Batsis Stories, Imagines, & One-Shots

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Being the only non-vigilante in the family besides Alfred meant that she was the one who was normal. Or abnormal in her family's case—but hey, they still loved their abnormal sister. She was the one who was able to provide rationality from a civilian perspective, another look from a different lens. She was softer too. Much softer than most of her family, quiet, reserved, kind. She didn't like fighting. Didn't like arguing and screaming until throats were raw.

Her nights weren't usually spent outside fighting crime, though she did help out in the cave from time to time, readying equipment, providing food and drinks for before and after patrol routes. Most nights, she was at her apartment or still working. She liked not being a vigilante. Liked being able to go out with her friends at night and not be burdened by last minute bailouts because Two-Face decided to rob a bank or Penguin started a gang war with Joker.

All that being said, she did know her father's enemies and friends. Being the first child in the manor and with less than two decades between her and him, his enemies and friends were well-known categories to her. Bruce's oldest friend during his travels, Ghost-Maker, had also been someone she'd known—at least by story. She'd never met him until the night he showed up and challenged her father. Then he became a member of their family, though she could tell the others were wary—she didn't blame them, but if she didn't extend the olive branch, she knew they weren't going to reach out. They got along well, in her opinion. She liked to be around him and often felt like Ghost-Maker relaxed around her, even to the point that he spoke of his travels. It was no surprise to either of them when they started a romantic relationship. And while he wasn't particularly monogamous, he seemed satisfied with her for the time being.

***

It was far, few, and in between when they were all in the cave at once, and not dressed in gear about to go out, but instead to hang around and train. She smiled as Cass and Duke wiped the floor with Jason and Dick. Tim and Damian were butting heads about a video game and Steph was leaning over the back of Barbara's wheelchair, offering insight to some new update the tech genius was creating. Bruce and Ghost-Maker were leaning against the table, quietly murmuring back and forth to each other—in Latin, she had to note, figuring it was because she was in the middle of them, and they didn't want her to know; she wasn't upset.

"Jason, Cass, no hits below the belt," she called out. "You both know better that."

Cass nodded, readying her position again, but Jason stopped, propping his hands on his hips as he griped, "Okay, but in real life, people hit below the belt, (Y/N)."

She tutted at him. "Jason, you have to be the bigger person." Raising a fist, she grinned, "Punch 'em in the face."

"I can do that!" he chirped.

"I didn't mean punch Ca—oh, who am I kidding, he won't be able to hit her," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in preparation for the all-out ass-kicking her second younger brother was going to get; she looked over at Bruce. "Wanna bet on them?"

He chuckled. "Ten on Cass."

"But I was choosing Cass!" she pouted, then pursed her lips. "Fine. I'll up it to twenty on Jason."

"Do you two bet on your family often?" Ghost-Maker asked, and she looked over.

"When it's a high-stakes match." (Y/N) nodded at the two siblings circling one another, Duke and Dick had moved off the mats. "Jason and Cass are two of the best fighters alive. Each are capable of going hand to hand with Bruce and lasting for a quite a while." She looked back at him. "When they really hit their primes, they'll be better than you and dad."

He snorted. "There are few people who are better than me and Bruce."

(Y/N) propped a hand on her hip. "This coming from the man who gets his ass kicked every time you and my dad fight?"

"This coming from the woman who can't fight at all?" he shot back, and her cheeks warmed, jaw snapping closed at the retort.

"I chose not to fight because I don't believe in violence."

"You literally just told him to punch someone in the face."

"Just because I don't believe in hitting people doesn't mean I can't tell someone. It's just speech. Words."

"I think you're making excuses," he smirked.

(Y/N) glared. "I think you're being a jerk."

"Nice comeback. Did you get it from a laffy taffy wrapper?"

Even Bruce snorted at that one and she couldn't help but shift her weight between her feet as embarrassment flooded her body. "You are such a nasty person. Rude and nasty and mean."

Ghost-Maker cocked a brow, at least she thought he did. "Aw, are you upset that I'm faster at firing off than you are?"

She scoffed. "Thanks for reminding me why we stopped screwing. Maybe the next time we do, you'll fire second?" This time, his jaw went slack, and he gaped at her, but she was quick to add, "And for the record, being rude and condescending doesn't make you look cool. It just makes you look like an asshole. But you'd know a lot about that, huh?"

"I think I know much more than you do, Primadonna."

(Y/N)'s eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."

"Oh? So, what do you want me to call you? Miss Snobby?"

She turned to face him. "I'm warning you."

"I've got it! Miss Prude!"

THWAP!

She'd let her fist fly before she even knew what she was doing and not even Ghost-Maker was able to react fast. He reached up, grabbing his nose as blood spilled out his nostrils, staining the rim of the cloth mask he wore. The noise in the cave stilled as everyone turned to face their eldest sister, all gaping, though Jason and Cass wore proud looks. Even Bruce had no idea how to react.

(Y/N), with hot cheeks, thrust a finger in his face and griped, "Newsflash, Ghost-Maker. The Wayne Family motto is 'talk shit, get hit'." She sped off towards the stairs, half out of embarrassment, the other half of giddy adrenaline. "I'm going home! Goodnight!"

Ghost-Maker merely watched her back as she left, blinking in stunned silence; Bruce snickered. "My daughter isn't a vigilante, K. But that doesn't mean I didn't train her to defend herself."

He shot his friend a glare and wiped his nose, feeling the sting, starting to walk off. "Go shove it."

"And just where are you going?"

"You heard her," he grinned. "The next time we screwed I had to fire second. Besides, someone's gotta drive her home."

Bruce was already starting after him. "That is my daughter you're talking about! Get back here damnit! I will not let you taint her!"

"She's already been tainted by me, old friend. Many times."

"I DON'T NEED TO KNOW THAT, K! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"