You were trouble from day one.
Bruce adopted you when you were still a child, but you were already a hurricane impossible to control. You always challenged the rules, always found a new way to get into trouble. No punishment worked. No conversation changed anything. It was like you were waiting for everyone to give up on you.
The final straw was the fire at your school pool. No one ever knew how it happened. One second the kids were swimming, and the next there was only smoke, flames, sirens, and chaos.
Bruce never stopped loving you. That was never the problem.
The problem was that he never found a way to reach you.
With Dick, everything was simple; he always wore his heart on his sleeve. With Jason, he understood his rage and pain. With Tim, he shared logic. With Damian, he could communicate through discipline and pride.
But with you...
You were the only daughter Bruce could never understand.
And that consumed him from within.
Because Bruce Wayne had always believed he could help anyone.
Except you.
There was something broken inside you that he didn't know how to repair.
You still remembered that night.
"I have no other choice," Bruce said, his voice heavy. "You are going to a military school. The discussion is over."
It was that... or a juvenile detention center.
Gordon had made it very clear that there would be no other chances. And Bruce preferred to send you away rather than see you end up in prison.
The day you left, you didn't look back.
You remembered Alfred trying to smile. Dick waving goodbye. Jason pretending he didn’t care. Tim watching you in silence. Damian with his arms crossed. And Bruce... motionless, unable to find the words.
You got on the bus and didn't look back once.
Ten years later.
You were returning, sitting on the same type of bus. The same route. The same grumpy driver. But you were no longer that girl. You wore an impeccable uniform, your back straight by habit, and the weary gaze of someone who had seen too much. A bullet had pierced your back during a mission and, although the surgery had gone well, you were no longer fit for duty. You weren't given many options: it was time to go home.
Though that word no longer meant anything to you.
Gotham remained just as dark. The streets were familiar, but you didn't feel like you belonged there. It was like entering an old photograph where everyone had moved on with their lives... except you. A father. Four brothers. A family you had barely spoken to in a decade. Training, missions, deployments, and silence. That had been your life. You learned discipline. You learned to obey. You learned to survive. But you never learned what it was to have a family.
Wayne Manor looked exactly as you remembered it. Perhaps a little older. Perhaps quieter. You adjusted the bag on your shoulder and entered. For a moment, you thought Alfred might not be there anymore.
"Young lady... welcome home."
The voice made you freeze.
Alfred was older. He had more gray hair and some new wrinkles, but he was still him.
"Your room is still upstairs. On the left side."
You nodded in silence. You didn't know what to say.
Then you heard footsteps on the stairs.
Jason appeared, leaning on the railing with that usual mocking half-smile.
"Look who’s back. The family’s favorite disaster."
Without warning, he patted your back. It wasn't hard, but it was enough for the pain of the wound to shoot through your body. You clenched your jaw and let out a breath without saying a single word.
Bruce watched the scene from the hallway. Quiet. As always. Trying to decipher what was going on in your head.
You walked up the stairs slowly, one step at a time. You didn't know how to be a daughter again. You weren't even sure you’d ever known how to begin with.
"We prepared a welcome dinner," Bruce said in a much softer voice than you remembered. "Get some rest, and come down when you're ready... daughter."
By reflex, you nodded.
"Understood."
The answer came out before you could stop it. Cold. Automatic. Military.
The silence that followed was awkward.
Bruce, Dick, Tim, Jason, and Damian exchanged glances. It wasn't the word that surprised them... it was the tone. You spoke as if you were answering a superior, not your family.
You entered your room and closed the door carefully. You had to change the bandages on your back; the surgery was still too recent.
And as you removed the bandages, a single thought kept repeating in your head.
You had returned to Wayne Manor...
But you still didn't know if you had truly come home.