown.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The feeling of Stephanie’s fist slamming into flesh wasn’t as satisfactory as she had been hoping. In fact, all her pent up anger and frustration grew with every hit she landed on the criminal under her.
Couldn’t even have this, could she? No, everything had to have that layer of shittiness that always made itself known when Steph thought she found something good.
She knew she was jealous, but how could she not be? Most of her friends had amazing families and other friends, great opportunities and were all oblivious to how good they have it. Sure, no one who lived in Gotham was going to have the perfect life, but Steph wished she didn’t have shitty life event after shitty life event.
There was a certain grief that came from Steph's life and experiences. Grief for a group of friends that valued her as much as she put herself out for them. Grief for a life where she had been born into a safe neighbourhood with a white picket fence and a dog. Grief for a relationship with her sperm donor where he was anything but an abusive scumbag that went out as a knockoff Riddler and spread his abuse outside of his family.
Tears blurred Steph’s vision, a contrast to her dry throat. She ignored the raw, aching in her vocal cords as she let out a frustrated cry as her boot slammed into the criminal’s leg below her.
Rage and tears still clouding her vision, Steph whirled around when a hand landed on her shoulder. Fist pulled back in preparation, Steph sagged when her eyes landed on a familiar emo cowl.
“Are you alright?” Bruce’s voice was the same gruff growl he always used as Batman, but from years of knowing him, Steph could hear the concern.
Scoffing, Steph turned her head away. “Yeah old man, what’s it to you?” A certain cutting anger Steph thought she had long buried rose to the surface. The words slipped from her mouth easily, even as her brain protested. “Didn’t seem to care about feelings when I was Robin, did you? Or any other time for that matter.”
A silence settles over them, and Steph doesn’t let herself regret the words. She hardens her resolve, willing to have this fight right now if it meant pulling her head away from everything else fighting for a spot in her brain. She wanted to scream and hurl biting remarks and words at Bruce and not feel like her anger is for nothing, just screamed into the void that is America's shithole, Gotham.
Bruce didn’t take the bait, Steph knew it the second he huffed that little breath out. It wasn’t his usual ‘You’re being exceptionally frustrating right now’ huff, it was his ‘Let me emotionally prepare for this conversation’ huff. Steph had been hearing that breath a lot from the man recently. It intrigued her the same amount as it had her wanting to rip her hair out.
“Spoiler, there are a lot of things I’ve failed in.” Bruce starts slowly.
Steph feels the overwhelming urge to just leave, run away before Bruce can say something that pisses her off more. She opens her mouth to cut him off, but Bruce doesn’t give her the chance.
“Please, Spoiler, I need to say this.” It takes Steph back a little at his tone, its gruffness lowered and that true Bruce tiredness slipping in. “The way I had treated you in times of frustration or failure of my plans is unacceptable. I was the adult in all of those situations and any blame I or anyone else set on your shoulders should have been put back on me as the adult who knew better.”
The suddenness of this conversation startles Steph, her brain having to rapidly switch from one intense emotional mindset to another on the opposite side of the spectrum.
Bruce isn’t trying to hide from his feelings or actions. For a moment, Steph is struck a little dumb, mind trying to twist and curl around the words Bruce had given so easily. Sure, she knew he’d been doing better with his feelings, but never in a million years did Steph think she would be subjected to one of his carefully worded apologies.
The cowled eyes directly staring into her soul was too much and Steph turned her head, eyes focusing on the criminal, passed out under her boot and sporting a myriad of bad bruises. She winced slightly. Maybe it was better if she didn’t patrol when angry like that.
Swallowing, Steph pulled her focus back to Bruce. She squared her shoulders and gathered her scattered thoughts and feelings into a semi presentable sentence. “You did do a lot of shitty things, and I don’t know if I can forgive you right now but–” Steph buried her pride and years of resentment. “I think one day I’ll be able to. I just- just need to see clear change.”
Please change for me, please.
Please don’t be like Arther.
Bruce nods immediately. Steph isn’t able to forgive him and doesn’t fully trust him yet, but she lets herself believe that he’ll try. Bruce can’t fix their relationship with a few words, he needs to prove it to Steph.
There’s a shift in the air as Bruce says his next words, the heaviness that weighed the dark alley lifting. “Agent A wants to know if you will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night.”
Steph’s mouth twitches up, taking the change of subject and running with it. “I thought you had a rule about no home talk on patrol.” She teases, crossing her arms. “Also it depends, what’s on the menu?”
There’s no way Steph is missing out on Alfred’s cooking.
“Roast.” Bruce tilts his head slightly, and Steph would almost call it calculating if their current conversation wasn’t currently about food.
Although…
Her eyes narrow and Steph feels something ridiculous pull at her chest. “With mashed potato?”
A small pause and if Steph had been around Bruce any less than she already was, she would have missed the twitch of a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course.”
Of course.
Of course because of course Bruce knew what her favorite food was.
Steph wasn’t crazy. But she knew even though Bruce hadn’t uttered the words, the quiet invitation to dinner was all he needed to tell her. Bruce, and by extension the gaggle of his children, knew exactly what day it was.
This time when Steph smiled, it was genuine. “Thanks.”
Bruce hums, a smile of his own properly appearing. “It’s getting late.” The words aren’t a command, but more of a gentle nudge.
Steph could let her stubbornness flare and make a fuss at Bruce’s suggestion, but she felt the weight of all the day's turmoil on her back. She peered up at Bruce once more. “See you tomorrow old man.”
As Steph turns away from him, she only gets a small noise of acknowledgement before she’s off.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The windowsill creaked as Steph pulled herself in. It was quiet and dark in the apartment and Steph barely had the energy to clean herself up.
Leaning over her bed to grab pyjamas, her eyes catch on a small object on her desk. Abandoning her task, Steph peered at it, noting its size being comparable to a book.
When her boots stopped at the edge of her desk, Steph felt a surge of delight rush through her, mouth forming into a grin.
It was a wrapped object, the wrapping paper being Spoiler themed where the hell do you get vigilante themed wrapping paper?? and a card addressed to Steph in a familiar penmanship.
When she opened the envelope and unfolded the card, a big Happy Birthday! message in the very centre, surrounded with all the different signatures of her closest friends.
Steph had to pull the card away from her so the tears running down her face didn’t ruin the ink. Her heart ached as she saw all the personalised messages scrawled on every surface of the card, an array of different colours Steph would be able to pick for each person a mile away. Her eyes latched on the only one written in black though.
Bruce’s message was the shortest, but her eyes still watered at the words.
Happy Birthday Stephanie. You are legally an adult now, an accomplishment I am grateful you have achieved. I know I am not your father, but I hope as you change the world in more ways as an adult than you could before, you will be able to understand I see my vision for Gotham in you.
- Bruce
Steph laughed out wetly, but the noise quickly turned into a choked sniffle. Emotionally stunted bastard and his stupid words.
He was right, Bruce wasn’t her Dad, not in the way he was to Jason or Cass or even Duke at times. But when grief pushed and pulled at Steph’s longing for a family, sometimes she let herself think about how he’s the closest thing to a proper Father. Screaming matches and all.
Stephanie pulled her thoughts back to the card, sniffling as she focused on someone else's message. Her heart warmed at the love and jokes poured out onto the page.
Happy eighteenth Stephanie Brown.