Chapter Text
November 5th
“You don’t need this anymore, Bruce,” her mother said. “You promised me that when we were married—”
“Don’t,” her father said. His voice was always low and flat, as if he were forever grinding his teeth together, and he rarely smiled, not even with Damian. “Joker’s death changed everything— everything was destabilized in Gotham.”
“It’s always something with you, always something making you go back out there.”
“This is about the new suit, isn’t it?”
“It’s about fucking everything, Bruce! You don’t care about me, and you don’t care about our daughter!”
“Every night I go out there and—”
“Every night you go out there and ask for a broken neck because you can’t move the way you once did.”
Her mother was hissing like Rufus, her favorite cat.
“That’s what the new suit is for,” dad said at last.
“Of course… how could I forget.”
Helena Wayne, all of seven years old, shifted at the top of the stairs, but not too much because she was sitting near one of the creaky spots in the wood-paneled floor. She cupped her chin in her hands and listened, hardly breathing.
“Maybe this was a mistake,” her mother said, almost too quiet to hear.
“Selina.”
“I’m not meant to be Mrs. Wayne, some pretty little housewife, and I’m not meant to be your maid and organize this entire household just because your butler died.”
“Selina,” her dad said, and Helena closed her eyes, pressing her hands over them.
“We should’ve never had— you have no idea how to raise a child, Bruce. Why I ever thought you’d be a good father is beyond me.”
“…I do the best I can for them. You know that.”
“Do I? Look at your track record, darling. I’m only surprised Damian hasn’t decided to run off and join the League.”
“Enough!”
A loud crash echoed in the sitting room, like a chair being overturned, and Helena startled at the top of the stairs, her eyes flying open. She startled even worse when a finger tapped her shoulder, but it was only her brother, who was always able to sneak up on her.
“Come, Helena,” he said softly.
She rose and took his hand, and he led her back down the long, winding hallway, away from the raised voices and overturned chairs. But instead of taking her back to her bedroom, he opened the door to the smaller staircase at the other end of the corridor. It was the servant’s stairwell, so her father had told her once, but they didn’t have any servants: only Sarah who came to clean once a week and Mr. Potter, who cooked for them most days.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“Just for a walk,” he said.
The light wasn’t on in the stairwell, but it was like Damian could see in the dark. She squeezed his hand tightly, but they were back in the moonlight before she knew it. They entered the kitchen, one of Helena’s favorite places in the whole house, but her brother kept hold of her hand and led her further into the house. Instead of heading for the main staircase and the sitting room where their parents were, he struck a path for the west wing, where daddy didn’t like them to go.
“The secret room?” Helena asked.
“Not tonight,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“You should be the next Question.”
“He’s not real.”
“Oh, he’s not?” Damian raised an eyebrow at her, and she giggled.
“No!”
“What about Batman then? Is he real?”
“Yeah,” she said. Damian smiled a little at her and she scrunched up her nose. “Just because Batman is real doesn’t mean the Question is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Who’s asking the questions now?” she said, and she laughed at the mock-annoyed look on her brother’s face. He yanked on her arm a little bit, knocking her off balance so he could scoop her up into his arms. She was a big girl now because she was seven years old, but she supposed she’d let him carry her, just this once.
“Here we are,” he said as he pushed open a door she’d never noticed before. It opened onto a long hallway, and to her right, there were big windows looking out on her mother’s rose garden; to her left was just a wall with some portraits.
“This isn’t a very good surprise,” she said.
“Let me show you around a little before you decide,” he said. He passed the first few paintings without comment before stopping on a painting of an old man with a white mustache.
“He looks nice,” she said.
“That’s Alfred. He took care of dad after dad lost his parents.”
“Oh,” Helena said, frowning. She’d heard this story before and knew Alfred’s name, but it was weird to have a face to put with the name. She’d imagined him fatter.
“These are our grandparents,” he said, moving on to the next painting.
“He looks like daddy.”
“And she looks more like you.”
“I don’t have blonde hair.”
“When you were a baby, you did.”
She stared at him, but he was perfectly serious. “Really?”
“Blonde all over,” he said. “I have a few pictures in my room.”
"Can you show me?”
“Later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he said. He took a few steps further and passed one or two more portraits before he paused on one in particular. It had a couple people in it, and Helena gasped.
“That’s you!” she said. She’d recognize him anywhere, but as with a lot of the pictures of Damian, it didn’t look like he wanted to be there. His vivid green eyes stood out among all the blue. “I wish my eyes were green,” she said.
"I like blue better.”
“You do?”
“Much better,” he said.
She turned her eyes back to picture and frowned again. “Who’s that?”
“You remember,” he said. “Starts with a T.”
“Thomas,” Helena guessed.
“Close.”
“Uhh… Teddy?”
“Timothy.”
“Oh, right. He’s in Japan.”
“Hong Kong,” he said.
There were still two other people in the picture, and they both had black hair and blue-ish eyes, like dad. But that was where the similarity ended. She stared at them and remembered their names and that daddy didn’t like to talk about them.
“How come he sent them away?” she asked.
“… He didn’t send them away. They left.”
“But he doesn’t want to see them anymore,” she said.
“No, they told him to stay away,” Damian said, closing his eyes.
She poked his cheek and said firmly, “No. Daddy said he was done with him.”
He looked at her again. “When did he say that?”
“Halloween.”
“He didn’t mean it.”
She looked back at the picture and tried to digest this, but couldn’t. It was too confusing for her, and she was beginning to feel tired again. But something still bothered her, and she felt Damian’s eyes on her, waiting for her to speak again. She squirmed a little in his arms, testing his grip, but her brother was strong.
“He didn’t mean it, Helena,” he said again. “He just doesn’t like Halloween.”
“I know that,” she said, and she pointed at the two boys. “But they’re his family.”
“Yes.”
“I’m his family,” she said, and Damian’s gaze sharpened.
“He won’t ever send you away, Helena. He loves you.”
“He loved them too.”
She watched Damian swallow, and then he said, his voice low and even more serious than before, “Can I tell you something?”
“A secret?” she asked.
“Yes. A big secret you can never let dad know that you know.”
She paused for a moment and then nodded.
“Promise?” he said.
“Promise,” she said.
“Good.” He still didn’t turn his gaze from her, and she looked back, waiting. Finally, he said, “Father made a mistake. A couple mistakes. And Dick don’t want to see him anymore because of those mistakes.”
“But everybody makes mistakes.”
“Yes,” he said, “but these were some pretty big mistakes. You know how you and I talk when we get upset?”
“Yeah.”
“Dad doesn’t do that.”
“I know,” she said indignantly, even though she didn’t.
He glanced at her before continuing. “So, that’s basically why Dick left.”
“And Jason?”
“You remember. He ran away.”
“But when will they come back?” she asked. “I don’t even remember them leaving.”
“It was before you were born,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “So, they don’t know me at all?”
“It’s okay. They don’t know me either.”
They stood for a moment longer in front of that portrait, and then Damian carried her further down the hallway, his bare feet soundless on the carpeted floor. The rose bushes were all dead now, their thorns bared for the world to see, and Helena laid her head on her brother’s shoulder, counting the thorns as he walked. The world was so safe and comfortable from her view here, and with the numbers swirling in her head, it wasn’t long before she fell asleep.
Early January
“Get your shoes on,” her father told her, and she ran over to her closet to pull out her new winter boots. Mommy had bought them for her before leaving on a business trip, and she loved boots and playing dress up. Sometimes, when Damian was in the right mood, she could get him to play dress up too. But she figured it wasn’t the time for dress up now. She hurried back out into the hallway to see dad and Damian frowning at each other in the hallway.
“Do you have a dress, Helena?” dad asked her at last.
“Duh,” she said. “I have lots of dresses.”
“Put on a nice one,” he said, and she ran back into her room. Maybe it was time to play dress up after all? She opened the second door in her closet and stared at the dresses hanging there, most of them in varying shades of blue, purple, and green, and then she yanked down her favorite long-sleeved purple dress.
“Don’t forget flannel underwear, Helena,” Damian said from her bedroom.
“I know!” she said, and she ran into the other room of her closet to rummage through the big bin next to her dresser. Usually, mommy folded and put her things away, but Damian wasn’t as good at it. Things piled up, even if they were clean, so she had to paw through a mound of clothes until she found the flannel underwear she disliked the least, and by the time she returned to the hallway, she was a little out of breath.
Damian was wearing nice pants and a nice jacket, and he smiled at her and gave her a nod. She turned her gaze to dad, smiling and waiting for him to nod at her too, because she really liked this dress and she hoped she looked nice too. But dad didn’t look at her. He’d already started down the hallway to the main staircase.
"Come, Helena,” Damian said, and he took her hand.
Daddy was a very good driver, and they were soon driving away from her home and into the city. Helena went to Saint Agatha’s Elementary School in the city, her best friend was Ruthie Fineburg, and tomorrow, she started up her gymnastics lessons again and went back to school because today was the last day of Christmas break. Maybe they were going to Saint Agatha’s for a parent-teacher conference or something.
She breathed heavily on the cold window, drew a little snowman, and gave him a big smile before he faded away into nothing. On top of having to go back to school, her Christmas wish hadn’t come true. Damian would go away to college no matter what Helena said, and mommy hadn’t been able to come back for Christmas after all, even though she’d promised a million times that she would. Technically that was two wishes but she figured Santa would understand.
“We are too close to Park Row,” Damian said from the passenger seat.
“It’s fine,” daddy said, and she saw Damian frown but keep quiet. Not long after that, the car pulled to a stop and they got out. She shivered in the cold and realized her outfit was ruined because she’d forgotten a coat! Mommy always kept the coats by the garage door, ready to go for anything, but now she realized she had no idea where they were.
“Here,” Damian said, and she felt his heavy jacket around her shoulders. He took her hand in his cold one and they walked through the crowded parking lot to a building with a tower— a church. She looked up at Damian, but he seemed just as confused as she was. And he kept glancing over at their father, who, she realized with no small amount of alarm, was the palest she’d ever seen him. He looked like that sometimes when she woke up in the middle of the night and came downstairs to find him in the kitchen. Sometimes he looked like he talked to ghosts.
“Father, what exactly are we doing here?” Damian asked through clenched teeth, but dad ignored him as he walked up the steps to the church doors. People were singing inside, like a musical only the music was a little slower and less like you could dance to it, and as soon as dad opened the door, she felt warmth from inside. She didn’t really get what they were doing here, but it was too cold to stay outside any longer. Damian followed her inside. He got a pinched look when he was frustrated or bothered, and he was making it now.
They were standing in some kind of lobby, with a set of glass doors in front of them. She could see into the main part of the church beyond, and all the rows were full with people. The music slowed to a stop with a grand flourish, the noise resounding from what sounded like an old and echoing piano.
Daddy dipped his fingers into a bowl of water by the door and made a sign over himself before moving to stand in front of the glass doors. A butler stood nearby, smiling hesitantly.
“Can I help you to a seat?” he asked.
“Not now. Thank you,” daddy said, and the butler walked away. Damian took up Helena’s hand again— his hands were so cold she gave the jacket back to him— and she saw a muscle working in his jaw. But before he could speak, someone started talking through a microphone at the front of the church.
“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the person said.
“Amen,” the people replied, and Damian dropped her hand as though she were made of fire. He was next to their father the next instant, and he stared through the glass as if there were something incredibly surprising and strange beyond it.
“But he’s gone,” Damian whispered.
“I found him,” dad said, as if Damian hadn’t spoken, and she looked between the two of them and didn’t understand.
The people were speaking again, and in the noise, her father pushed open the door and strode into the church proper. Damian paused only to catch Helena’s hand before they followed. Daddy found seats for them in one of the rows, Helena between her father and her brother, only now she couldn’t see anything at all. Everyone was still speaking around her, even her father. Daddy murmured under his breath, and in unison, everyone tapped their chests three times.
She pulled on Damian’s sleeve, and he bent down.
“Dami,” she whispered, “what’s going on?”
“This is a Catholic church,” he told her. “We’re here to see someone.”
“Who?” she wanted to ask, but Damian had already straightened up and didn’t seem to have heard her.
Everyone stopped speaking, allowing the man at the front of the church to speak again. He said things Helena was sure meant more than what she could understand, and she occupied herself by looking around for the person they were here to meet. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the big cross over the altar, and the man nailed to it. She wasn’t afraid of blood like Ruthie was, but she didn’t like the nails in the man’s hands and feet.
“Amen,” everyone said, and then they were all sitting. Damian pulled her with them, but she couldn’t stop looking at the man hanging there. He looked sad.
Then, a woman started telling a story about two women and two babies and a sword and a wise king. There was a bit more singing, more reading, more standing up and sitting down, and then some kneeling and then after that, more standing. And then some shaking of the hands, and she began to wish she had a watch. How long before they were supposed to meet this person?
They were kneeling once again, and it seemed like people were slowly processing to the front of the church in lines. She looked up at her father, but he was staring at the front of the church like he was hungry but also like he was afraid. What did he have to be afraid of?
Finally, it was their row’s turn to process up to the front. Damian didn’t go, but dad moved her forward so she stood in front of him, and they got in line with everyone else.
The line moved quickly, but Helena glanced around, her apprehension rising as she got closer to the front of the church. It looked like two men in white robes were handing out little wafers, and everyone seemed to take one, eat it, and walk away. Was she supposed to do that too? She carefully watched a little girl her own age as she walked up to the man in robes, take a wafer, and eat it, so Helena straightened her shoulders and marched forward when it was her turn.
The man in robes was tall with broad shoulders, and he had eyes that were a mix between her blue ones and Damian’s green ones. The man gave her a smile and asked, “How old are you?”
“Almost eight,” she said.
“Have you received First Communion yet?”
She hesitated, her show of confidence slipping, and the man saw through her. But he didn’t seem upset. Instead, he made a sign over her and said, “May the Almighty God bless you and keep you. Amen.”
“Amen,” she repeated, and she glanced back at her dad. The man in robes raised his eyes too, and she watched in surprise as the blood drained from his face. But he didn’t seem afraid, like her dad did. Instead, the man’s eyes first reflected anger, before all emotion was suddenly smoothed away.
He said, “I can speak to you outside, Bruce. After Mass.”
“Thank you,” her dad said, his voice actually breaking, and he hurried Helena back to their row. Damian looked at their father with questions in his eyes, but dad avoided Damian’s gaze and put his head in his hands, kneeling like he’d done before.
But Helena sat next to Damian instead of kneeling and she leaned her head on his arm. He needed no more encouragement than that to put his arm around her and draw her close. She’d thought the church was warm when she entered it, but now her teeth were chattering. Truthfully, she liked the music playing, she liked the old piano which echoed wonderfully throughout the church, but she hoped they’d go home soon. Her stomach grumbled.
They stood again, there was more singing, and then it was over at last. Everyone filed out of the church, but they had to wait for dad, who was still kneeling. Finally, he stood, but instead of following the others out the door, he turned to the back door and clenched his fists.
“I believe it would be wise to call in for back-up, father,” Damian said. “The bomb beneath the Bat—"
“It wasn’t him. He’d never do that,” daddy replied. He was wound up tighter than a spring, and the reason why walked back in through the big church doors. The man still wore his robes, but he’d regained a little color in his face. His eyebrows rose as he looked at Damian.
“Wow. You’re just as tall as me, Dames,” the man said.
“Taller,” Damian replied, his tone as cold as the wind outside.
“Jason,” their father began, but the man— Jason— held up a hand.
“Let me change, and then we can step into the parish office or something.”
Jason walked away, disappearing though a door, and Damian said, even more urgently than before, “Father, I am not sure this is a wise course of action. It would be best if Jonathan or Kara could be here to—"
“This is my son,” daddy said, and his voice was hoarse like he’d been yelling. “I don’t need an alien here for me to speak with him.”
“Father—”
“Enough.”
They stood in silence while they waited for Jason to come back, and the longer they waited, the more questions bubbled to the surface of Helena’s mind. If Jason was her brother, what was he doing here, in the church? He hadn’t been wearing robes in that portrait at home. But the biggest question was why? Why had her older brother run away?
Jason came back wearing all black, a white square on his collar, and he gestured for them to follow him. He pulled on a black coat as he walked down the steps of the church, and even though dad was here to speak with him, Jason greeted every single person who flagged him down. It was enough to make Damian’s nostrils flare in impatience.
“Father, could I speak to you about the wedding next month?” asked an anxious looking woman as she shook Jason’s hand. “Marc got into something bad with the— with a gang, I know it, but I just don’t know if I can marry someone who’s… who’s in that kind of business…”
She looked close to tears but Jason grasped her hand and said gently, “I have a half hour this afternoon before prepping for the soup kitchen. You’re welcome to drop by the parish office then.”
“Thank you so much, father,” the woman said, and she squeezed his hand before hurrying off into the snowdrifts of Gotham. Helena stared after her, shivering violently, and Damian wrapped his jacket around her again.
“This way,” Jason said at last, and he took them around the corner to a small building with a sign almost completely covered in snow. Helena tried to slow down to read it, even with the snow, but Damian marched her inside. It wasn’t quite as cold indoors as it was outside, but the heat certainly wasn’t on; Jason loaded a few logs into the fireplace, lit a match, and blew gently.
Daddy stood by the window and looked anywhere but Jason, whereas Damian took up a standing position in the doorframe, his cold, green eyes never leaving their elder brother. And said elder brother, if he truly was part of the family (something Helena wasn’t very clear on yet), looked up from the fireplace and smiled at her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Helena Martha Wayne,” she said.
“Very pretty,” he said. “Where do you go to school?”
“Saint Agatha’s,” she said. “Why?”
“I’m a teacher,” he said, and Damian made a noise in his throat, the same noise he made when he knew Helena was lying to him. Jason almost laughed and said, “It’s true. I teach at Saint John Bosco’s School for Boys.”
“I’ve heard of it,” daddy said suddenly. “The orphanage.”
“We don’t call it that now,” Jason said as he stood up. “Please, sit down. What’s mine is yours.”
“Strange,” Damian said, his voice still cold and detached, “I don’t recall that you liked to share.”
“True, but I’ve changed since you last knew me,” Jason replied. “Tea, anyone? Would you like hot chocolate, Helena?”
She looked over at Damian, who frowned but didn’t say anything. She took that as permission and smiled at Jason. “Yes, please.”
“One hot chocolate coming up,” he said, and he left the living room. She heard the kettle turning on in another room and a pan being pulled out of a cupboard.
Damian opened his mouth to speak, but dad gave Damian such a sharp look that her brother closed his mouth again. His face somehow became even colder after that, and Helena took a seat next to the fireplace and in front of Damian as her stomach growled again.
As if Jason had heard the noise, he returned to the living room with a tray of teacups, a kettle, a mug of hot chocolate, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She ignored Damian staring at her back and took two cookies before cuddling up in the armchair with the cookies and the mug Jason handed her. Nothing was better than chocolate, in any form, on a cold day.
“So,” Jason said as he poured himself a cup of tea and settled down in front of the fireplace. “How can I help the Wayne family?”
“You’re a Wayne too,” daddy said.
“I’m Father Jason Todd now,” was the reply. “What do you need, Bruce? I’m not sorry to say I’ve left the vigilante stuff in the past.”
“And exactly how long ago did you do that?” Damian asked.
“Damian.”
“No, it’s fine,” Jason said. He stirred honey into his tea and fixed his gaze on the fledgling fire. “You’re right, Dames. The bomb was mine.”
Damian jerked forward from his place in the doorframe and put a hand on Helena’s shoulder, and she startled at the quick movement. But Jason didn’t move at all and sort of smiled; somehow, even with the smile, he looked sad, kind of like how the man on the cross had looked.
“No,” daddy said, his voice still hoarse. “It wasn’t you.”
“It was,” Jason replied, and he took a sip of tea before continuing. Damian’s grip was tight on Helena’s shoulder and she pushed his hand away. Even so, he didn’t return to the door but stayed right by her side, like she was a baby who needed someone to sit with her. “I don’t know why I came back, but I did,” Jason said. “And I didn’t remember anything when I woke up, just my first name. I wandered around Gotham for a long time until Talia found me.”
Damian stiffened by her side, and if anything, he inched closer to her. It was like when they played tag, and Damian tried to get really close to her so he could snatch her up and tickle her. Only, he looked— he looked angry now. But he said, his voice flat, “I’ve already told him this.”
“Jay,” her father began, but Jason spoke across him.
“She dipped me in the Lazarus Pit after training me. My memories before that are fuzzy, but the anger I felt after the Pit was nothing short of all-encompassing. Talia told me you never got up the nerve to kill Joker, and that Dick ended up doing it instead, just not for me. I came back to kill you both, only to find… I couldn’t.”
She stared between the three of them: at Jason’s serious, quiet expression, at Damian’s cold anger, and finally at their father, who had tears in his eyes when she’d never seen him cry before.
“Who’s Talia?” she whispered to Damian, but he didn’t hear her.
“There,” he said to dad. “I told you.”
Dad bowed his head for a moment before he stepped closer to Jason, his arms halfway open before dropping back to his side. “Come home, Jason.”
“I am home,” Jason said. “I’ve found a place for myself here, Bruce.”
“How?”
Jason sighed and set his teacup aside. “It’s a long story… but you’re welcome to drop by to hear it sometime.”
“Father, we can’t trust—” Damian began sharply, but daddy had tears in his eyes again.
“When?”
“I’m free after the noon Mass on Tuesday. It’s at Saint John Bosco’s,” Jason said. “You’re welcome to come too, Dames, if you want.”
Damian didn’t reply. Instead, he helped Helena to her feet and set her unfinished mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, and if she hadn’t have eaten them, he would’ve made her leave behind the cookies too. Then she remembered the manners mommy taught her, so she pulled her hand out of Damian’s, darted forward, and threw her arms around Jason’s neck.
“Thank you for the cookies and the hot chocolate,” she said. “And I’m really glad you didn’t run away forever.”
“Oh—” Jason said, his voice gruffer than before. “Me too.”
“Bye,” she said, giving him a smile, and then she allowed Dami to take her hand again and lead her outside, back into the cold. They waited outside for a few minutes, Damian shuffling impatiently in the snow, until their father came out to join them. He looked happier than he had in a long time.
February 1st
February was Helena’s favorite month of the whole year because her birthday was on the very first day. She woke up as abruptly as if someone shouted in her ear and threw aside the covers, scrambling for a fuzzy pair of socks. Daddy promised that mommy was coming home late last night, and even though she’d tried to stay up as late as she could, she’d fallen asleep anyway and missed it.
The house was always cold, but especially so in winter, so in addition to the fuzzy socks, she pulled on one of Damian’s sweaters. Her parents’ door down the hall was still closed, and though she knew not to wake them up, Damian was fair game.
“Wake up, wake up!” she cried as she jumped onto Damian’s bed. She jumped a few more times for good measure, and he groaned, rolling over to grab the alarm clock on his bedside table.
“Lena, it’s six in the morning.”
“Exactly, it’s time to get up,” she said. “And I want pancakes. Blueberry ones, with whipped cream on top.”
Damian shoved his head under a pillow and muttered something under his breath.
But he wasn’t moving like she wanted him to, so she squirmed under his arm and cupped her hands around his ear to whisper, “And I want a big glass of orange juice.”
Without warning, he squeezed his arms around her and began to tickle her, and she shrieked with laughter, trying in vain to push him away. He started laughing too, no matter how grumpy he tried to seem, and finally pulled her out of his bed by the leg.
“Alright, brat,” he said. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Yay!” she cried, still giggling and also out of breath from laughing so hard.
“Isn’t that my sweater?” he asked, frowning at her.
“Not anymore!”
She kicked his arm off and ran out of the room, down the servant’s stairwell, and into the kitchen where she turned on the stove and began rummaging through the pantry. Damian wasn’t far behind, and he’d found another sweater, one of the ones she didn’t like to steal because it was so big. He yawned really wide and opened the fridge.
“…Okay,” he said. “Blueberry pancakes.”
“With whipped cream and orange juice.”
“You want orange juice in your pancakes?”
“Noo,” she said, rolling her eyes, and he yanked on her braid.
“You’re such a brat.”
“But you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” he said with a small smile as he turned to get eggs from the fridge.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“You can get out the flour and vegetable oil.”
“Okay.”
They worked together, and Damian didn’t even get mad when she dropped two eggs on the floor instead of cracking them into the bowl. When they sat down at the kitchen island together to eat, her brother cut up her pancakes and pushed the plate in front of her.
“Really good,” she declared as she attacked her pancakes with relish.
“Spectacular, you’d say?”
“Super-duper spectacular,” she said.
“Eat up,” he said, “I have a surprise for you.”
“I don’t want to go to the gallery again,” she said, frowning at him. “That’s not a good birthday present.”
“It’s not the portrait gallery again,” he said.
She took a big bite of whipped cream and then said, “Can Jason come for dinner?”
Dami paused in the act of pouring maple syrup and set the glass jar down before replying. “I think he’s busy with the orphanage.”
“But it’s my birthday. Family’s supposed to be together on birthdays and holidays, mommy always says.”
“I know.” He cleared his throat and said, “Jason has a job now though, one that takes up a lot of his time.”
She knew Jason was a priest (after Damian had explained it) but it was her birthday. She stabbed another piece of pancake. “He talks to daddy all the time.”
“Once a week.”
“Okay, same thing.”
“Jason’s… I don’t know,” he said and he stabbed at his pancakes too. “Remember how Tim needed some distance so he went away?”
“Yeah.”
“Jason does the same thing sometimes.”
“But why?” she said, dropping her fork onto the counter with a clatter. “Why does everybody go away if we’re supposed to be family? Why can’t everybody just come home?”
He didn’t look at her. “I don’t know, Helena.”
She knew he was holding something back, but she picked up her fork and continued eating, even though her stomach was rolling over and her eyes were burning. She loved mommy and daddy and Damian, and she loved her other brothers too, even though she didn’t remember Dick or Tim.
But Batty Penderwick, the main character of her favorite book, was always close with her family even when her older sisters went away to college. She remembered her sisters, and she knew them. How come Helena’s family was different? She jumped down from the stool after finishing her pancakes and tried not to think about that anymore. It was time for presents.
“We’re cleaning the kitchen first,” Dami told her firmly, and together, they made short work of it. Then, Damian scooped her up into his arms.
“You’re getting big,” he said.
“I’m eight years old today,” she told him and she showed him the numbers on her fingers.
“Do you remember how old I am?”
“Eighteen,” she said. “We’re birthday twins.”
“Almost,” he said. His birthday had been two weeks ago, but they were basically birthday twins. A couple days in between didn’t really matter.
“What’s my present?” she asked.
“So impatient,” he said as he carried her out of the kitchen and into one of the sitting rooms. “Wait here.”
He set her down on one of the couches and left the room. She pulled her sleeves over her cold hands and huddled up, waiting for him to come back, and as she did so, her eyes were drawn to the door on the other side of the room, the one that led to the library. She hadn’t been in there for a long time, mostly because daddy didn’t usually like her to, but it was her birthday, and she could do anything she wanted today. She got up and opened the door.
It always smelled good in here, like old books and the smell of what Damian had once told her was leather. She made her way over to her little section of the library where copies of all her favorite books were kept, and pulled down the best book of all, The Penderwicks in Spring. She sat down in the armchair by one of the big windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. She knew the words almost by heart, so she skipped to one of the best parts: the end, when Skye, Batty’s big sister, apologized, and everything was cleared up, and Batty got her singing voice back. It was a good ending.
“Helena?” Damian called from the other room.
“Here!”
He wove through the bookshelves and stood before her with a frown. “Are you supposed to be in here alone?”
But she ignored him, her eyes captured by the big box in his arms. “What is it, Dami? Is it a mountain of books? Oh, can I open it, can I?”
“It’s already open,” he said, and he set the box down so she could see inside. She stared, her jaw dropped, at the little puppy inside. Her eyes burned again and she hesitantly stretched out her hand to pet the puppy— light brown all over, with one blue eye and one brown, and he licked her hand over and over again.
“He’s mine?” she whispered.
“All yours,” Damian said. “But I’ll help you train him before I go.”
She gathered the puppy into her arms, and the dog whined and wagged his entire body as he tried to lick her face to death. She giggled and pet him until he seemed to calm down a little, and then he squirmed out of her arms to start sniffing the carpet. Now, it was her turn to throw herself into somebody’s arms, and she squeezed Damian so tightly he started to laugh.
“This is the best birthday present ever,” she told him. “And you’re the best brother in the whole entire world.”
“I know,” he said, and he kissed her head. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She pulled out of his arms and beamed at her puppy. “What’s his name?”
“Whatever you want it to be.”
“It’s a boy?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes landed on The Penderwicks in Spring, still open to the page she’d been reading, and she scooped it up to put it on a nearby table. She’d never had a dog before, but Batty had had a dog once.
“Hound,” she said.
“Hound?” Damian repeated. “What about Triton or Rextus or something cool like that?”
“I like Hound,” she said again, frowning at him. “It’s cute.”
“Okay,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Hound it is.”
Hound, newly christened, rolled around the floor, his tongue out and his mismatching eyes bright in the early morning sun. She loved him already. Damian had some toys all ready for her to use, and she played with the puppy until Damian cleared his throat and she looked up at him. He looked serious again, and she sat back on her heels, ready for a lecture about how to properly take care of dogs.
“I’ve decided on a school,” he said.
“…Okay,” she said carefully.
“I’m going to University of Washington.”
“I like D.C.,” she said. The museum with all the paintings in it was really pretty, and she remembered it wasn’t too far away, just a couple hours.
“Washington is also a state,” Damian said. “It’s on the other side of the country, near California. And the University of Washington is in the capital of the state, Star City.”
“Oh.”
She stood up and crossed the room to look at the globe on one of the bookshelves, and she spun it until she could see exactly where Washington was…only to find that it was about as far from New Jersey as you could get while still being in the United States. Her brother pulled her into one of the armchairs near the globe and showed her pictures on his phone.
“This is the Quad. And those are the mountains in the distance. But I’ll be on South Campus, see?”
“But why?” she asked. “Why are you going so far away?”
“It’s a good school for the sciences, and I want to study biology and maybe medicine,” he said, and his vivid green eyes were soft as he looked at her.
She looked back at him and felt her eyes burn for the third time today, but this time, she thought she would actually cry. “You’re running away too,” she said.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally said, “Some distance is good when you get older, Lena, but I promise this has nothing to do with you. I just want to make my own path.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying.
“You’re leaving,” she said, and to her horror, tears started to slip down her cheeks. “What if I forget you just like I forgot them?” she whispered, and it was her worst fear, the most horrible thing she could ever imagine. She couldn’t forget Damian, she just couldn’t.
“You won’t,” he said, his voice very soft. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her head again. “I’ll come back and visit a bunch, and I’ll write you a letter every week, I promise.”
“And you’ll call,” she said.
“Yes, I will.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. Hound nudged her hand with his cold, wet nose, and she scratched behind his ears, still sniffling. Batty’s older sisters went to college and came back to visit all the time, but she didn’t think Batty’s older sisters had ever gone nearly as far as Damian would. She missed him already.
Late September
She’d never realized how quiet the house could be until Damian was gone. When it was just her and dad, it felt like every room was bigger and emptier than it’d ever been before. Mommy hadn’t been able to make it home for her birthday after all, and she hadn’t come home for Easter either.
But Helena Martha Wayne was older and wiser now. She was eight years old, almost nine, and she no longer believed it was some business trip, because what kind of business would keep her own mother away for ten months? Daddy had business trips all the time but he came back within a week at the very most.
She sat in the library again, one of her more frequent haunts since Damian had left almost two months ago, and she scratched Hound’s ears. They sat together in her favorite armchair by the big window, and Hound was fast asleep, not so little as he’d once been. Tomorrow was a Saturday, and daddy had told her he was going into the office. So that meant he’d be in bed early, and she had to go to bed early too.
Or that’s what was supposed to happen. It’d been weeks now since she’d started to suspect that something strange was going on in her house. Almost every night, her dad disappeared into the library. She was a big girl now, almost in fourth grade, and Damian had always taught her how to be observant.
But even without her brother’s lessons, she couldn’t have failed to notice how her father wasn’t around at night. One night, not too long after Damian left, a nightmare had woken her up, and terrified, she’d ran into her dad’s room, only to find it completely empty. In fact, the bed was as neatly made as if it’d never been slept in. She’d gone back to bed troubled and waited up until she heard him walking down the hallway. His step was almost as light as Damian’s, but that night, her father limped a little.
He'd paused outside her door and then it opened a crack— she kept her breathing even and felt his eyes on her for four slow seconds, before he shut the door again and limped down the hallway back to his room. She’d tapped her alarm clock to see the time and it’d been after three in the morning.
After that night, she stayed awake as late as she could and it wasn’t long before she noticed a pattern. The limp helped her determine what time he left his room, sometime between seven-thirty and eight, and then he went downstairs and didn’t come back up until between two and four in the morning. And a few nights ago, she’d gotten up the courage to follow him and she was rewarded with the sight of him entering the library. The same pattern held true the next night, and the night after that.
And now, she sat in the armchair in the library, waiting for something to happen. Her eyelids were heavy and several times, they almost slipped closed. Mrs. Carson, her teacher, had noticed how sleepy she was these past two weeks and had even asked her about it in class. It’d taken some quick thinking to keep her from calling dad. But she would find out the truth tonight and there wouldn’t be any more late nights like this. Probably.
The house shifted around her, even though she knew no one else was home. There wasn’t even anyone else on the block. Their closest neighbor was that old mansion up the road but that’d been abandoned long ago, the windows all boarded up except for one. Whenever she passed the house, she liked to stare at that window and pretend a little old lady lived there all alone and had a fabulous secret garden with huge trees and lots of pretty flowers.
The house sighed, and Hound curled closer to her, sighing too. She’d turned off the lamp an hour ago, and now, she watched the great grandfather clock in the corner approach three in the morning. No wonder daddy was tired all the time.
Then just as her eyes slipped closed again, she heard soft footsteps somewhere in the hallway, and adrenaline forced her awake. She dragged Hound down and around the armchair, remembering to grab her book at the last second. She huddled behind the armchair and pressed her finger to her lips, only for Hound to sleepily stare back at her. Unbothered, he rested his head on his crossed paws, his eyes slipping closed again, and she realized the footsteps had stopped. She peeked around the armchair, and she hardly breathed as she watched the old grandfather swing open, like it was a door.
Her father stepped out from the wall. He wore only sweatpants and that made the deep cuts and bruises across his chest and arms all the more obvious. One of the cuts was still bleeding, a trail of blood tracing its way down his arm, but the others had been neatly stitched up. Daddy looked so, so tired, and he stumbled a little as he stepped out of the wall. He winced, and he favored his right leg as he limped over to a bookshelf nearby.
A statute of a person’s head and shoulders sat there and daddy made the man’s head nod. Like magic, the grandfather clock moved back into place, and then daddy yawned very wide. Helena did not breathe until she heard him enter the kitchen and open the fridge. Only when she heard the distant sounds of crinkling plastic did she get up and steal towards the statute.
She made it nod too and watched, eyes wide, as the grandfather clock opened again. She saw a staircase leading down into darkness, and before she could have second thoughts, she started down. Little lights flickered in and out, showing her each step, and when Hound whined at the top of the staircase, she stopped only to glare at him.
“If you want to come, hurry up!” she whispered, and Hound bounded down the stairs after her. He was much bigger than he’d been, and Damian said Hound would grow even more. But he was still a puppy, and sometimes he was scared of stairs that went down into darkness.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “We’re brave adventurers.”
He didn’t seem convinced so she scooped him up with great difficulty and kept going. The stone floor was awfully cold on her bare feet.
She reached the bottom of the stairs, and with one more step forward, automatic lights flickered to life, and she saw a massive computer at the end of the path, and she saw a huge, black car, and she saw—
“Helena,” her father said, in the sharpest voice she’d ever heard from him. “What are you doing down here?”
Slowly, she swallowed and turned to face him. “I… I, um, wanted to know what you were doing.”
“This is my second job.”
“You don’t have a first job,” she said, so surprised that she frowned at him.
“Yes, I do. I own Wayne Enterprises,” he said flatly.
“Dami says that’s not a real job,” she said, and he glared at her.
“Upstairs. Now.”
She stifled a sigh and went back upstairs, dad right on her heels. Back in the library, he closed the grandfather clock again and towered over her, his arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re still bleeding,” she said, but he just stared at her. She stared back and the longer she did, the closer she came to the conclusion that he didn’t seem totally angry with her. He looked— what was that word Damian liked? Oh, right— apprehensive.
“I do computer work,” he said at last.
“You’ve got a lot of funny costumes down there,” she said.
“I collect things. Rich people do that.”
“I didn’t think you liked Batman.”
He cleared his throat. “Batman and I don’t always agree on the best way to handle crime in Gotham.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You sound like you’re giving an interview.”
“Time for bed.”
“No,” she said. “I want to know why you have a Batman costume in the basement.”
“Your brother likes Batman.”
“I’m eight years old, daddy,” she said, still frowning. “I know you’re lying.”
“Fine,” he said, his voice low and irritated. “What’s the truth then?”
She turned it over in her head and nodded to herself. It was the only reasonable answer— why else would there be the Batmobile and Batman costumes and a big old computer and a super- secret basement? “You’re Batman,” she said.
“And you’re wrong,” he said. “Bed. Now.”
And, although Helena was almost in fourth grade, which was basically middle school, she knew better than to disobey her father when he used that tone of voice. She led Hound back upstairs to their bedroom, but she didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
In the morning, dad had already left to go into the city, so she made breakfast for herself. She was getting pretty good at omelets now, even though it took her longer to clean up than it did to cook. She sat down at the counter and ate her omelet, which had gone a little cold because she’d spent too long scrubbing at burnt egg at the bottom of the pan, and when she finished, she washed her plate and went into the library.
But this time, no matter how many times she made the statute nod, the grandfather clock didn’t swing open. She crossed her arms. She was pretty sure last night hadn’t been a dream; in fact, she was ninety-nine percent sure it’d been real, but now the door wouldn’t open. Maybe it could only be opened at night? Or maybe daddy had decided to lock the door to keep her from going down there.
She marched out of the room, Hound at her heels. Dad’s study door was never locked, and today was no exception. His computer, though, was another matter entirely. She sat at her father’s desk and stared at the screen, prompting her for a six-digit password, and tried to guess what it might be. Mommy’s birthday? She tried it, but the computer made a high-pitched noise and told her that was wrong. Damian’s birthday? That wasn’t it either. She went through everybody’s birthday she could think of, including her own, and then she tried her parents’ wedding anniversary, and then she typed in random numbers in frustration— but nothing worked.
She stared at the stupid screen, still asking her for a password, and then she remembered one of the games Damian had played with her. They’d been pretending to break into a super-secret spy base to get secrets from their spy enemies, and Damian had sat at her down at a computer like this one and told her to unlock it.
“But I don’t know the password,” she’d said, frowning.
“Of course not,” he’d said. “What do you do, Mistress of Spies?”
She grinned at the code-name and put a finger on her chin, screwing her eyes up to think. “I… I call for backup?”
“No backup,” Dami said. “You’re on your own.”
“Uhh… Okay, I try random numbers.”
“Go ahead and try, if you want.”
She heard the neutral tone in his voice and looked at him. “That’s not the right answer, is it?”
“What else do you think you could try?” he asked.
“Master of Spies, can you be my backup?”
He tapped a little icon in the top right of the screen. “Try that.”
She clicked it, and it took her to a small settings menu. From there, he showed her a four-step process to hack into a computer using administrative privileges, and she sat there stunned when it was over.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”
“Master of Spies, remember?” he said with a faint smile.
“Can you hack into anything?”
But he didn’t answer. “Only two minutes left before the next round of guards comes by,” he reminded her, and she’d refocused.
She had much more time on her hands now, but even if she’d only have five minutes, she knew what to do now. She’d never thought a game with Damian would’ve come in handy, but she grinned to herself as she unlocked the computer. That grin slipped off her face the next minute when she found absolutely nothing related to Batman on the computer. It was all boring paperwork from some stupid department at Wayne Enterprises, but at least she got to see what Tim’s signature looked like.
Her older brother liked cursive, something she was learning right now at school, but Tim made it look so effortless, whereas all her letters were weird loops connected by faint, shaky marks of pencil. And there was another good thing about an unlocked computer: she could send an email to Damian. The Batman stuff probably wasn’t something she could throw in an email but she added everything else that had happened in the last three days since she’d written a letter to him.
Eventually, Hound whined at her, so she sent the email, locked the computer again, and said, “Okay, fine. Time for a walk.”
He perked up at the word and bounded ahead of her to the back door. When she got to the foyer, he sat patiently and stared at the doorknob as if it would give him the ability to speak. She wished it could, actually. Then maybe she could teach him how to play cards, or tell him how to get to the secret room.
Oh, she’d forgotten all about that place. After she took Hound for a long walk around the entire house, he was exhausted enough not to protest as she dragged him to the deathly silent west wing.
“I’ll show you the portrait gallery afterwards,” she said, “but first, the secret room. It’s really cool, I promise.”
Hound didn’t reply, his nose stuffed in the dusty carpet, and she pulled on his collar to make him focus. On the third floor of the west wing, past bedrooms Damian told her she wasn’t allowed to go into, there was a little room with a door only she and Damian could unlock.
“Voice recognition,” he’d told her. “All you have to do is say your name.”
“Cool,” she’d whispered, and she still thought it was cool. Did Ruthie have a secret room like this or a secret basement with a Batmobile or a dad who was actually Batman? No? Helena did.
“Helena Martha Wayne,” she told the doorknob, and it clicked unlocked. She opened the door and bowed for Hound. “Ta da!”
But he hadn’t been paying attention because he’d been rubbing his butt on the carpet, and she sighed loudly before she pulled him into the secret room. She’d never realized the secret room could get dusty, but she guessed it’d been a while since she and Damian had been in here.
She was a big girl now, and big girls didn’t cry like babies, but she felt tears burn in her eyes like they hadn’t had in a while. She’d cried every single day for a week after Damian left, until breakfast on a Tuesday before school, when daddy had tried making blueberry pancakes just like Damian’s.
But there was a reason why they had Mr. Potter, and when daddy put brown, almost black, pancakes in front of her, not even cut the way Dami cut them, she’d started crying again.
“Helena, he’s coming back for Christmas,” dad said, frowning at her.
“It’s not the same,” she said with a big sniff.
“I know. But this is just how it is now.”
She’d tried not to cry after that, and when she really couldn’t hold it any longer, she cried in her closet, with her face buried in one of Dami’s sweaters. Kinda like today, when she curled up in the window seat, Hound at her feet, and let the tears come as she stared out the window at empty grounds.
Daddy came home late, but he put a few of Mr. Potter’s shredded pork tacos into the microwave rather than partake in Helena’s meal of dino nuggets and a quesadilla. She liked tacos too, but not tonight. Dino nuggets reminded her of Damian, in a good way.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Hmm.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It was fine, Helena.”
The microwaved beeped and dad sat down at the counter next to her. They ate in silence, and the only thing that happened was him getting up to give Mr. Potter his check for the week. Tomorrow, Sunday, was Mr. Potter’s day off, so her and dad would have to fend for themselves.
Dad put the dishes in the sink and turned to her with a frown. “Are you going to talk to Damian about the basement?” he asked, and she looked down.
“…Maybe.”
He didn’t say anything at first, and then he tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “You’re not going to tell Damian or your mother about this, Helena. Do you understand?”
“So, you are Batman,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, frowning. “But why would—” A thought occurred to her, and she stared at him. “Does Damian know?”
“I’m not—”
“Batman and Robin,” she whispered to herself.
“Helena,” he said, with that same sharp voice. “You are going to forget about the basement and everything you saw.”
“I can’t just forget about it,” she said.
“You can and you will.”
“Can you show me?” she said, clasping her hands together. “Can I see how the Batmobile works, daddy? Do you really have a Batplane? OH! Did you really fight the Joker? Was his laugh super creepy?”
Dad frowned deeply. “This isn’t a game.”
“I know that!”
“You’re not going in the basement ever again.”
“I’ll just keeping waiting in the library then,” she said, crossing her arms. “Maybe I’ll sneak in when you aren’t looking.”
“I have eyes out the back of my head,” he said.
“But not out the sides of your head,” she said, and she gave him a little smile.
“No,” he said, and he smiled faintly back at her. He stood there, thinking, and she waited with bated breath, staring at him. Finally, he sighed, really loudly and for a really long time before he said, “Fine. You can see the basement tonight.”
“Yes!”
“But you’re not allowed to stay up late and listen for me anymore, or try and sneak into the basement ever again.”
She groaned. “Daddy, but—”
“Agree, or you’re not allowed to see it tonight.”
“Can you show me more things some other night?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “If you’re good.”
“I’ll be very good,” she said.
Daddy called the basement the Bat Cave, and he made her swear on Damian’s life that she would never tell anyone about anything she saw in there or that she even knew the cave existed. He took her on a very short tour, but she lengthened it as much as possible with all her questions.
“Why does everything have the word ‘bat’ in it?” she asked at last. “Bat Cave, Batmobile, batarangs, so much bat stuff.”
“Just because,” he said. He didn’t really give good answers to any of the questions she asked, but she wasn’t bothered by it. She would just ask Damian when he got home.
“Why do you have a giant penny?” she asked.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he said instead, and she was about to protest when he fixed her with a look. She closed her mouth. She was going to be very, very good, and then daddy might just let her learn how to ride one of the Batbikes.
The next day she used her hour on the smart tablet to look up all recent news articles about Batman and Robin, and her excitement grew when she realized Robin hadn’t been seen for months now; in fact, his last confirmed sighting was sometime in late-July, only a short while before Damian left. She cupped her chin in her hands and stared at the news article, a small smile creeping over her face. Maybe Robin would return to the streets sooner than Gotham City expected.