Chapter Text
There is never going to be a normal Halloween in Gotham.
Margie knows that the moment she spotted the first guy in a clown mask sprinting past Wayne Manor’s gates, screaming something about “wrong lair,” that there wasn't going to be any trick or treating tonight, but Bruce had assured them firmly that they could enjoy at least a few hours of the holiday. As long as they stayed on the property and didn’t touch his gear and didn’t use the grappling hooks as part of “a super cool and totally safe rooftop candy run.”
Tam’s idea, not hers, so they improvise.
Pumpkins line the long stone steps of the manor, each carved with increasing levels of gothic flair, Dick is clearly involved. One had a tiny domino mask. Another had fangs and little bat ears. One just glared menacingly, perfectly capturing Bruce’s everyday vibe.
They dress up too, though “costumes” is a stretch.
Tam wears one of Tim’s hoodies while declaring herself “a sleep-deprived college student.” Easiest cosplay she’s ever done.
Margie may have stolen one of Damian’s capes. A short one, with a stitched red lining along with black face paint and declared, “I am vengeance, tiny-edition.”
Damian stared at her for a full five seconds before muttering, “Your stance is wrong,” then spent fifteen minutes correcting how she held her arms, which, honestly? Kind of adorable.
They roast marshmallows over the manor’s back garden fire pit. Bruce insisted on supervising, glaring at the flames like they might commit a felony. Alfred handed out cocoa, warning them that the real nightmare would be scrubbing melted sugar out of the furniture later.
Bruce’s jaw tightens. His comm crackls. Something was happening. He looks at them, just a beat too long. He hates leaving. For once, it looked like he wanted to stay, even if he never would.
“Inside. Both of you,” he said eventually, gaze straying a beat too long. “Alfred will lock down the manor.”
“Try not to die,” Tam said, raising her cocoa like a toast.
Bruce didn’t smile, but his voice softened just enough. “Not tonight.”
Then he was gone. Like a shadow slipping between stars.
Margie spent the next hour sitting outside anyway, chin tipped up at a moon too bright for a city this dark, wondering if this was bravery or stupidity or some twisted form of homesickness.
Eventually, she wandered to the garden bench beside Tam.
“Hey,” she mumbles, waving her hand and settling next to Tam. “Hey.”
“Our first normal Halloween in Gotham,” Margie sighs, looking up at the stars, “isn’t it weird? No Trick or Treating either.”
“Yeah,” snorts Tam. “Honestly, I still think we should have left the city. I heard Coast City is nice this time of year.”
“California weather,” Margie laughs, closing her eyes. “You were supposed to have a midterm on Wednesday, weren’t you?” Tam nods, “and a quiz?”
“Postponed due to Scarecrow. I guess that was my treat for this week,” Tam chuckles and Margie blinks, suddenly feeling homesick again.
“Do you actually wanna go back?”
“Where’d that come from?” Tam tilts her head, “but of course I do, don’t you?”
“Isn’t it better here?” Margie points out, and Tam shakes her head. “The rent is cheap.” She's never had rent this cheap since college and back then, the only thing she had to worry about was bad roommates.
“Yeah, but it’s Gotham. Crime is everywhere. I’d rather worry about studying than worry about people out there trying to kill me.”
Margie shrugs because, honestly, she doesn't even know anymore. This is a world straight out of a comic book, just like all the reincarnation, isekai bullshit she’d stay up reading about. This time, thought, it's real.
She knows it for a fact. Getting stabbed wasn’t a fun experience, sure, but she lives in Gotham. She lives with Bruce Fucking Wayne, Batman, she sees him in action every night! She met the Joker before he became, well, the Joker, and now all she thinks about is how much she wants to go home. She wants to go home, but is it so bad to want this? I mean, sure, it might be traumatizing—and it was very traumatizing, for the record—but for once in her life, she actually feels free. In the buzzing of the streets with the wind in her face, dropping down and surprising muggers, eating food on the rooftops while listening to people screaming down two streets below.
She likes the freedom that comes with being Batman’s sidekick.
She hated how guilty she felt.
“I’ve seen Batman in the movies,” is what she starts with instead. “You’ve seen him in the comics, in the movies, maybe, but you’ve never seen him. Not the way Gotham does. He’s a legend, a myth, a story.” She's never read the comics, only the movies, but what she knows is that none of them prepare you for the real thing. It's the scary. The way how silently he moves, the way you watch him take criminals down with his bare hands, the way you can't even see him until he strikes. She doesn't see a man, she sees the story of what he had to become.
“Technically, if we keep messing up the timeline, our story might end up with a Batman Who Laughs. The fact that we haven’t broken the timeline and Flash hasn’t come knocking on our door is a miracle.”
It truly is a miracle, Margie thinks as she sighs, "but please don’t jinx us.”
Tam cackles making Margie chuckle as she pulls the jacket tighter around her shoulders, looking up the moon as sirens echo around the streets. “It’s pretty late, wanna go inside?”
“Sure,” she shrugs as they walk back into the manor.
The manor looms above them as they step inside, its vast halls swallowing their footsteps in soft echoes of polished stone. Wayne Manor is impossibly big, more like a palace than a house. She still can't believe she lives here as vaulted ceilings stretch high overhead with chandeliers glittering like frozen stars, almost like that scene in Frozen when someone shoots the chandelier, walls line with portraits of generations past, their eyes seemingly following every move.
When they enter the living room, she can smell the faint traces of aged wood and old leather, mingling with the faint tang of the fireplace. Plush rugs stretch across marble floors, muffling their footsteps, and tall windows let in the muted glow of Gotham’s streetlights, casting long shadows that dance across the walls. Margie glances around, eyes wandering across the grand staircase curling upward to the heavy doors leading to unseen rooms with shelves stacked with books that seem ancient enough to hold secrets of their own. Even in the quiet, the house feels alive, humming with history, with stories of wealth, power, and tragedy.
It’s too much and yet, not enough.
Not enough to feel like home.
Tam stretches her arms over her head, shivering slightly. “Man, it’s so much warmer here.”
Margie rubs her arms, trying to warm up. “Yeah, Gotham nights hit differently,” she said, glancing toward the tall windows where the city lights flicker like distant fireflies. The manor felt warmer, but she still felt cold. She steps closer to the fireplace in the living room, letting the soft heat brush against her face. Shadows from the flickering flames stretch across the walls, making the portraits of grim-faced ancestors seem almost alive. Tam lets out a low whistle, sinking into one of the armchairs.
“This place is so insane,” Margie smiles, takes it all in, “it still feels like I’m in a movie.”
“Well, what if we are? Should I wave to the camera? Release my inner Deadpool?” Tam smirks before waving to the viewers. “Hello, listeners, hope you’re enjoying our Halloween in Gotham. Sorry for the lack of action, but I hope you enjoy the show!”
“We could’ve had some action if we went out trick or treating.” She rolls her eyes, flopping back on the couch as Tam starts lecturing her.
“I mean, it makes sense, going outside right now would be dangerous.”
“We’re literally vigilantes.” She points out.
“That means we have to be smart,” Tam says, folding her arms like it’s a press conference, “and being smart means staying inside.”
Margie groans, “but I want to go outside!”
“At least, we can enjoy the comforts of your wealth.” Tam smirks as Margie laughs softly, setting her bag down beside her. She watches the fire dance, mesmerized for a moment by the way the light jumps and bends.
“It’s kind of cozy, in a weird way. Like, if you ignore the size and all the creepy paintings, it actually feels like a home.”
Tam smirks. “Yeah, ‘home’ with a side of billionaire mystery and Gotham-level danger.” She stretches her legs out, boots clicking lightly against the floor. Margie smiles at her, shaking her head, as a little tension from the garden melts away. It reminds her of her fireplace back at home when they'd start decorating for Christmas, laughter filling the air, stocking lined up, cookies and milk set aside for Santa. She misses the warmth as she curls up on the couch.
“Do you miss it?” Margie asks, trying not to cry. “Home?”
“I think everyone misses home,” Tam tells her as she leans back against the plush chair, eyes half-closed as the fire paints soft gold across her face. “I miss my family, my friends, the way life used to be so… predictable.” She lifted her hands, making a vague, helpless gesture, like she was trying to reach for something that wasn’t there anymore. Her voice dropped. “We didn’t ask for any of this, and I’m grateful for the help we’ve had, I am, but I miss it.”
Margie agrees, hugging her knees as the warmth begins to seep into her bones. “I miss my mom yelling at me to clean my room,” she admits. “I miss going out and feeling safe. I miss feeling like I knew what tomorrow looked like.”
Tam snorts softly, turning her gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah. Same here, tomorrow could be, I dunno.” She counts on her fingers, “A heist. A murder attempt. Some guy in clown makeup is deciding to monologue his trauma at us.”
Margie winces. “Too soon.”
“Way too soon,” Tam agrees, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.
For a while, they sit in silence. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything. It's nice. The manor groans softly around them, settling beams, whispering drafts, like even the walls are awake. The fireplace crackles softly, bathing the room in warm orange light. Tam sat cross-legged on the rug, leaning forward as she props her elbows on her knees. Shadows flickered across her face, making her expression unreadable.
“You know,” Margie finally says, voice low, “I didn’t think you’d wanna stay. Not even a little.” Margie wraps herself in a blanket she borrowed without asking from Bruce’s study as Alfred sets down a bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, thanks, Alfred.” Margie nods, a bit startled as Alfred smiles, handing her a glass of water.
“Of course, Miss Margie, I do hope your enjoying your Halloween." He turns to Tam. "A glass of water for you, Miss Tam?"
Tam shakes her head. "I'm good." Alfred bows.
“Happy Halloween!” Margie calls out when he nods, shutting the door. She presses a hand to heart. "That scared me, you good?"
Tam doesn’t speak until Alfred's footsteps pad away.
“I don’t wanna stay,” she whispers, rolling her shoulders, “but sometimes you just gotta adapt.” Margie’s chest tightened. Yeah, she gets that. The only they did in this world was adapt.
“Enough with all this,” Tam shakes her head, grinning, “it’s Halloween. We should be having fun, watching scary movies, plotting stupid pranks, telling scary stories until someone screams in our ear. Speaking of which, why aren’t you on patrol? Are you holding down the fort?”
Margie bursts out laughing, quiet but sharp as she dodges the question. “Yeah, you’re right, sorry.”
Tam shoots her a look, flicking a popcorn kernel at her. “Don’t apologize." Then her eyes glance back to the door where Alfred had disappeared. "No, but seriously, shouldn’t you be out on the field?”
“It’s fine. They got it.” Margie brushed it off, swallowing a thought she had wrestled with for nights. “Hey, I know you said not to get sentimental and stuff, but seriously.” She said carefully. “If you leave, I’ll go with you.”
Tam’s eyes widen in surprise, slowly softening. “You really mean that?”
“I mean, we started this together, right? Might as well survive it together.”
A real smile bloomed across Tam’s face as she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Margie as she sinks into it, feeling the warmth of Tam’s hoodie and the fire and the night all at once. Margie’s comms crackle, and Barbra screams. Margie winces. “I think you just jinxed us.”
Tam’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
The comm crackles again. “…shot—Damian’s been—shot—”
Margie froze. “What?”
Tam stands, grabbing her boots and shrugging on her jacket. “Come on. We got to go.”
“I know!” Margie snaps, adjusting the comm back into place. “Babs, repeat. What happened?”
Barbara’s voice shakes, voice cracking, but she forces the words out. “Damian’s been shot. The feed glitched. I was trying to reach you. We’re trying to track his location now—”
Margie sprints down the hallway toward the elevator that leeads to the Batcave. Tam keeps pace beside her, breathing hard.
“He’ll be okay,” Tam stated, like she was trying to convince both of them. “Wait, so you were supposed to be on comns? Why were you with me?” The elevator doors slide shut. Margie stares at the metal wall, her reflection shaking. She could feel Tam’s presence beside her, steady, grounding, but all Margie heard was the echo in her ear. Damian’s been shot. Why? How? Who?
She doesn't know if she can stop herself from killing someone.
The elevator drops into darkness. The manor disappears above them, swallowed by the cave. “It’s Halloween,” Margie whispers in the dark as Tam blinks. “I’m not…I didn’t mean to.” She sobs. “Is he gonna be okay?” She just wants to go trick or treating, have a normal Halloween, have fun. They wanted her to have fun, they let her have fun, but at what cost?
“Yeah,” Tam nods, “yeah, he will be, but please tell me before you decide to abandon your post.” Margie nods, squeezing her eyes shut as she wipes her tears.
“I think I’m gonna murder someone tonight.”
“Wow,” Tam chuckles, rolling her eyes, “like that isn’t concerning.”
“When it’s Gotham, it isn’t anymore.” She sniffs and locks eyes with Tam, dead serious, “but seriously, I’m actually gonna kill someone.”
The doors open and the moment they step out, everything is thrown into chaos. Red alerts pulse across the massive screens. Camera feeds flickers. Some going darks, others showing smoke and confusion. Barbara’s fingers fly across the keys, her jaw tight, eyes scanning the cameras for patterns as they rush over to her.
Margie tracks the cameras, finally finding the faces of the family, all set off in different directions. “Where is he?”
Barbara starts rattling off information, not looking away from the screen. “An alley off Fifth. Blood trail. The shooter was….” she hesitates and Margie’s eyes narrow in on the camera.
“…no,” she whispers, stumbling back as she watches Jason move, fluid and precise, and before she can fully process it, he fires. Damian collapses, a sharp cry slicing through the chaos, and everything freezes for a heartbeat, the world narrowing to the sound of that single shot. "I'll kill him." She says as vision starts blurring, slamming a fist into the table as it dents. "How could he..." she knows that's not Jason, but the image keeps flashing in her head anyway. Damian, small and alone in some dirty alley, bleeding into the street, her nails sharpen as they scratch through the metal.
“He was ambushed,” Barbara interrupts, fear flashing across her face as Margie tries to control her animalistic features, “I saw a magic user hit him with something." She pulls up the feed, showing a blur slamming into Jason as he stumbles, skidding across the floor before his vision tints green, the camera feed glitching out.
Margie snaps, reaching for Barbara's collar as her shirt rips, “and you didn’t even think to do anything?!”
Barbara's eyes blaze with fear and anger as Margie closes her eyes, counting down, “and why weren’t you here?!”
Tam steps between them, voice sharp as she holds Margie's wrist. “Enough.” Tam’s gaze flicked to the screens, already scanning for patterns, routes, entries. “Any weaknesses on the magic user? Anyone responding on comns?” Margie lets go of Barbara's shirt as she gasps, trying not to loose control.
Barbara exhales shakily. “They’re trying to separate him from his staff. Without it, he loses his power—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Margie’s voice was low, dangerous, clenching her fists as blood runs down her palm. “Jason still shot Damian. Mind control or not, he’s a liability. When this is over, we lock him up.” She doesn't think she could handle being near him right now. Tam rattles off more questions, trying to keep her grounded as she grabs her hand, squeezing it. Margie sends her a thankful nod.
“Will the magic leave if we get the staff away? Is there a time limit? Has anyone else been hit? We won’t lock him up permanently,” Tam glances at Margie, then Barbara, managing a tiny smile to reassure her, “we'll only isolate him until the spell is gone.” Tam stares at them both pointedly. “Until we’re sure he’s not a danger to himself and others.”
Margie doesn’t wait.
She runs for the bikes because if Damian was out there bleeding, terrified, and alone…she’s not losing him.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
The Batcycle roars to life beneath Margie. She doesn’t wait for Tam—doesn’t think—she just tears down the tunnel, gravel scattering behind her. The cold air hits her like a slap as she bursts out into Gotham’s streets.
Her heart beats in time with the engine.
Damian’s been shot.
Her hands tighten on the handlebars.
Jason. Jason did it.
No.
No, he wouldn’t, she shakes her head, but the image keeps flashing in her head anyway. Jason standing over him. Damian crying out in pain. The sound of the gunshot. The blood.
She's going to kill him.
Tam appears beside her seconds later, bike engine screaming, visor down. She doesn’t speak, instead she rides with Margie, keeping pace. She needs her. She feels like she’s going to snap, going to blow, when they skid into the alley Barbara pinged. Damian, her boy, her son, is slumped against a dumpster, blood staining the concrete, breaths shallow and ragged. His hands are trembling as he tries to press pressure on his own wound.
No.
Jason stands a few feet away, gun hanging in one loose hand like he doesn’t know how it got there. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, like he’s seeing a nightmare instead of reality. The others are nowhere in sight. Margie drops the bike before it stops moving. She hits the ground running. No one can stop her. He's right there. She starts seeing red.
“Damian, hey, hey, kiddo,” Tam drops to his side, gloves already out, applying pressure.
Margie doesn’t stop.
She slams into Jason with her full weight, smashing him into the brick wall. He grunts, breath knocked out of him. She's going to kill him. She's going to make it hurt. Make him bleed.
“What the fuck?!” Jason chokes, hands coming up defensively. “Get off—”
“No." Her forearm digs harder into his throat and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm, watching him choke on the same blood he shot her son with, “you shot him. What the fuck? I trusted you! How could you let him get hurt? Are you stupid? Are you fucking dumb? How could you?” She's going to watch him bleed out. She's going to make him pay, make him suffer as Jason struggles, confusion flickering across his face like static.
“I…I didn’t—”
“I’ll kill you.” Margie snarls. “I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll drag your body and…”
Tam shouts over her shoulder, voice sharp, cracking under strain.
“Margie, stop! Damian!”
And that does it.
Margie shoves Jason off as she runs to Damian. Tam’s hands were slick with blood. Damian’s eyelids flutter. She felt like she’s going to throw up when she drops to her knees beside them, hand trembling as she cupped Damian’s cheek.
“I’m here." Her voice shakes. There's so much blood. She's never seen this much blood before. She's going to be sick. “Hey, baby, I’m here. I’m here, okay?”
Jason stays where he was, leaning against the brick wall as she sobs. She doesn't know what to do. There's so much blood. She doesn't know if she can save him. She wants her mom.
“Mama’s here." She tries to comfort him like she would in this situation. She tries to imagine what it would be like if her mom saw her on that bed as she performs surgery. "Hi, baby,” Margie whispers, brushing damp hair off Damian’s forehead.
Damian whimpers, small and hurting and her heart breaks. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want him to die. “Hurts,” he mumbles, voice thin and fragile. She doesn't know what to do.
Tears spill down her cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. We’re gonna fix it, alright? Just…just stay awake for me. Can you do that?” Damian tries to nod, but it barely registers. His fingers twitch weakly around hers. No, no, please, she desperately sobs, please don't leave me.
“I’m tired,” he breathes, eyes fluttering. She can't...she can't do this.
“No.” Margie’s voice cracks on the word. She doesn't know if she can handle it. There's blood. He's losing too much blood. “No, no, no, stay with me, sweetheart. Look at me. You can sleep when Alfred patches you up, okay?” Sirens scream closer, louder, echoing between the alley walls. Red and blue lights start to dance across the damp pavement. Tam works quickly, pressing gauze into the wound, voice steady despite shaking hands.
“He’s losing too much blood." She tells him as Margie stares at her hands, slick with blood. "We need to extract him.”
Margie presses her forehead to Damian’s head, sobbing hysterically.
"I don't...I'm not a nurse. You're not a nurse. How do we even know what we're doing? I'm going to lose him, Tam. I'm going to..." she sobs as she trembles, throwing up as Jason moves off from the wall.
“Hey,” he whispers, hollow, broken, and Margie screams.
“It's all your fault,” She tackles him and he falls to the ground like a puppet. "It's your fault. You killed him. You fucking killed him." She wraps her hands around his throat, squeezing. "I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you! How could you!" She could kill him. It was so easy. Her grip tightens and then...nothing. Her eyes snap up as Nightwing's hands raise, slowly cornering her as if she's a wild animal.
"Hey," he whispers and she trembles, "we're here. We've got you. Damian's safe. You're safe. I promise you, he'll live. Now come here, it's okay." She trembles, loosening her grip as Jason wheezes, talons flexing as her wings tear out of her back, twitching. She smiles, hysterical as she tilts her head. Kill. Kill. KILL. She slams Dick against the wall, smiling as her voice starts disorienting, “ꀸꍏꈤꁅꍟꋪ. кเɭɭ ץ๏ย. ꪑꪗ ᦓꪮꪀ. ꫝꪊ᥅ꪻ. ᛕ꠸ꪶꪶ.” Her claws twitch, tearing into his armor as Dick gasps.
“ςђเɭ๔,” comes a croak as Margie’s head snap. Tam stands over a bleeding Damian as Margie screams, wings flaring. She runs, grabbing the child and taking off as everyone jumps. The air crackles. The alley shifts. Something ancient hums in the back of Margie’s throat as Nightwing speaks, raising hands.
“Margie,” talking in the way he does when he comforts a kid, “you’re okay. We’ve got him, alright? Damian’s going to be okay.” He makes a gesture with the back of his hand for everyone to get away from the scene as Margie tracks the way Tam shifts, pupils blown wide, the edges of her silhouette flickering with light. The mark on her wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
“Margie,” Tam calls, voice trembling but steady. In the darkness, Margie’s eyes start to glow, faint and gold, almost like honey as she tilts her head. “Listen to me, okay? Damian’s alive. He’s going to be okay.”
Margie’s shoulders shake and the glow spreads, veins of golden light crawling across her costume, wings unfurling in a rush of air that ripples through the alley. Dust lifts off the ground and when Jason coughs, everyone tenses for a fight.
Margie’s eyes snap to him and Jason freezes. He opens his mouth, but Tam whistles, slowly moving in front of him as Margie twitches. “Margie,” Tam says again, firmer this time as she steps closer, even as Margie’s wings unfurl and the wind fights against her. “He’s not the enemy right now. Look at me. Look at me.” Margie’s claws fix as her gaze remains fixed on her.
“That’s it. You’re okay.” Every muscle in Margie’s body coils, torn between instinct and reason. She can hear Damian’s heartbeat. It’s too soft, too slow. He needs help, her baby needs her, but every part of her screams protect, protect, protect and she can’t handle it anymore.
“Take care of him.”
The words manage to scrap out of her throat, hoarse, fragile, barely human, as Tam blinks, startled. Before she can answer, before anyone can move, Margie’s wings snap open with a crack that echoes down the alley and she flies.
She soars upward through the narrow canyon of buildings, wings cutting through the rain-slick air, the city lights flickering gold across her feathers. Her body trembles with every beat, adrenaline and grief tangling in her chest.
The higher she flies, the smaller the chaos below becomes. The flashing red and blue lights, the silhouettes of her friends, the still form of Damian surrounded by hands trying to save him. She can feel his heartbeat fading in the distance, but she forces herself not to turn back. If she stays, she’ll destroy something. Someone.
Wind roars in her ears as she climbs higher, disappearing into the fog. For a moment, she’s nothing but a streak of gold against the dark and then she falls.
And the world screams.
──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The beeping of the monitors fill the air of the medbay where Jason leans against the door where he’d been for the past hour, unable to enter and yet unable to leave at the same time.
“Have you been checked?” Tam’s voice cut in from behind him.
He watches Damian’s chest rise and fall, the steady motion grounding him, even as the constant beeping fills his ears and a bag of chips drift in front of his eyes.
“Eat something,” Tam says and he takes the bag without a word as it crinkles beneath her fingers. “Go on.” She crosses her arms and he chuckles.
“You look like shit.”
Tam snorts. “Thanks.” It’s quiet for a moment before Jason finally speaks.
“How is she?”
“Alive.”
Jason’s jaw tightens. “That’s not what I asked.”
Tam exhales, her eyes softening. “She’s resting. Burned through everything she had. Physically, she’s fine—well, mostly fine—but mentally?” She shakes her head. “She’s blaming herself for all of it. For Damian. For you. For losing control.”
Jason looks down at the bag in his hands, crumpling it slowly. “She didn’t lose control.”
Tam tilts her head. “You sure about that?”
“I shot him.” Jason’s words hang like a confession as Tam just shrugs it off.
“While magically cursed, unable to do anything,” she points out as her eyes flicker to the boy on the bed, “Damian will be alright. A kid like him? He’s a fighter. Practically nothing.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Jason grits his teeth, “it’s not an excuse. He’s still a kid. She had every right to be angry.” He rolls his eyes. “What are you even doing here?”
Tam raises an eyebrow. “What? Well, why shouldn’t I be here?”
Jason snaps, voice raw, “well, why else would you be here, huh?”
Tam stares, tilting her head and smiling, before snapping. “Well, why wouldn’t I be here? First of all, you were just another one of the unfortunate victims of this magical scenario. Plus, if roles were reversed, would you blame Damian for stabbing you?”
“It wouldn’t be his fault.” Jason shook his head. “It was magic.”
“Exactly.” She crossed her arms. “Whether you choose to accept it or not, that’s a whole different thing. Regardless, the same thing goes for Damian, he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
Jason doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works, the muscle twitching as he looks at the floor, at the reflection of the monitor lights flickering against the tiles. Tam waits, patient but firm, her arms still crossed as the silence stretches.
Finally, Jason mutters, “You make it sound so damn simple.”
“It isn’t simple,” Tam admits, her tone softening, “but it’s the truth. You can carry the guilt if you want, but it won’t make anything better. Not for you, not for him, and definitely not for her.”
He looks up sharply at that, meeting her gaze. “Margie.”
“Yeah,” Tam says quietly. “You think you’re the only one blaming yourself? She’s torn apart. You should’ve seen her when she thought Damian was—” She stops, swallowing hard. “You both keep punishing yourselves for things that weren’t your fault. She scared everyone half to death this time, though.” Tam murmurs. “Even Dick didn’t know what to do for a second. We thought she wouldn’t make it.”
Jason huffs a laugh, dry and humorless. “That makes two of us.” He leans his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, “so what do I do, Tam? How do I make it up to them? Buy him a cake that says, ‘sorry I shot you! Magic sucks, by the way!’”
“If you want my advice, just get them a dog.” She glances toward the medbay window, where Margie lies, resting beside the cot. “Margie used to have a Shih Tzu named Winter, you could start there.”
Jason snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “A dog. Yeah, because nothing says emotional healing like house training.”
Tam smirks. “You’d be surprised what a second chance can fix. For what it’s worth, though, sorry about all the things she said. I know that it was ‘in the heat of the moment’ kind of thing, but it’s not your fault. I’m angry too.” She admits, “that Damian got hurt, but I know that you’d never do it on purpose.” She glances over at him and he quickly nods. “Same thing with Margie.”
“I pulled the trigger, though.” He closes his eyes, remembering the blood when he came back, the guilt eating up at him. He knows what it felt like to die, but knowing Damian could’ve died in that alleyway made him feel like the trigger had been pointed at him, like he took the shot. “I could’ve killed him.”
Tam shakes her head, “but you didn’t. It was mind control, remember? Everyone’s had their fair share of it and we all know how much it sucks, right? It’s not your fault, Jason. You were a tool.” She pats his shoulder, “but if it makes you feel better, I could go with you and pick out a dog for them?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, “if you aren’t here when Damian and Margie come back, they will actually kill me.” A hug and a pat on the back is the only confirmation he gets as she takes his place by the door and he grabs his helmet and heads out.
──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────
“Hey,” Tam says when she wakes up, groaning, “welcome to the land of the living. Your dad sent me to check up on you.”
“He’s not my dad.”
“Hmm,” she hums, checking the IVs as Margie sits up, wincing, “alright.”
“It’s complicated.” Margie rolls her eyes, “how long was I out for?”
“A few hours maybe,” with a wicked grin already forming, she scans the monitors, “and you didn’t say no.”
“Stop it.” Margie warns, eyes narrowing.
Tam continues, just for the fun of it. “Okay then, complicated as in ‘we have matching gadgets and trauma’ complicated or complicated like ‘I call him Bruce but secretly hope he’ll call me his kid one day’ complicated?”
Margie glares, cheeks heating. “Shut up.”
Tam presses a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. That was defensive. You’re halfway to a Hallmark adoption arc.”
“He’s not—!” Margie cuts herself off, exhaling sharply as the pain flares. “He’s not my anything. He just saved me.”
Tam’s smile softens into something smaller, less sharp. “People don’t save strangers and then teach them how to punch without, you know, caring.”
Margie opens her mouth. Nothing comes out because she remembers that first night. Blood everywhere. Bruce’s hands steady and fierce. His voice, not gentle, but present. She shakes her head.
“He doesn’t want more kids,” she says eventually.
“Maybe,” Tam shrugs, “but he keeps collecting them anyway.”
Margie snorts despite herself. “Yeah, he does.”
Tam squeezes her hand. “Look, labels are weird, but you look at him like you expect him to stick around.”
Margie’s breath catches. “You think?”
“I know,” Tam says, “because you look at Damian the same way.” Margie freezes and her eyes start watering as she looks away.
Tam takes out the needle, pressing a cotton ball to the wound once she finishes. “You should talk to Jason later, if you can. He’s already beating himself up for it.” When tears fall, she squeezes Margie’s hand tighter, wrapping her up in a hug. “Don’t blame him, alright? It’s not his fault. You gave us quite a scare."
“I didn’t mean to say that.” She mumbles, squeezing Tam’s hand back as she listens to the heart monitor by her side, trying to ground herself. She closes her eyes, remembering the times she had gotten her blood drawn and her dad held her hand just like this. “You know, I never knew why my mom was always so overprotective until now.”
“Yeah?” Tam laughs. “Same.”
“I hoped that I would be a good mom in the future. I mean, sure, maybe I’d have my moments, but I’d like to think that I would be. I am, right? To my siblings. To Damian.” Her voice cracks. “I feel like I’m going insane, Tam, I’m a mother now.”
“Congrats.”
Margie laughs. “Thanks, but this isn’t a one man job, you know? Co-parenting!” She releases her hand to do their little handshake as Tam chuckles.
“Cheers to that.” Tam stretches, patting her shoulder, “now come on, get some rest. I’ll watch over him.” Margie shakes her head, grip tightening as she pulls her back, “come on.” Tam insists.
Dread settles in her chest when she whispers. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“He’ll wake up, Margie, I promise you, and the moment something happens, I’ll be right there with him. I’ll even call you when you can walk again.”
“Promise?” She mumbles and Tam wraps a pinkie around hers.
“Promise.”
Margie nods and tears slip past her eyes. “Hey,” Tam hums as Margie blinks them away, “he’s gonna be okay.”
“Okay,” Margie nods. “If he’s not, can I kill Jason?”
“I think he’ll do it himself.” Tam states as Margie snorts, “or he’ll just rise to the occasion.”
Tam cackles. “So your humor's back, that’s good.”
“I know.” Margie smirks. “If I can’t trick or treat, I’m being possessed by the Halloween spirit with an award for my dark humor.”
“Hey, now,” Tam clicked her tongue, “we don’t need two more magic cases going spell bound. Now sleep.” She lets go of her wrist and gestures towards the door.
“Happy Halloween, Tam.” Margie calls out as Tam smiles, sitting down.
“Happy Halloween, Margie. Sorry we didn’t get to go trick or treating.” “I’m still kinda pissed about that.” Margie huffs, “maybe next year.”
Margie shuts her door, padding quietly to her room, hand brushing the railing, and before the guilt can swallow her whole, before she can regret it in the morning, she mumbles softly.
“Happy Halloween, Gotham.”
Because for some reason, even after all the scares she’s had, even after everything she’s been through, at the end of the day, Gotham still feels like home.
It is home, she finally thinks as she closes her eyes, the noise lulling her to sleep.