Bat Family x Reader (One-shot)

Cookie Dough

I bolted upright like the world was ending. Then a sighed when I realized, it already had. I cried downpours of tears as I revisited my drea- no. . . . . nightmare.

"(y/n)! (y/n), look at me! I want you run, and I want you to run fast! Don't let them get you, okay?" my mother said in a gentle and kind voice, trying to cover up the panic that she truly felt.

"But, mom! Why am I running? And who am I running from?" I tried to say coherently through the river of tears that were running down my cheeks.

"We can't tell you now, (y/n)! But right now you need to run!" my father said, while switching his attention from me to our now burning house that I had lived for as long as I could remember.

"But-"

"It will be alright, (y/n)! Everything will turn out fine, okay? But until then, I need you to run for me, okay pumpkin?" Mum said, tears falling from her cheeks as well. I stared at my parents for a few more seconds, memorizing every freckle, wrinkle, and hair to perfection, before I hugged them with all the strength I had in my 16 year old body. Before I parted I whispered a quick 'I love you' that they returned as well. I usually felt complete in a way when they uttered those three words, but it in that moment. . . . . they shattered my being in every way possible because the way they said it made me think of only one word.

Goodbye.

And I did what needed to be done. I ran. I ran for them, I ran for my home, I ran for their love, and I ran for their goodbye. I also ran for my life. Not only seconds after I left my parents side, men in dreadfully scary clown costumes and masks chased me to know end. At that moment, I thoroughly thanked my PE teacher for forcing me to sign up for the track team. While I was running from the horrifying creatures that I was afraid to call human, they laughed like maniacs with huge grins on their faces. I ran and ran and ran, non stop, until I heard nothing except my ragged breath, running feet, twigs snapping under my heavy footsteps, and my heartbeat.

My terrified, thumping, frantic, heartbeat. I thought it was so loud, that the whole world could hear it. I decided that it was safe to say that the deadly clowns had given up on trying to catch me, so I slowed to a stop in the unknown area of woods. I would always hike in the woods that surrounded my home with Dad when I could, but I was not paying attention to my directions as the clowns gave chase. In other words, I was lost. I quickly looked for the north star and headed that direction, knowing my home once lied in the south.

There was no clouds that night, it was not particularly cold, and my feet were not as sore as before. I realized that this could have been another peaceful hike with my father if there was no murderous clowns after me, if I knew my parents were safe, if the place I once called home was not aflame, and if I was not in an unknown area without a way of outside world contact. I walked for what felt like hours, days, and even years as I jumped at every rustle, twig snap, shake, and animal cry. I no longer cried, for I had run out of tears. As I climbed, walked, and jogged north, I saw a light.

Strange, I thought to myself. I decided to follow it in hopes of it being any help of sorts. I slowly made your way towards this light and made a conclusion that it was a manor. It was slightly larger than my old home (which was also a manor), and looked slightly familiar. As I closed in on the manor, I realized it was the Wayne Manor. In other words, my neighbors. Once I made this conclusion, I realized my head was throbbing and my vision was becoming blurry. I had over stressed myself, so I got as quickly as I could to the door without passing out from exhaustion. I used the last of my energy to pound my fist on the door. As I passed out on the doorway of Bruce Wayne, I saw as what I can only describe as an older man with a very proper suit and a worried expression.

As I remembered the horrors of my reality and nightmare, I could not forget what came after. Bruce Wayne took me in and adopted me after he let me rest from my exhausted coma. A few hours after my two day 'nap', the athorities came and confirmed that my parents were dead at the hands of Jokers men and all my belongings were burned. Motive: unknown. When I heard that there was no motive, no ransom, no way to catch this man, and no way to find justice of any sorts . . . . . I didn't cry, I couldn't. There were no more tears to do so. They were already spent. Instead, I found shelter on something me and Alfred only new of. Something that me and Mother did when one of us was sad.

Pillsbury Cookie Dough. We would eat it straight out of the strange baggy. So that's what I did. After nightmares of my sad reality, I would go downstairs, open the fridge, and sit on the counter eating a few spoonfuls of cookie dough. Then I would head back to bed and some how have a dreamless sleep.

Tonight was no exception.

As I heard my feet sofly pad against the hard wood floors, I felt like . . . . . someone was watching me? I shook my head and continued my journey to the kitchen. As I opened the door to the fridge, I heared hushed . . . . . shushing? I almost chuckled as a smirk grew across my face. The boys had caught me in my nightly esapades.

"Come on out, boys . . . . . I know you're there." As the boys came out with ashamed faces (except Damian of course), my smirk grew larger. "Yes?" Damian, as always, went straight to the point.

"Why do you always come here at night to eat that certain food? Are you stress eating?" The other boys tried to tell Damian how rude that was, but before they could utter a word, I was bursting out laughing. They looked at me with confusion and curiosity as I was practically rolling on the floor.

I was finally able to choke out a "N-no i-i'm not stress eat-eating!" before I calmed down completely. "I am defintely not stress eating or anything of the sorts."

"Then - if you don't mind me asking," Tim asked, "what are you doing?"

I looked down at the cookie dough and all at once, remembered all of my families wonderful memories. A single tear slid down my cheek at the thought of not being able to make more. 

"(y/n)! You okay?" Dick asked in a worried tone. 

"I'm alright. It's just . . . . . it was something me and mom did together, ya know?" I said, looking up with a small smile on my face.

Jason came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder in a reassuring way. "Then why don't we continue that tradition?" He said with a small, and rare, smile.  As I looked at my three other 'brothers', they held faces of reassurance. My smile grew wider, as I grabbed five spoons and sat with them on the kitchen counter. As Jason passed out the spoons, I tore open the bag with a pocket knife that I had gotten on my thirteenth birthday. The boys looked at me with shock as I ate the cookie dough that had some how gotten on the knife. "Where'd ya get that?" Jason asked.

"My dad gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday so I could protect myself and make things with wood and such when we were in the forest by my home." I replied with a face that said 'How does this shock you by now?'. They gave each other a look before we all started to dig into the delicious cookie dough.

I think this is gonna be an awesome tradition.