Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was some Greek tragedy in getting what you wanted but not in the form you needed it.

Be careful what you wish for. Such a simple sentence encompassing life lessons more colorful explored in common tales about djinns and fae folk. Damian was accustomed to this: to have his wishes twisted into punishments like he was living in a never-ending purgatory.

Even in the face of his plans failing time and time again, he pushed through it, through the grief, the disillusionment and the utter madness of it all, despite his stubbornness and fiery refusal to let his failures consume what was left of him, Damian was tired, oh-so tired, of walking in the deeps of his own Tartarus.

That's why when he woke up in the body of his ten year old self to the news of this father's passing, what he felt wasn't incredulity, confusion or dread, but pure rage, so much rage that it wouldn't have been surprising if a Red Lantern Ring found its way to him.

He failed, again. 

He wasn't when he was supposed to be and if existed such thing as a cosmic entity that reigned over his existence, it surely was laughing at him. But his wrath was bigger than his despair and even if it killed something in him that he didn't even know he still had, he was going to do this all over again from the beginning, even if that meant losing the versions of the people he came to consider his family; their shared memories, their unique experiences together, the things Damian would never know he did to made them love him, all of that and more just forever lost, because in the grand scheme of things, preventing the tragedies that would befall his family was more important than Damian's place in their hearts.

He was exhausted of wandering in the last rings of hell and having wicked fairies toying with him... this time Damian was going to take this new punishment and change it.

Returning to a Gotham that was in the middle of a war between vigilantes, villains and opportunists was as bittersweet as it was heartbreaking. Damian had to live now with the fact that his family only saw an untrustworthy killer in him, one that meant very little to them... but they were alive. The last time Damian saw any semblance of them, they were just names in dilapidated tombstones, so in comparison seeing them alive and whole - even if they were grieving or held no love for him -, was the best thing that happened to him in a long time.

And at the moment, that was enough.

Despite Damian's conviction of stopping the myriad of unfortunate events that will come, he started to worry about the possibility that some things were just inevitable even if he did everything different, such as Jason Todd shooting him, with the only the difference being that this time Todd did it much more later than when it originally happened; Damian tried at least to avoid it, so the bullet went to his left side instead of his chest. He hoped this incident wasn't some kind of omen, because the first time the result had been barely some bruising but now, the damage had been enough that Alfred refused to let him join in the efforts the rest of Batman's associates were doing in his absence. Of course that was just a small sidestep, so he decided to take advantage of his recovery time to gather intel and pass it on to the appropriate allies.

In the past - which now seemed so far away, even though he found himself living it for a second time -, Damian wouldn't have let such a minor injury stop him, but now that he was finally here, safe in the unfamiliar familiarity of Wayne Manor with Grayson's reluctant acceptance, he could, at last, breathe. Now that he was no longer living in a permanent state of flight or fight, he welcomed the time to rest and decompress, so he could compartmentalize before retaking the heavy burden he carried on his shoulders.

Sitting in the darkness of the Batcave under the light of the monitors, Damian never feel more identified with his father than at that moment. That had always been what differentiated Bruce from the rest of his family, that perpetual mental state where his mind was always occupied with thoughts of all the possible horrors to come, always trying to think of plans to avoid one catastrophe or another. It held some truth then, what some said about not understanding one's parents until you reached their age... if only it didn't took so many shortcuts for Damian to do so before his own time.

It was like that how Grayson found him, accidentally hidden in the size of the chair when Nightwing came back from patrol that night.

Given how tired he was, Dick almost missed Damian's presence but the activity on the screens caught his attention on his way to the showers. “What are you doing?”

Damian didn't even bother to turn to look at him when Dick got to his side. “Monitoring the Industrial District.”

“You shouldn't be here, how did you even gain access?”

“I hacked it,” even though Damian still didn't turn to look at Dick, he knew what kind of thoughts were going through his mind from his voice alone. “There's no need to sound so alarmed, Pennyworth is supervising me.” And he finally turned to his side, only he didn't do it in the direction Dick was facing. “Pennyworth, tell Grayson I'm behaving.”

Alfred, who had conveniently chosen this moment to return from the medical area, simply raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Master Damian has been assisting us, Miss Gordon can confirm.”

Dick did his best not to let out a frustrated sigh, so he brought a hand up to his face covering his eyes, which wasn't all necessary when the domino mask was already doing much of the work in hiding part of his expression.

It was more than clear that they were facing the more challenging situation of their lives; the worst-case scenario they could've imagined had come true and no matter how many plans Bruce might have made for such occasion, the truth was they all were painfully unprepared. In the midst of this chaos, the last thing Dick needed was Damian's unexpected appearance, because he couldn't deal with the weight of Batman's disappearance and the pain of Bruce's death, while also keeping an eye on a small assassin-in-training; case in point, Damian was shot as soon as he got there. At least he was somewhat willing to follow orders compared to the last time Dick saw him, but it didn't mean he wasn't acting under some nefarious orders from Talia, so he wasn't all comfortable with the idea of Damian having access to the Batcomputer, even if Alfred and Barbara were watching him.

“Look,” he finally said after what he felt was an eternity. “You don't need to worry about all this, this isn't your fight, kiddo.”

Damian had to resist the urge to gnash his teeth at the impersonal way in which Dick tried to placate him. “Pennyworth said I should earn my keep.”

Alfred remained impeccably impassive at the look of mixed disbelief and betrayal that Dick gave him. “Idle hands make the devil's work, Master Richard.” It was the short but precise explanation.

“You're lucky to have my help,” Damian finally decided to turn the chair to look for the first time at Dick. “I'm an invaluable asset.”

He took a few seconds to study Dick, searching in his face for something he clearly didn't find and instead, had to confront the reality of what Dick's posture revealed: he was relaxed but not trusting, ready to jump into action if needed it. Even if Damian understood the intricacies of his situation, it was the weakest part of him the one making him look for ghosts of the past in the present... understanding the position he was in didn't make things less painful and when it came to feelings, Damian was always on the losing side.

"Tt." It was the only way he allowed himself to externalize the emotions he couldn't express freely. “Come, Pennyworth, you need a break,” and he sprang to his feet with a quick leap. “At your age you should mind your health better.”

Without waiting for an answer Damian began to walk in the direction of the stairs that led to the mansion and despite trying to force himself to concentrate on how to prepare an impeccable cup of tea, it was impossible to ignore the murmuring of voices that he left behind, but he continued walking like nothing noteworthy was happening, for the sake of what was left of his sanity.

“Alfred, I know you mean well but we don't know yet what to expect from him,” was the first thing Dick said after Damian put a little distance between them. “There's very sensitive information in the computer.”

“Sir, you're working so hard and I understand you don't have the time to spend with him to make your own conclusions but, Richard,” he started saying with the same professional stoicism he was used to, however his features softened when he placed a conciliatory hand on Dick's shoulder. “I know a boy desperately trying to prove himself when I see one.” And though he didn't say it, the look he gave Dick spoke for itself.

Dick let out a long sigh and momentarily closed his eyes, half nodding. He knew he wasn't being entirely fair to Damian, that in response to his unexpected docility, his reaction had been wariness rather than relief, but in Dick's defense, the situation they found themselves was so testing, that adding Damian into the mix felt like a more titanic task than what it really was.

“You look dreadful,” Alfred chose to said instead of the rest of what he wanted, because although it was pressing, talks about Batman and his successor could wait another day, at the very least until Dick recovered a little. “Get all the sleep you can, we'll keep a tight surveillance so please take all the rest you need.”

Giving Dick's shoulder one last gentle squeeze he let him go to finally take the same path in which Damian had disappeared moments before, yet he barely took a few steps when he stopped quite deliberately, turning slightly to give Dick a sideway glance in his best butler posture.

“Master Damian and I share most meals at the table,” he said it like he was answering a question made. “You're always welcome to join but I need to warn you, Master Damian isn't a very skilled cook.”

It was comical in a way, because from all the things heard and seen in those days about Damian, it had been that bit of information what finally made Dick feel like he was missing important things happening, not in the streets, but in the place that was once his home.

Chapter Text

The first time when he came to live at Wayne Manor, Pennyworth had been more demanding, always trying to force schedules on him and concocting entire lectures that he expected Damian to follow. He assumed it was because in the past he had been more rebellious and as a result, Pennyworth thought he needed some semblance of structure to help him.

But on this occasion Alfred had been more flexible and allowed Damian to do what he considered prudent with his time, so Damian designed his own schedule, mainly because his internal clock was still following his routine on the League, which meant he needed to adjust in advance for his soon-to-be vigilante's life.

However, being trusted with how to use his own time didn't mean Damian was trusted anywhere else, and with Grayson still refusing to take on Batman's mantle, there was little he could do at the moment besides training, not that his place as Robin was secured once Dick finally decided to step up and more than that, Damian didn't know yet if he wanted that role again... or if he even deserved it.

Such thoughts were going through his mind as he went down the stairs that led to the Batcave; even if he had a limited range of things to do at the moment, he could at least continue gathering data to refresh his memory about the times he was currently living. Soon it was clear that his plans with the computer were ruined, because the position behind it was occupied currently. If it were Grayson, Damian would just turn around and come back later, since he wasn't ready to be alone with a Dick Grayson that only saw a nuisance in him.

For better or for worse - although Damian was inclined to believe it was more the latter - it wasn't Dick who was there right now, but Drake. He was even less eager to confront Tim, but the difference was that he could avoid Grayson indefinitely, Drake he could not.

Among the many things Damian had to take care of, trying to clear the air between him and Tim was high on the list.

This was far from the ideal for the kind of conversation Damian had in mind, but like a wound in need of cauterization, the faster he took care of it, the better. He waited a few moments to compose himself before continuing his way to the Batcomputer, purposely making just enough noise to make his presence known, coming to a stop once he was within what he considered a safe distance. Whatever Tim was doing at the time, it looked like it was more important than acknowledge Damian's presence; despite this, he tried to be patient and wait but when it became clear that Tim had no intention of even speaking to him, Damian had no choice but to be the first one to speak.

“Drake,” he said, trying to sound as neutral as possible while crossing his hands behind his back. “I know you're busy but I need a few minutes of your time, I promise it'll be quick.” Again Damian waited a few moments before continuing. “Rest assured, if this wasn't important I wouldn't be here. I just need a moment... please.” He added the last word after a brief battle against himself.

Tim's exaggerated sigh told Damian he'd gotten what he wanted even before the other turned the chair to face him. “What?” He asked with all the contempt he could imbued in just one word.

Drake looked a lot better than Damian anticipated, but that it wasn't that surprising considering that Jason didn't roughed him up that bad this time. It was almost fascinating the way he looked at Damian, with a disdain that did little to cover his obvious fatigue.

This, Damian could deal with.

Because even though Tim had gone to the extremes of the hell that was Apokolips to get him back, their relationship never progressed past tolerating each other out of necessity. They were family by obligation, not by choice, and in that sense his relationship with Drake was, ironically, the closest to what's considered normal when it came to the concept of family.

It was grounding in a way, because in this world that felt full of strangers, Drake was the most familiar one.

With renewed confidence and feeling more relaxed, Damian straightened his posture. “I want to apologize for the actions I took after we met, at the time I didn't know my father operated in a different way than the League. A cultural shock, if you will.” As before he waited a few moments, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. “Is not an excuse, I know I refused to follow his instructions after and I apologize for that as well.”

Damian-son-of-Satan apologizing? Nah, that was too far-fetched and honestly Tim had no time for that kind of nonsense with all the things that were happening at the moment. “What's this really about?”

“I know you won't forgive me and that's understandable, I made a very strong first impression. The only thing I ask is for us to be civil with each other from now on.”

To say that Tim was stunned was an understatement, and he didn't know if the throbbing in his temples was from his lack of sleep or from a developing headache. He wanted to laugh for all the wrong reasons. “Are you being serious right now?” He finally said, trying to stay calm. “You tried to kill me!” And of course, he failed.

“I know, that's why I'm apologizing.” And he stopped himself from sighing in exasperation. “I was uninformed when we met. Mother set me up for failure from the beginning, she didn't want me to join father's household, she wanted me to be disruptive... but some wrongdoings were entirely mine.”

Damian had gone over everything he was saying to Tim dozens of times before; something he began to contemplate years ago in an attempt to keep his sanity, maintaining conversations with imaginary versions of his loved ones, allies and even enemies. And more often than not, Drake presented as the three of them.

Tim for his part continued to have trouble believing in the sincerity behind Damian's motives, because not too long ago Damian was very happy to demean him at every chance he got, even when his entire life was in danger.

And at that thought, Tim suddenly felt a little more awake. “Something's off.” He said it like it was some kind of revelation. “You're different.”

Damian nodded slightly as if he heard a compliment and not an accusation. “The world outside the League is very humbling.”

“Hard to believe you found yourself in Paris. Last time we saw you, we were trying to save you from Ra's.” And he paused a little, making himself more comfortable in the chair, trying to display a sense of control. “I'm starting to believe he found another way.”

Damian's instant reaction was to wrinkle his nose in disgust and twist his mouth. “Don't be stupid, Drake, I am myself. My grandfather is too prideful to live as I'm doing right now. Do you honestly think he will tolerate being scolded by Pennyworth for drinking Ipton tea?”  

The counterargument Tim was thinking of died in an instant. “Seriously? Ipton?”

“I know, a regretful indulgence of mine, Pennyworth is very cross.”

For a moment Tim was speechless as the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him, so he finally did what he thought of before: he started to laugh. The past weeks had taken a great tool on him and he was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He was also recuperating from his more recent injuries and running on few hours of sleep, on top of that he had a lot to do and too much worries on his shoulders to keep entertaining Damian's chitchatting about commercial teas, apologies and newly discovered humility.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He finally said without hiding his annoyance. “I don't forgive you but I accept your apology, just stay away from me and mind your own business.”

“That's acceptable.” And not wanting to push his luck, he started to retreat.

“Damian,” Tim's voice made him stop. “I'll watching you. I don't know your endgame yet but as soon as you take one wrong step, I'll hunt you down.”

“Tt. I wouldn't expect any less.”

When it was clear that Tim wasn't going to add anything else, Damian continued his way back to the mansion, going straight to his bedroom, where the first thing he did was to unceremoniously fall face-first onto the bed. Although things had gone much better than predicted, Damian had to admit he felt more emotionally weary than anticipated, which seemed ridiculous, because Drake behaved just the way Damian was very well used to. It could be that despite his best efforts to be more honest, it was something that still didn't come naturally to him.

That was how Alfred found him, still in the bed, pondering his existence.

“I'm glad to see you're using wisely your time, Master Damian.”

“I'm meditating.” Was the muttered answer.

“I would hate to interrupt such important task but I must inform you, Master Richard will be joining us for dinner.”

Instantly Damian sat up, frowning as he eyed Alfred suspiciously. “And you have nothing to do with that.”

“I can imagine Master Richard is craving good conversation and food, so I suppose I'll cooking today.”

Damian chose not to dignify that with a reply, preferring instead to theorize why Alfred decided to invite Dick, but considering what a good-hearted fool Pennyworth was, surely there were sentimental reasons behind it. Ugh, Damian had enough of confronting feelings for the day... but alas, there was little he would refuse Alfred these days.

“Actually, Pennyworth, I want you to prepare something that complements the dish I'm making later.”

“Oh?” He exclaimed without real curiosity. “And what that dish would be?”

Damian tried not to groan at his own choice. “Macaroni and cheese.”

Damian was an expert when it came to wielding knives, he could synthesize drugs, make antidotes from simple herbs and replicate complicated processes just by reading the theory... so it was utterly ridiculous and even insulting that none of these things helped him to automatically become an excellent chef. Fortunately, now he had a better disposition to accept his shortcomings, because there were worse things than admitting he couldn't do perfectly everything he wanted.

When dinner time finally came around, Damian sat at the head of the table like he always did when he was eating in Alfred's company. These days Damian cared very little for things like status or old-fashioned customs, but he still needed to keep his reputation as an obnoxious kid and whatever Dick was thinking of the food or his seating, he didn't say and instead engaged in a bit of small talking with Alfred.

Pennyworth of course, didn't have the same reservations and after the first bite, he made known his verdict. “I say this is an improvement. This time I can taste the salt,” and he made a purposeful pause. “If nothing else.” 

Better disposition or not, Damian still glared because it wasn't that bad. “This is a new trade for me, I need time to perfect it,” he tried to say it in the most dignified way possible. “I learn fast, you won't have to suffer these average attempts for long.”

“Average may be generous,” Damian's glare became more pronounced at that. “But we all start somewhere, if you're interested I'd gladly schedule cooking lessons.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Pennyworth,” Damian's first impulse was to reiterate his own competence and how little help he needed to master something so trivial, but one of his resolutions for this time around was to be less confrontational. “You have important tasks to oversee instead of playing chef with me.”

“That's an easy fix, we can hire a private cooking instructor.” He said without missing a beat, always ready to deal with stubborn children.

“Gotham is on fire and Wayne Enterprises will follow if we don't do something about my father's absence,” Damian almost took a pause, not because he was talking about his father's assumed demise, but because he noticed the change in Dick's posture at his words. “We have better things to do than start spreading word about Bruce Wayne's lovechild.”

“With Master Bruce's record, a new Wayne kid is hardly surprising but I'm sure the tabloids could use the distraction.”

“Are you implying father has more children I don't know about? If so, I'm going to need a chart to remember all of them.”

It was that moment that Dick chose to finally try to join the conversation, since he wasn't a fan of the direction it was taking. “No offense but I really hope you're the last kid that drops here out of nowhere.” He said as cheerily as he could.

“If only it were a matter of hope.”

Maybe it was the tone in which he said those words, but Damian's short answer effectively killed the conversation.

The next few minutes felt eternal, at least for Dick, that definitely didn't want to spend dinner in awkward silence, especially when he had been able to witness the way in which Damian and Alfred interacted. At first the idea of them sitting at the table eating together seemed like a half-baked joke, even the very notion of Damian cooking sounded highly uncharacteristic, but Dick now had proof that Alfred was saying the truth. It was even a bit surreal to hear them speak with such familiarity - as if they had known each other for years -, with an underlying camaraderie Dick wasn't expecting to see after just some days, but if someone was capable of coax Damian into a sense of comfortability, Dick guessed it was without a doubt Alfred.

Seeing that Damian seemed more willing to talk than what Dick initially expected, he decided to give it another try, because if there was one thing he was good at without even trying, it was talking just for the sake of it.

“Having a public persona has benefits.” Dick expressed as casually as he could.

Damian gave him an unimpressed look. “Such as?”

“Like going outside with your friends.” He said jokingly and he was about to add something else when Damian beat him to it.

“My friends are long gone.”

Dick wasn't expecting that kind of answer but to his credit he kept his easygoing appearance. “Right, so, you still can do fun things as a civilian.”

“Fun,” he said like he was testing the word. “It's been years since I last thought of that.”

Damian didn't mean to sound so grim, even if it was true, but by now he understood what Dick was trying to do. In the past he had tried countless times to make Damian participate in simple conversations, always failing but never discouraged; the Grayson of the past learned that what was important wasn't Damian's answers, but the things he didn't say.

Of course he couldn't expect the same from this Grayson. It wouldn't be fair.

“Maybe you can start now?” Dick gave Alfred a quick look, clearly asking for help since the approach he took seemed to be failing. “What do you like?”

Resisting the desire to call him a fool, Damian decided to be generous and throw him a bone to make up for his less than happy previous answers. “Weapons.” He said, putting on a bored tone. “Classical arts,” that was more for Alfred's benefit. “Training,” because he didn't know what else to do, caged as he was in the mansion. “Animals.” The truth, at last.

And just like he intended, Dick perked up. “What's your favorite?”

“I don't have a preference, most of them are acceptable. Except snakes.”

“Everybody has a favorite! C'mon, if you have to choose one at random, what would it be?”

Only because he was entertaining the other, Damian decided to take it seriously. “A rabbit, I suppose. I never had one.”

For someone who was silently asking Alfred for help just moments ago, Dick seemed suddenly pretty comfortable. “You know I grew up in a circus?”

“It shows.”

“I had an elephant there, she was my favorite.”

“Don't be preposterous, Grayson, if anything, you were the elephant's.”

“Kind of makes sense, but no, you're missing the point.”

“That you tormented a poor creature that couldn't escape you?”

“Of course not, we were friends. She loves me.”

“That is what a criminal would say about his coerced victim.”

“What? Victim? No, you're twisting the innocent story I'm trying to tell.”

“Or maybe I'm bringing to light some dark secrets from your past.” Damian had to stop himself from smiling at Dick's response, which was a mixture of incredulity and indignation.

He wondered if Grayson knew he was just making fun of him. If that changed anything, if it was even important. But what Damian was sure of, is that he saw a faint but satisfied smile in Alfred's mouth, the same discreet smile he used to have every time Damian did anything that remotely resembled the normalcy of the kid he never got to be. 

In this life or another, how Alfred always understood everything he was and could be, with just a first glance, Damian would never know.

Chapter Text

Damian remembered his first day at West-Reeve School as something unremarkable; he felt patronized and toyed with, but it was nothing new when it came to his father's decisions. He had less negative feelings about his first day at Gotham Academy, because from the beginning he planned to make temporary his stay there.

His first day as Grayson's Robin was memorable; he was eager and ready to prove is superiority as his father's son, but he had too much anger inside him to properly enjoy the experience. His feelings were less positive on his first day as his father's Robin, because even if he finally got what he wanted from the start - to be at his father's side -, it still felt like Grayson... discarded him at the first opportunity.

He didn't feel any happiness in these events that were supposed to mark new chapters in his life. Not the way Jon described the atmosphere in his house the night of their first “official” patrol, nor like how Carrie talked about the morning of her first day at college, even after a previous all-nighter.

Damian wondered then, standing as he was in the middle of the Batcave, with Alfred unnecessarily making sure he had everything he needed for his first solo patrol, if all this time this was how it really was supposed to feel.

He didn't need reminders about commlinks, listings of the utility belt's contents or Alfred adjusting the black cloak he was wearing over his League uniform; it was coddling and annoying and just overall so pleasant. He didn't know yet if he liked it or not.

“You're ready,” Alfred finally declared after a last glance over. “But I remain unconvinced about the sword.”

Damian resisted the desire to touch the baldric that crossed his chest. “I won't be using lethal force.” Alfred raised an eyebrow, looking so judgmental and just for that, Damian tried his best to sound very solemn in his next words. “I need it with me, it's my emotional support sword.”

The earnest way in which Damian said that took Alfred by surprise, so he had to put to a hand over his mouth and pretend to clear his throat to hide a smile. He soon regained his composure and folded his hands behind his back.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I'll be monitoring closely and I'll be the first to know if you don't keep your word, Master Damian.”

“You're insulting me, Pennyworth, I'm a professional.”

“Then, by all means, the night is yours, sir.”

Damian tried to look calm as he turned around, walking to the motorcycle that'll take him to the city and bothering, as he rarely did in the past, to put on a helmet. With a final formal nod to Alfred, he set off, not minding the road too much because even after so long, Damian still perfectly remembered the fastest routes from the mansion to strategic points in the city.

Being back in the streets of Gotham felt more like coming home than Wayne Manor.

People usually talked about riding bicycles when retaking some forgotten activity. Damian always thought it was nonsense, but soaring again across the night sky, stalking in the shadows and striking hard and fast, felt, indeed, like taking that metaphorical bicycle again.

That night Pennyworth tasked him with mostly gang related activity, so it was basically the equivalent of child's play. In the past, such waste of his skills in something so mundane would undoubtedly make him angry, but now he could appreciate the simplicity of it all, like replaying the first level of a videogame after finishing it. So he did his best to relax and show Alfred what he meant when he said he was a professional.

A few hours later after completing Alfred's latest request, while Damian was going across a tower's rooftop, he decided it was time to take a break and after a quick survey of the next building, he jumped. Instead of instantly using his grapple, he closed his eyes and let himself fall. The seconds felt like an eternity and at the same, not enough. Before reaching a dire point, Damian's line was already hooked, dragging him to safety and when he finally set foot in the building's roof, he went directly to the closest corner, to one of the gargoyles there.

Damian sat over the statue to wait and have his break, with his feet dangling over the hair while he looked down to the streets. His mother beat out him, quite literally, the fear of heights long ago; while Damian wasn't ready to unpack that part of his upbringing, he could at least admit that sometimes it didn't seem so bad. The view over there was half-decent.

When his waiting eventually paid off, he made a point of not turning around when he disinterestedly spoke for the first time that night to someone that wasn't Alfred. “You've been following me all night.” He said to his uninvited guest that silently joined him in the roof.

“Not all night.” And there was unmistakable mirth in his voice. “What gave me away?”

“You're as quiet as that elephant of yours.” And even if he really wanted to look away from the streets, he controlled himself. “I don't need a babysitter, I'm extremely capable.”

“Yeah, about that, what's up with the last jump? Is the gun giving you trouble? You seemed fine with it before.”

“It was on purpose.” Before Dick could get some terrible fatalistic thoughts into his mind, Damian held back a sigh and continued speaking. “Sometimes falling feels like flying.” Since his back was turned, he completely missed the expression that crossed Dick's face.

This was exactly the reason he told Alfred why he couldn't deal with Damian. What was Dick supposed to answer? What Damian did even mean? Was he talking symbolically, literally? Was he sad? Being sarcastic? Wishful?

Dick felt bad for just even thinking it, but part of him thought that maybe it'd be better if Damian was just angry and unreasonable, because sometimes anger was easier to understand. But he could see what Alfred meant when he said that Damian was trying very hard and after a long debate with himself, Dick wanted to respond in kind. Trained assassin or not, coming to live at Gotham after Bruce's passing surely wasn't an easy change, even if Damian only saw him a couple of times before he died.

In the end he decided to trust Alfred's advice and just take Damian at his word. “You must do a lot of flying, eh?”

“Once, long ago.”

“You know what? After seeing you today, I believe you.”

“Why? Were you doubting my abilities?”  

“Not really, I just didn't think the style from the League could be so, well, mostly harmless?”

“It's not.” Damian spread his black-gloved hands and opened them wide, staring at his palms. “It requires discipline and restraint on my part.” He closed and opened his hands a couple of times. “My first instinct is to permanently incapacitate,” he eloquently put it, for the sake of Grayson's sensibilities. “Is too ingrained in my reflexes,” he closed his fits and bumped them against each two times before keeping the pose. “I need to retrain my body to work better under these new limitations.”

Damian didn't want to know what was Grayson's thinking about his words - and he was thinking something by the silence that followed -, instead he just suddenly wanted to get back to the mansion. He knew he wasn't admitting a fault in his person, but still felt like he just declared he was a failure. This whole thing about being truthful and mature, like some sort of better version of himself - when he really wasn't -, was far from gratifying and Damian was beginning to think it was going to become a problem.

“No Saturday's cartoons for you, uh?” Dick said vaguely, like his thoughts were somewhere else. And for some moments, there was again silence before he took a tentative step forward. “You're doing great, fool me there for a second.”

Ah... that tone.

That sounded more like the Grayson he could only talk with in his nightmares and rarely, when his mind was being merciful, sometimes in softer dreams. And that was Damian's call to go, because clearly honest talk was turning out to be his real kryptonite... hah, how silly, Jon would've had a laugh at that.  

Damian got up, shaking not-so-imaginary dust from his cloak. “I'm going back to work. Someone needs to instill fear into the lowlifes.”

“Oh, yeah, your Batman impression is really good. Bit freaky, actually.”

It wasn't lost to Damian that Dick was carefully coming closer. “I'm very skillful.”

“That you are,” Damian considered for a moment if Grayson was trying to ambush him, because it wouldn't be the first time he was unexpectedly attacked by allies. “What do you say if we finish tonight's patrol together?”

“I told you I don't need a chaperone.”

“I know, I just thought it could be fun. We talked about that, remember? Fun.” He made emphasis in the word like Damian need it.

It was an ambush, just not the type Damian initially thought. Honestly he was tempted to ignore Grayson and run away... but just like he had to face Drake, sooner or later he would've to actually coexist with Grayson outside awkward exchanges. And going by the state of the city, that day wasn't really far away.

With no other choice he turned around, finally looking at Dick and noting that, unlike that first night in the Batcave when he found Damian behind the computer, he seemed less guarded now. “I can figure out that on my own.” And he backed away slowly. “I could, however, tolerate your presence,” he paused, almost smiling. “If you can keep up.”

With those words Damian used his left foot as support and jumped back, plunging right into the air without warning. Dick's reaction was instantaneous, his eyes widening in surprise and for a moment he almost called out the other's name as he ran to the edge of the building, but as soon as he reached it, Damian was already ascending, pulled by the rope which hook was secured in the building across; he even had the nerve to give Dick a two-fingered salute before setting his attention on his next landing spot.

Nightwing couldn't do anything but smile. What a brat. But at least he had the spirit.

One of the reasons Damian impatiently waited for his return to the frontlines was that it'd grant him more liberties and concessions, like the fact he now had his own "official" communicator, opening the door to more opportunities.

Of course, Damian could've done everything he wanted days ago but he was trying, as much as possible, to follow the rules, because that's what well-adjusted kids were supposed to do. There would be the time for Pennyworth and Grayson to realize how uncontrollable Damian could be if the situation warranted it. That's how he got himself killed the first time, after all.

The morning after his first successful patrol, Damian waited almost excitedly in his room until it was twelve o’clock, an hour he thought it was considerate enough to call someone with a night shift.

“I need your help.” Was the first thing he said when he heard the line connect. “This is a personal call, there's no need for concern.”

“...Do you know I have a phone, right?”

“Is a personal call but the matter needs discretion. I know Drake probably is the best to ask for this, but I'm honouring his request and keeping my distance from him.”  

“How very thoughtful of you. What is this about?”

“I need to move funds, which means I also need you to set accounts for me. Something untraceable for now, but I have future projects that'll require a standard legal presence.”

“Do I get to ask or I have to obey without questions?”

“You're right, I should rephrase. I don't want the League to take possession of this money,” and by the League he meant his mother. “Is under my control for now and before you ask, I'm not stealing it, is mine. I worked for it.”

Barbara Gordon was a brilliant woman and even if she weren't, it wouldn't be that hard to figure out what kind of work Damian had to do for it.

Damian never had a proper relationship with Gordon. She was always just there, floating in the background of his complicated family. It was even a surprise she came to Apokolips, but he suspected she did it more for his father than him. That was the only upside about the state of his current relationships, that he didn't have problems interacting with Gordon nor did he particularly cared about what she thought of him; it was liberating in a manner, being able to talk to her without feeling like he was walking on thin ice.

“I can see where you're coming from, I don't want the League to have it either, but why do you need accounts? You're the son of a billionaire.”

“I want financial independence, something that's not chained to my parents. And as I told you, I have projects.”

“Oh, really? Like what, exactly?”

He hesitated for a moment, before sticking again by his new code or whatever he was trying to do with carelessly spilling his thoughts. “I've been reading about my father's charity efforts. They're acceptable but I think there's a field where I can expand... it's too premature and not everything I want to do, but as a start, Gotham could benefit from more no-kill shelters.”

Just like everybody seemed to be doing lately - except for Alfred -, Barbara kept silent from a moment that felt a little too long. “Look, I have some things to do today, but send me all the information I need to the channel we use for surveillance. I'll set you up this week.”

“Thank you, Gordon, I'm in your debt.”

“Believe me, I'll remind you at the first chance I get. Just one last thing, does Alfred or Dick know about this?”

“No, but you are free to tell them, it makes no difference to me.”

“Ok, Mr. Darcy, I'll talk to you later.”

“Farewell, Oracle.” Even if he couldn't see her, Damian knew she was rolling her eyes.

When the communication was cut off, Damian allowed himself to feel a bit optimistic. It was slower than he would like but the improvement was there, he just needed to keep pushing ahead, just like he always did.

Chapter Text

Despite popular belief, Damian knew - more or less - how a normal childhood was supposed to be. 

He used to despise being treated remotely like a child. He was raised to be a conqueror, a warrior, a weapon; the mere notion of being reduced to "just a kid" was enough to make his blood boil. At the time Damian couldn't even see what was wrong with any of that, let alone come closer to understand what his mother really took from him.

And because he wasn't clueless, he knew why Alfred insisted on taking him to shopping that day. It was a reward for an impeccable first patrol, it was a simple: "good job, tiny child, have treat". He should be bothered by that, but it was Pennyworth and after being haunted by his memory, Damian would excuse him anything and even agree that it existed necessity behind his actions.

There was little Damian needed in terms of material objects. Alfred already provided him with clothing and technology since his arrival, but there were other things he could ask for, even if they're were meaningless and wouldn't help him in the long road to his goals.

So Damian just asked for two things: books and painting materials.

Admittedly, those were very boring things for a ten-year-old to ask for, but truthfully those were things he found entertaining at that age the first time around. After getting well stocked in painting supplies, Alfred let him road free in the bookshop they visited next, which Damian was grateful for, because the first thing he did was to look at the cooking section. Books were more of an indulgence than a necessity, because he had all the information he could need at the touch of his fingers down in the Batcave, but there was something nice about physical books.   

Damian spent some time picking the books that seemed more useful for his next endeavour in the kitchen, because even if he was fine without being a prodigy while cooking, he could do without embarrassing himself in front of Pennyworth daily.

There was this moment, while he was browsing, when he took a book from the shelf just to notice there was another smaller behind it, that fell once it lost the support of the first. He caught it mid-air and quickly saw it wasn't exactly a book - at least not traditionally -, because it was a manga. Batman's teachings didn't let much room for coincidences; everything was about probability, patterns and inevitability, so when Damian briefly inspected the manga and saw that the thematic had something to do with oil painting, he didn't want to think it was the result of some kind of statistic. Once in a while he liked to indulge in symbolic whims - his father's influence, no doubt -, so it wasn't a surprise he decided to put the manga with the rest of the books he was buying, even if he didn't feel any real interest in it.

Once Damian was satisfied with his purchases, they returned to the mansion where he even took the trouble to accompany Alfred for some tea, despite not being a fan of the Earl Grey the other favoured so much, but at least his cucumber sandwiches were passable. From then on, the rest of the day continued with the stable monotony of the previous days, with the difference that now he could go out at night.

Despite everything else, things were peaceful, pleasant... and Damian was a fool for thinking it would last. It started, as a lot of terrible things did, by accident.

Damian always moved silently as a result of his League training, so when he went down to the Batcave that night with the intention of starting to prepare for his patrol, he realized, a bit late, that Grayson and Drake were there, which wouldn't be a problem if they weren't arguing. The most logical thing would be to turn around and return when the cave was less crowded, but as a result of his Bat training, Damian instead decided to hide and just listen.

Even though he knew it would happen sooner or later, it was still a surprise to hear Dick finally talk about taking up the cowl, but Damian supposed it was well overdue. It was a good thing too, at least for Gotham's future. And maybe Pennyworth would find some solace in aiding a Batman again and Grayson would've a lot of experience to gain from the role, which only left Drake in a less than ideal position. As luck would have it, the discussion Damian caught was not only about Batman, but himself too.

“That's it? You're just going to give Robin to him?”

The absolute venom in Tim's voice was in a new level Damian never heard before, but entirely understandable. Even if he tried to bury the hatchet between them, Damian knew that nothing could've soften the blow that Drake got from those news. 

In the end Dick's words fell into deaf ears after Tim just got into his motorcycle and stormed out; honestly, Damian could relate, he lost count of the times he just took off exactly like that after a fight with his father. Him, feeling sympathy for Drake? What's the world coming to? But things didn't have to be that way, Drake didn't need to step down from being Robin, they could share the title, it wouldn't even be the first time, at least for Damian. For all his faults, Drake had always been the “rational one”, so surely he could put aside his hatred and agree that this was the easiest solution, Gotham was more than big enough for two Robins.

There was no point in postponing the inevitable, so Damian quickly began thinking about the best way to discuss his proposal with Dick. The sooner this mess resolved, the sooner Batman would be back on the streets and the city would take a breath with the return of its most important symbol.

Of course Damian knew this wasn't an easy step for Grayson, that at the time it had been the most difficult decision he ever made and the cowl laid on him, unforgiving, every day without Bruce there, so Damian was determined to support him in a better way than the first time, he could be more patient, dependable and understanding. Be the Robin Grayson deserved the first time.

Damian sighed, mentally preparing himself to have another of those emotionally exhausting conversations he disliked so much, but he had to grudgingly admit that talking had become his most efficient weapon since he arrived there.

He stepped out from his hiding spot and like he did days before when he talked to Tim, he made an effort to be noisy with his steps to give time for Dick to take in his presence before reaching his side.

“Grayson.”

"Hey.” Was all the answer he got.

Damian needed only one look at Dick's face to know everything he needed. The dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look and the conscious effort to maintain a calm expression, told him that the conversation he just had with Tim was the result of hours of contemplation. Damian could also relate to that.

He didn't sigh again, but he waited a few seconds of tense anticipation. “I heard you talking with Drake,” he started going directly to the point. “On accident,” which wasn't a lie but not exactly the true either. “You are the best choice for Batman, I approve.”

Damian made the mistake of losing sight of Dick's face when he chose to look away, so he completely missed the grimace that crossed his features at his words.

“You must have doubts, but this is the best alternative given the position we are in.”

“I,” he said just to pause a little, like he was trying to decide what to say. “...really don't want to talk about this right now.”

“But is important we discuss what would entail for all of us. I know Batman is a heavy responsibility, but you can do it. I know this is what my father would've wanted and if he—”

He couldn't finish what he intended to say because Dick angrily turned around, yelling right in his face. “I said not now, Damian!”

Damian instantly fell silent, tensing in an instant as he felt the characteristic heat of anger flush his face.

The League of Assassins was not a place for the weak. Damian learned - possibly even before he started to walk -, that he couldn't display any sign of discomfort or pain and that tears were a sin that came with a high price. Showing he was hurt was forbidden... but rage was acceptable. Damian could scream, trash everything and pick up fights and none of that would be seen as a weakness, rage wasn't punished.

So that's what Damian did, time and time again, until rage was all that remained.

And for the first time since coming to the Manor, he felt true anger. He wanted to yell the most horrendous truths at Dick, give voice to Grayson's insecurities and hit exactly where it would hurt him the most. 

But in the end Damian didn't, because even in the mists of his rage, he recognized how young he was at the moment, because even after all of what happened to him, his mind still went to the same place it always did in his childhood, as a way to deal with the hurt. And so he just stood there, with clenched fists, trying to contain his desire to scream and throw a tantrum at the same time he also tried to not to give in to despair, because in the past, even if Grayson did something hurtful - by accident or purposefully -, he knew when he crossed unspoken lines and it showed in his face, always having in mind the weight his words or actions would've on Damian... but right now Dick only seemed tired and upset, his face not showing the tiniest bit of regret.

This wasn't his Grayson, it wasn't Richard. 

It was a gift from the universe when Richard Grayson saw him and thought he was worthy of something more than just violence, taking his time to understand him to the point sometimes it felt like Dick knew him better than Damian knew himself. But this person in front of him didn't know Damian, didn't know how much power he had over his feelings and how easy it would be for him to shatter him with just a few words. Things with this Grayson will never be the same, because Damian wasn't the same... and he will have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his days.

Unable to being another second in the other's presence, Damian tried to swallow his feelings and simply nodded, graceful, precise and fake. “Goodnight, Grayson.”

Damian didn't rush the same way Tim did, simply because he refused to make a scene. That didn't mean he didn't change his clothes while fuming, because he still wanted to behave irrationally and violently, but he wasn't the type of person who could just feel sorry for himself when his anger had other, better uses.

Shortly a little after an hour, Damian was already jumping from building to building, trying to keep his mind occupied on the mission. And wasn't that ironic? The mission! Perhaps this was the real reason why his father could only focus on that, because it was simpler than having to think about emotions, fears, doubts or just the burden of being alive in general. Becoming part of the family Batman created was in equal parts a curse and a blessing.

And just to agree with that line of thought, his communicator came to life with Alfred's voice.

“Master Damian,” he said refined as always. “You didn't wait for me.”

“Apologies,” he answered like the fast liar he was. “I was very enthusiastic about work today.”

“You left your helmet.”

“An oversight, I'll try not to make an habit of it.”

There were a few seconds of silence before Alfred spoke tentatively again. “Is everything alright?”

Pennyworth, oh, Pennyworth. Damian went to hell and back just to save him and the tradeoff was everything else he had. His family, his friends, his pets... all of them memories now, lost to time. Nothing left for him but to mourn them.

And he would do it again.

“Of course, no serious activity for now.”

“That's good to know, but my inquiry was of a personal nature.”

“I am doing well, very kind of you to ask.” He almost smiled at the sigh Alfred let out.  

“Pretending to be obtuse is not a good look on you, young sir.” He chided.

“Pretending? I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“I spoke with Master Richard a moment ago.”

Damian liked that about Pennyworth, going directly to the point when it was necessary. Unfortunately for Alfred, Damian picked up the worst habits when having someone like Bruce Wayne for a father.

“You'll have to excuse me, Agent A, but I see some kind of altercation ahead. I'll assess the situation and see if intervention is needed.” And with that explanation, he cut the communication without further ado.

While it was true that a fight was really happening down there in an alley, it seemed like a standard gang brawl that didn't need Damian's full attention, but any excuse was good to avoid talking about what happened with Dick before.

Once he was close enough, he realized the fight boiled down to seven people against one. It wasn't difficult to assume the group belonged to one of the many gangs in the city, because they made their identification all too easy by wearing clown paint on their faces. Considering there was a couple of cowering civilians down the alley, it didn't take a detective to figure out that maybe the lone fighter was trying to protect them, even if he didn't look like the average hero with his hulking physique and the trench coat with a hat that he was wearing.

Damian was still pondering whether to intervene or not, when the big man lost his hat after a hit, and the poor light from the streetlamp revealed the red hair that had been hidden underneath it.

For a second Damian stopped breathing... and before he knew it, his body had already moved on its own, urgently running around the edge of the building while he searched for the most suitable spot to jump and join the fight. He let his body move on autopilot, which was one of the most basic things one learned in the League, because even if his mind was compromised at least he was still capable of defending himself. Not that the situation was more shocking than his previous experiences, but he deserved a little disconnect for his thoughts at the moment.

If his unexpected ally found strange that a ten-year-old boy appeared out of nowhere to help him against a bunch of clowns, he didn't show it and instead kept fighting. It took only a couple of minutes to subdue the gang members and as Damian began the tedious task of tying them up, starting with the ones that were still conscious, his ally took care of the pair of frightened citizens.

Sooner than he would have liked, the man in the trench coat returned to his side just as Damian was about to finish tying up the last of the gang clowns.

“Thank you for the assist.” He said with a gruff voice.

For an answer, Damian only made a non-committal sound because he didn't know what to say.

“I don't remember seeing you before,” he said it like it was a normal for a child to fight crime in the night. And to be fair, it must be for him, this was Gotham after all. “Who are you?”

“No one.” He said it with the same gravitas his father used to announce he was Batman.

The redhead smiled, open and relaxed, all previous hostility from the fight gone from his figure. “Nice to meet you, No One,” and even with the poor lighting, the almost childlike sparkle in his green eyes was clear while he extended his right hand to Damian. “I'm Abuse.”

Sometimes, as Pennyworth once told him, things had a curious way of coming back when they were least expected.

Chapter Text

Before coming back to the past, Damian had more than enough time to dissect every aspect of his existence and come to terms with the fact that, for such a short life like his, he was full of regrets.

One of those countless regrets was that he never made enough time for Colin. It always seemed like he had something else going on: Damian dying, his mother's Leviathan, the Joker, Grayson dying, trying to repent from the Year of Blood, Robin gang wars, his father losing his memory, the Court of Owls, getting in trouble off-world with Jon, Grayson losing his memory, the Arkham Knight, his terrible attempt at leading the Teen Titans, dark multiverse nonsense, Leviathan again, even fucking Timothy Drake coming from the future to kill Jon, of all of people. There was always something happening... it was all so outlandish to the point of being cartoonish.

And Damian regretted not being a better, constant friend for Colin, because despite all the absurdity of his life, he made time for Jon, even if he did it because he was trying to fool himself and pretend their time together was just to keep Jon under surveillance.

He also regretted never introducing those two to one another. 

Talia handcrafted, so to speak, an extraordinary child by forcing all the training she could from the League of Assassins, Bruce's Batman's training and her own personal interests. She attempted to rush the creation of a perfect warrior, a weapon to tame the world with, a little Alexander... but she also made a child that was insecure, sensitive and had zero social skills. Had Damian stayed in the League and grew up there until adulthood, he'd had lose his soft edges and everything compassionate inside him, following the same path his mother went under the al Ghul madness, but Damian saw his father's world and for the first time in his life he had the opportunity to choose, and his choice was to stay in that world, despite how unfitted he was for it.

Damian understood better now the flaws of his character, accepting that he kept Colin and Jon apart because deep down he was afraid of being left behind, because he knew those two would become instant friends; they were so alike: full of childhood wonder, pure-hearted and hopeful, while Damian was just Damian: conceited, self-centered and callous. They'd like each other better than they liked Damian and in the end, they would've ditched him for good.

It should've been clear for him that he had nothing to worry about, because even if Damian was an absolute terror, Colin and Jon genuinely appreciated the friendship they shared with him, even when he didn't deserved such loyalty, especially when it came to Jon.

The only thing Damian could do now was to not repeat the same mistakes and just carry on. That's why as soon as him and Colin were at a safe distance from the police after waiting for them to come, hidden and seemingly alone, he raised a commanding hand and stopped Colin in the middle of the sentence he was saying.

“I don't have a lot of time,” he started. “I must keep patrolling, but you seem like you could be a—“ and he stopped himself for a second, because calling Colin something like useful acquaintance didn't sound all that amicable. “Good associate,” close enough. “I'm open to work together sometimes if you are interested.”

One thing Damian will always give to Colin, was that despite his lack of training, he was really good at keeping a poker face. “Are you with Batman and Robin?”

Damian thought he was asking because he just wanted confirmation, because if the belt and the mask weren't enough of a dead giveaway, having a kid fight crime was something very up to Batman's alley. Instead of verbally answering, he took one batarang out and making use of the empty street, he proceeded to swiftly throw it away in such manner that it came back right into his hand.

He offered the batarang to Colin expecting at least some enthusiasm from his part, but what Damian got instead was a look of fondness directed at it, like it was something valuable.

“You can keep it if you want.”

And just like that, Damian finally got a real glance of his old friend. “Woah, really?”

“I have more than I need. But remember, is not a toy, you need to be careful, especially with its storage.” Brass knuckles were one thing, but surely the nuns would be a little more alarmed with sharp objects.

“I'm not a kid, you know?” And he went back into is Abuse persona. “If you're working with them, do you know where's Batman? People on the streets are talking, they're not saying nice things.”

“He's fine, he's just preoccupied with something very important but he'll be back soon.” Even if it wasn't so prominent, Damian could see the way Colin relaxed at his words.

“I knew he was fine, he's Batman,” he said it like it was something he debated against Damian before. “But some people think he's not coming back and things are getting ugly and that's saying a lot for Gotham.”

“That's why we are here, to remember the vermin that Batman isn't the only one keeping the city safe.”

“You're right,” and he hit his right fist against his other palm, making Damian almost smile. “I accept your offer, you can call me if you need help.”

“I'll look for you when I'm able. Keep helping if you can but don't take unnecessary risks, remember, is best to run and fight another day than stay and die. Dead heroes don't help anyone.”

Colin just started to chuckle and even if Damian saw his huge hand coming to him with more than enough time to react, he resisted his first instinct and just stood there, letting Colin pat his head like Abuse wasn't a child himself. Damian, of course, will remember such offense.

“Don't worry, No One, I can look out for myself.”

“I'm in a generous mood, so I'll let you keep your hand.”

That just made Colin laugh some more and even if it wasn't his normal, natural laugh, Damian had missed hearing that one just the same.

When he came back from his patrol, Damian was exhausted, but not physically.

Alfred let him go easily given how late it was - or early, depending on how one looked at it - and after taking a shower, Damian went directly to his bed, letting himself heavily fall without any of his usual poise and not bothering with going under the covers, just like he used to do in his first days at the mansion.

Meeting Colin again was an eye-opener.

All this time he had been devising his plans to work around the premise of him becoming Robin, even when he had doubts about it, he quickly took this as the default path for him.

Damian lost sight. His knowledge about things to come had made him complacent, stagnant, happy to be comforted by the security that Robin will give him in this family full of well-known strangers. For someone trying to change the horrors of his future, he was comfortable letting events of the past play the same when he should be out there, braving the sands of time by destroying everything, just so he could just remade it.

He knew what he really had to do, because being Robin wasn't the only option he considered at the beginning, just the one that was reassuring.

Damian had to force himself to sleep because it was important for his efficiency, but he didn't felt any rest when he woke up hours later after having only nightmares, despite this, he soon wished to get back to those nightmares when he saw Dick at the breakfast nook. His unusual presence there and the events from the last night were enough for Damian to know he was being ambushed again; fine, this will just make things easier for him to put an end to this ridiculous situation and move on to more important things.

“Good morning, Master Damian,” said Alfred, appearing out of nowhere in what it must have be his best impression of Batman. “Breakfast is served.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth.” And he made sure to give Alfred an accusatory look before taking the empty seat were his food was waiting, coincidentally being just the one in front of Dick. “Grayson.”

“Hi, Damian.” He said almost meekly.

He proceeded to ignore Dick completely, concentrating instead on taking the napkin that was wrapped around his cutlery and placing it on his lap, which was a silly and unnecessary ritual, but displaying good table etiquette even if it was in an informal setting like a breakfast for two at home, was one of the easiest ways to please Alfred, so Damian didn't mind putting in the little extra effort.

He counted almost five minutes of uncomfortable silence before Dick finally broke.

“Look, I'm sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I wasn't in a good place yesterday, there's a lot of things going on and I know it's not an excuse, I should've handle things better, you did nothing wrong, kiddo.”

“I know that.”

And with all the theatrics he was blaming on Pennyworth, Damian took the teacup that was to his right with calculated movements to look graceful and natural, taking a sip, avoiding a wince at Alfred's Earl Grey and setting the cup back down, placing his elbows on the table and interlocking the fingers of his hands, like he was pretending to be in a business meeting.

“I want to make one thing clear, so you and Drake can stop arguing like children... I don't want to be Robin.”

That simple and serendipitous encounter with Colin set in motion the gears that led him to question if he really was doing the best he could in the situation he was. The answer was, plainly, no. Damian could do even more if he sacrificed one of the last things he had left, something that was even laughably simple, when he considered that at that point it hadn't even been granted to him yet. Thus, even before he got back to the mansion, Damian already made up his mind and from then on, all he had been doing was to prepare to make it official; it was true that when it came to emotions he was a walking disaster, but at least now he had enough emotional intelligence to control himself, even if his childlike brain, heavily affected by his upbringing in the League, wasn't being as cooperative as he would like it.

One step at a time... even if those steps were over burning coals and Damian had no shoes.

“I don't need to dress like a clown and go around calling myself avian names to be effective.”

“Damian,” and it sounded so soft that Damian wanted to kick Dick's shin under the table. “It's not about that, the identities we take can be used as symbols, statements, ideas,” he had that look in his eyes that was unreasonably inspiring and also admonitory. “That's important, it's why Bruce created Batman and why he chose to work the way he did. And it's about us too, what we want to represent, what we want to honor, who we want to be. Is more than a costume and a name.”

God, Damian hated Dick so much. He was always so good at making things more difficult for him and at the same contradictory time, easier too, whether it was the embrace of death or think of himself as a member of a family.

“I agree,” and he was so proud of how detached he sounded. “That's why I don't want to partake in any of those things. Pennyworth said I have freedom here, a luxury I was negated to in the League and if that's true, you won't force this on me.”

He knew that was a low blow, but after all fight to win, not to be fair, was one of the earliest lessons the League taught him.

Despite being out of his field of vision, Damian knew that Alfred surely schooled his expression, not openly showing what he thought of his words but Dick, on the other hand, didn't bother to hide the pained look that flashed across his face.

“He's right, we're not like that. You have options and you are free to make choices, I'm sorry if I made you feel like you didn't.”

Damian hated himself so much too, but the good thing about it was that ultimately, this will be a meaningless refusal for Grayson, because Damian was also meaningless to him.

“Now that we settled this,” he took the napkin from his lap and put it on the table. “I'll skip the rest of the breakfast, I'm afraid the tea made me lost appetite.” 

Pennyworth, of course, took the bait and played along. “Apologies, sir, it seems I keep forgetting your palate is not that educated yet.”

“I'm sure you'll work to correct it. Good luck with that, Pennyworth.”

Without adding anything more, Damian left the room at a steady pace, missing the way Alfred and Dick shared a look before Dick inelegantly slammed his forehead into the table, causing the dishes and glasses in the surface to wobble slightly.

Although the easiest option would be to let Grayson talk to Drake and tell him he still had his job, Damian admitted that Dick had a point about the whole statement thing. It was for that reason that he spent the rest of the day on the lookout, waiting for Tim to come back, even though there was a chance he might not return that day, given the nature of his argument with Grayson.

Of course, following Damian's theory that the universe liked to be against him, Drake returned late in the afternoon. Tim was at least consistent in his ways because he walked right through the front door, where Damian had decided to wait for him, which he was grateful for, because after the day he had, the last thing he wanted was to look for Drake on the hallways of the Manor or worse, having to talk to him in the Batcave again. No, for this he needed neutral ground.

When Tim saw him, his body language changed completely, even though he closed himself off and was noticeably more guarded, Damian could still make out the anger that lurked beneath his impassive exterior. Hah, maybe in the future he could ask Drake to give him some tips about it.

“Drake,” he started in what he hoped was his best non-confrontational tone. “I spoke with Grayson and I'm telling you what I told him, I'm not going to be Robin, I'm not interested.”

Damian said that sentence as hastily as he could, not wanting to make Tim angrier. However, his reaction was not what Damian expected; he stopped walking and for a few moments he stood there in the middle of the room, looking at Damian as if he were not worthy of being in his presence.

He crossed his arms, supporting the weight of his body on his left foot and his look of contempt changed for a sardonic one. “Oh, you're not?” He asked mockingly. “You tried to kill me so you could be Robin, and now you don't want to? Give me a break.”

“I already apologized for that, I'm not doing it again, I think I explained myself well.”

“Like I care about your apologies, but is good that you don't want to be Robin,” and his smile became spiteful. “Because I wasn't going to let you anyway. A psychopath like you will only taint the name.”

He had to admit those words took him off guard, but it was clear that Tim was more upset than Damian initially assumed. But good on Drake, he still had it, even so far back.

“Glad we came to an agreement, have a good night.” And Damian turned around, ready to leave.

This is what Damian wanted: simple, clinical, fast. So, of course, it wasn't what Tim wanted.

“I guess you only want the mantle if you can take it by force. Or maybe you just miss having blood in your hands.” Damian took the deep breath he couldn't when he announced to Grayson of his decision. “But it's not that, right? You wanted Bruce to make you Robin.” Tim humourlessly laughed. “You should take advantage and accept Dick's offer, because Bruce would've never chosen you.”

Damian was doing so well, so, so well at controlling his emotions, even in the face of another one of those heartbreaking sacrifices; he was even proud of himself, at how much he had learned over the years. All his reflections, his conclusions, his remorse and wishful thinking... all of that and Damian was still that same kid that came to Gotham with only a sword and anger issues.

“I know that!” He screamed, turning around and trying with all his might to not throw himself at Tim. “You can keep your stupid costume and your insipid bird name! I don't care! Just do your damn work, Drake, so when my father comes back he will find this wretched household standing!”

Until that moment Tim had been preparing for a fight because it was what he was looking for. Damian might have fooled Alfred and even Dick with the act he was putting on, but Tim knew he couldn't be trusted, he knew the type of person he really was and he was not going to fall for the game he was playing. Yeah, he had been cruel, but he did it solely for the purpose of seeing how far Damian was willing to take this “humble assassin” act he was putting on, how much he could tolerate before he finally showed his true colours... and yet, in just an instant, with just one sentence, Tim felt all the anger leaving him, as if someone abruptly thrown him into the waters of a frozen lake.

And now he felt more empty than mad. “Bruce is dead.” He said, trying to ignore how heavy and disgusting those words felt in his mouth.

“Tt! As if!” And Damian literary bit his tongue, so the pain and the taste of blood could give him some clarity in his ire. “That cannot stop people like us. Whether we crawl from our own graves or some fool finds a way to bring us back, death is inconsequential.” And he took a couple of calculated steps towards Tim, just enough to have him at the perfect range for an attack, because that was also a message. “Until my father comes back, you will do your job and keep Batman alive, because if you fail in protecting Grayson, I will destroy. Everything. You. Are.”

Damian did exactly what he told Colin to do: he just ran away, because he didn't want anyone to see him like this.

And when he finally reached his room, his only sanctuary in this tomb he had to call home, he slammed the door behind him and thumped his back against it, dropping to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging his legs as he trembled, trying to control the urge he had to scream, to shatter the few things that were in his bedroom; to light the fireplace and make the fire consume everything just like how Damian felt that anger burning his insides... but it wasn't just anger, because hidden deep beneath it all, were the true emotions that Damian couldn't allow himself to express freely, that made his throat tighten and his eyes sting with unshed tears, so he released his legs and crossed them on the floor as he began to rock back and forth while rubbing his arms up and down with his hands, in a futile attempt to soothe himself.

Hush, hush, little Robin, Richard's voice echoed somewhere in his mind.

But Damian wasn't Robin, he will never be and despite his doubts about the role through the years, Robin was still the best thing he had ever done and now, it was just another something that would only live in his memories.

It was for the best, because Robin was meant to be in the light... and Damian will always belong in the shadows.

Chapter Text

The thing about the kind of life that Bruce roped his family into, is that there was no time to just stop and grieve.

His father never stopped not because he didn't grieve, but because grieving is all he did and from there, he took the motivation to be able keep going forward. Damian understood that aspect of him better now, it was what kept him alive the years it took him to figure out a way to come back.

But even with all of that, he wasn't like his father, not truly.

The day after Damian had to let go the only real opportunity he had to connect him with Dick, Alfred informed him in the middle of breakfast that they would be relocating to the penthouse. Damian talked about the practicality of it all with disinterest, acting like this was just another normal day for him but when he was done eating, instead of following his usual routine, he decided to go to a place in the Wayne Estate where he hadn't been in a long time.

That's how he found himself in front of Thomas and Martha's tombstones.

“Grandfather, grandmother, I'm sorry for not visiting sooner. As you can assume, things are a bit hectic at the moment.”

He always liked the family cemetery, it was peaceful and the trees surrounding it were the perfect home for a small variety of birds; Damian usually went there to see his grandparents' gravestones and share his many complaints about his father, because if someone needed to hear Bruce's less than stellar traits, surely would be his own parents. He also liked to go there to just relax under the shadow of a tree, drawing in his sketchbook or reading a book.

And even if later the cemetery became a place he usually saw a lot in his nightmares, Damian still held appreciation for it.

“I thought it was right to inform you that we are moving to the penthouse in the Wayne Foundation Building, but I'll make time to visit so you won't be lonely.”

He didn't mean for his own words to evoke past memories, so short-lived in the mess that was his mind, but he could still remember Thomas' firm hand on his shoulder and the proud look in his eyes; Martha's sweet voice and her warm arms around him.

Damian wasn't sure what possessed him to do what he did next, but he took a couple of steps back and turned around, putting his hands over where his diaphragm was and just let himself fall, right between his grandparents graves. He didn't even wince when he hit the ground, not only because he knew how to fall, but because there were worse surfaces to hit than grass.

The weather was pleasantly mild and the sky was bright without a single cloud in sight. It was such a nice day to laid with the dead.

Damian closed his eyes and thought about coffins and burials, about his former grave in this same cemetery: a destroyed headstone, an empty hole in the ground and no memories of being in his own casket. Contrarily to that, he remember what it was like to be buried alive and forced to escape under one of the many trails of the League; remembered the stone sarcophagus where Deathwing trapped him into and the pain of breaking the lid with his own forehead to freed himself; he remembered battling reanimated corpses in some of Gotham's catacombs during his nightmarish time as Batman, only to break out as he blew everything to make his own exit.

He remembered being ten and waking up in Hell after his fight against The Heretic. He remembered being dead and escaping it.

Damian spent years thinking about who he really was, if he was just condemned to be forever in-between whatever his parents wanted him to be and somehow always failing them both. But right now, at that instant, surrounded by dead relatives he never met and with his grandparents tombstones looming over him, it was never been clearer who he was.

Damian was a survivor.

He was still here.

Even when he knew Damian was waiting for him - after all, it was Alfred the one that informed him that the kid was “requesting” his presence -, Dick still froze a little when he saw the Batcomputer's chair rotate with Damian in it, looking like a little villain in a spy's movie: elbows over the chair's arms, hands almost up to his face with just the tip of each finger making contact with its opposite.

“Grayson,” he said, while inclining his head in greeting. “I've been waiting for you.”

Of course Damian knew what kind of impression he was giving and he would've considered, in any other occasion, to keep with the act just to see Grayson's reaction for his own amusement, but he had to be quick in case Drake chose to come down earlier than usual, because he wasn't in the mood to deal with him today.

“Sit down,” he ordered before vacating the seat with a jump. “I need to show you something before I go.”

Grayson raised his eyebrows with a somewhat doubtful look. “Hello to you too, Damian,” to his credit, he did sat in the chair without resistance. “What's this about?”

Damian didn't respond immediately, choosing to move in front to the computer's panel. “Pennyworth told me we're changing headquarters, is a smart move, being in the city will be beneficial for our response time.”

Dick resisted to urge to disagree because that wasn't the reason, but he didn't think it was a good idea if he started to talk about his insecurities about the cowl.

“Let me finish explain first and then you can ask questions.” A schematic showing the design of a Batman suit appeared on the center screen. “I'm sure you have something in mind for your suit but I want to submit this for your consideration, I designed it to appeal to your strengths so is built around mobility, although I have to admit is not as good as the Nightwing suit in that aspect.” He typed a couple of times and various parts of the suit with their corresponding annotations were highlighted on the screen. “As you can see here, I considered additional protection for your weaker spots.” The next thing he showed on the screen was something Dick hadn't expected to see in relation to Batman: his escrima sticks and two different ways to be incorporated in the suit. “You're very proficient with these. I know you can't add them to Batman's fighting style so soon after being absent but maybe in the future you'll want to use them again after you're settled. I'll leave the complete blueprints at your disposition, maybe you'll find use for something in there.”

Damian would like to say that this simplified description of his work was for Grayson's benefit, who once told him sometimes simpler explanations were best, but truthfully it was for his own, because he wanted to get over with this as soon as possible, as to no dwell too much in what all of this really meant for him, especially when the next schematic he showed in the monitor was of his Batmobile, because even if the design was his father's, Damian had been the one who adapted it and made it work.  

“Father was working on a flying Batmobile, I know you'll have doubts but I assure you, I'm capable of making this a reality. Or in terms you'll understand,” and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “This is the equivalent of a Lego set for me. I'll start working on this tomorrow, if I can't finish before we move, I'll do it once we're in the bunker.” Damian turned, taking a couple of steps away to give Dick room to rotate the chair, putting his hands behind his back with certain solemnity. “Well then, that's all. Do you have any questions?”

Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't for Dick to look at him with bewilderment, like Damian had been speaking this entire time in a language he didn't understand. “I, ah, how,” seeing Grayson's flounder for words was less funny when the only thing Damian wanted at the moment was to go away. “Alfred just told you today.” He finally managed to say. “I know Bruce is your dad but this is ridiculous.”

In the past any comparison with his father would make Damian proud, even when it was in a negative context, but now... now it just felt meaningless. “Don't be dense, Grayson, I started working on this a couple of days after I got here.”

Dick ran one hand through his hair, still looking at Damian like he was being odd. “Why?”

Considering that Damian was giving up something he deeply cherished - his place as Grayson's Robin -, he allowed himself a moment of weakness, so he slowly extended his right arm and brought his hand closer to Dick's face. It was a bittersweet feeling when Grayson didn't flinch, so unlike the first few days when his guard was always up in Damian's proximity.

“I always knew you would be Batman.” He gave him enough time to react, but when Dick didn't move, Damian very gently flicked his forehead. “That's the kind of fool you are.”

His Richard would've been static at such display of childish antics, but this Grayson kept unmoving, still looking at him, mystified but at least that made it easier for Damian to just back away, ready to finally go and pretend he could leave all of this behind, but he barely took a few steps when Dick sprung on his feet, reaching with this hand in Damian's direction, like he was trying to get a hold of him.

“No, Damian, wait, wait.” The urgency in Dick's voice made Damian frown in confusion, so he turned in time to see Dick embarrassedly withdraw his hand. “Just give me a second.”

Damian knew well enough what a troubled Grayson looked like, so he waited for him to collect his thoughts. For some reason Dick decided that his next point would be best given if he walked the steps separating him from Damian, to then kneel in front of him, getting to his level. Damian had never been a fan of this particular practice because as a child, it didn't make him feel in equal standing but patronized instead. Sadly Dick didn't have a way to know that, so he would excuse him this time.

“I don't want you to think I'm not grateful, I am. But I want you to understand that you don't have to do this, I know Alfred said that thing about earning your keep but we're not going to withhold necessities or give you punishments if you don't want to do any of this vigilante stuff.” And he shook his head a little with frustration. “Hell, you're ten, you definitely shouldn't be doing any of this,” and at Damian's deep scowl, he raised both of his hands in a peace gesture. “I know you are capable but what I'm trying to say is that you can stop, you're not in the League, you don't have to earn the right to stay here or prove anything to us.”

Instead of a sigh, Damian pinched the bridge of his nose.

Seriously, these damn people. Why everybody in this cursed mansion was so bent on in making Damian's life more difficult? Why every time he tried to do something, no one could just go along with it? Was a "you made a reasonable point Damian, you can go now" really that hard to say? No, they had to ask questions or throw accusations or make assumptions. Damian was so tired of dealing with feelings - his and everyone else's -, even when they were positive, because he had to admit it was agreeable seeing Dick worrying about him, even if it was the result of a moral obligation and nothing else.

“Grayson,” he said with the same intone of a tired parent. “Your concern is noted but unnecessary, now that my life is free of my mother's control I want for my decisions to be respected and my judgement to be trusted.”

Standing there in his league uniform, hood pulled over his head and domino mask on, Damian looked like the epitome of composure and how tragic that was? With everything that was happening, the ten-year-old was the only one in the house to have it all together and that was the crux of the matter, because it was easy to forget that Damian was a child even with his small size, his squeaky voice and his round cheeks.

What the League did to him was something Dick would never be able to erase and the most humane thing he could do for Damian was to keep him away from this lifestyle. It would be simple to argue he was just a child, abused and brainwashed and thus, unable to know what was the best for him, but to do so would not only be a complete disregard of Damian's intellect, the pain he went through at the League's hands and negate his newfound autonomy too.

Dick wished things were as simple as to being white and black, but there wasn't a right answer for this situation, only something akin to choosing the lesser evil and whatever that ended up looking up like, he could only hope that after everything, it would be the best choice for Damian.

Dick decided to stand up, having the unexpected urge to hug him, but knowing it was something Damian wouldn't appreciate. “I meant it, Damian, you can stop any time you want.” He insisted more softly. “As long as you want it, you'll always have a place here, it doesn't depend in your willingness to help us fight crime.”

“I understood the first time, the repetition is redundant not reassuring.” 

Dick chuckled and resisted the urge to ruffle Damian's hair because he also knew that would be unwelcomed too. “Sometimes redundancy is good.”

“If you have poor attention span.”

“Maybe you should tell me things twice just to be safe.” All he got from his attempt at humour was an unimpressed look, but even that was a good enough answer. “I'm going to be honest, I'm not really sure where we stand with each other but I want to make clear that Alfred is not the only one you can talk to, whatever this is we're doing, we're in it together and I'm here if you need me, even if I haven't done a great job at showing it these past weeks.”

Damian allowed himself to clench his jaw and grind his teeth slightly before forcing himself to relax, hoping the sudden tension in his body hadn't been too obvious. “Is too early to be this sentimental, you don't even know me.”

“I know but I want to, if that's alright with you, I mean, even if we're not Batman and Robin, we're still a team.”

At this point Damian will have to force his departure, because he didn't want to end up with Grayson proposing arbitrary things like playdates in the name of getting to know him better, so he just threw a dismissing gesture with his hand. “If by that you mean I'm going to closely supervise your performance as Batman, sure. Now, if you excuse me, I've got places to be.”

And without a second glance he finally turned around and literally ran off, completely ignoring Dick's new pleas to wait. Such behaviour mas so uncharacteristic of him, but it didn't matter because no one had memories of the person he used to be, and Damian had enough of this heart-to-heart nonsense for the night... no, not just for the night, the week, the month, the rest of the year, even!

The next day he intentionally oversleep.

He woke up on his own roughly at the time he had to and decided it wasn't worth it, so he fought with himself to get back to sleep. He deserved a break before moving forward with the next step of his plan; that was another conversation he needed to have, but one that was so complex, it would make his most recent encounter with Drake pale, but unlike him or Grayson, the person he needed to talk to, had proven to be the most reasonable man Damian had the honour of conversing with. So, hours later when Alfred - naturally worried by his absence - came to his room, he found him still in bed, even though he had woken up as soon as he heard him in the hallway, no matter how quiet the butler tried to be.

“Good afternoon, Master Damian,” Alfred said even when it was barely past nine. “Are you feeling unwell?” He added at Damian's lack of response.

Damian would've love to say that in fact, yes, he had been feeling unwell for the past few years, thank you for asking, but instead he pushed the covers aside and sat on the bed, looking at the floor for a few seconds like he could find answers in it.

Time and time again, people, circumstances and the world he was born into, disappointed him in ways he could never voice, but even when things became sour between them at Damian's own actions, Alfred never became one of those disappointments.  

“Pennyworth,” he finally said and waited a moment before turning his gaze to look at him with intense resolution. “I need your discretion and your help.” He got up, back firmly straightened and closed fists at his sides. “There's something you should know.”

Chapter Text

Being back at Wayne Manor was like revisiting a secluded place he spent some time in his youth. Safe, practical.

Being back at the penthouse was like arriving at his childhood home, the only true one he ever knew. Nostalgic, happy.

The short time Damian lived in the penthouse was - pathetically - the best era of his life. Things were so easy in those days, as absurd as it sounded given the kind of life he was leading. He was so carefree back then, so busy trying to live to the expectations of an imaginary Bruce Wayne that could be pleased - unlike the real one -, learning what it meant to be a someone and not a something, guided by Dick's understanding hand and experiencing the joys of a purpose he chose and not something imposed on him.

Such good memories. Damian only wished he relished in those moments more, because unknown to him at the time, that would be the first and the last time he knew real peace.

The bright side was that, given how busy Damian was with, well, everything, he didn't have enough time to chase the ghosts of happier days.

And that's how Tim found him: testing the stability of the Batmobile mid-air in the bunker. Not like he felt it needed assessment, but he had to look like he was following standard procedure and not just magically knowing what to do without fail. As soon as the Batmobile was on the ground, Damian jumped out of it, feeling immediately suspicious about Tim's proximity, because these past days they had been seeing each other more out of necessity, but both of them made efforts to maintain their distance, however, even at a distance he could perfectly hear every jab Drake threw at him while he was talking to others.

“So,” said Tim with arms crossed. “It really flies.”

“Your observational skills are so keen.” He was done with being “the bigger person”, if Timothy was going to be a petty teenager, then Damian was going to be a petty child, balance in the universe and all that.

“I don't need them to know this is ridiculous. Very overkill, but then again that's your style, isn't it?”

“Should I remind you this is my father's idea?”

The way Tim frowned was the only sign he gave of annoyance. “We don't know what his plans were for this but you're wasting time, we don't need it.”

“You're so optimistic, I almost envy you. Grayson is going to need all the help he can get and if you have any religious inclination, this is the time to start praying.”

“You really think we are stupid,” and he let out a fake laugh, just for effect. “Do you believe for a second we're going to use this? A machine under your control?”

“You're free to examine it to the last bolt, I'm not being nefarious.”

“And we're going to trust you because, what? Scout's honor?”

“No, because I have nothing to gain if you or Grayson get hurt.”

“Like the League could let pass the opportunity of getting rid of us. I bet Ra's would be happy to have one less obstacle in his way.”

“This will not help my case but if I wanted you dead, you'd already be. Why would I put so much effort in this if my end goal was to destroy it when there's easier methods?”

“Who knows what a little psycho like you thinks? I wouldn't be surprised if this is your twisted way of having fun.”

Damian was less bothered and more intrigued at this whole exchange, because it was Drake the one who sought him out and whatever he was trying to get from this interaction, Damian had more important things to do than pay attention to his games. It was also a great teaching moment, if one could call it that.

“All right, let's have a conversation.” He said, straightening his posture and putting his hands behind his back. “When I was five, my mother made me climb in The Himalayas and I broke my wrist. Drake, are you following?” And he gave special emphasis to each of his next points. “I was five years old, I broke my wrist while trying to reach the summit of a frozen mountain and I was punished for being too slow. Do you honestly believe I enjoyed it?” He remained silent for a few moments so that his words were properly assimilated. “I'm sure you've seen dog fighting rings before, do you think those dogs like it there?”

Damian couldn't really be sure what effect his words had but from the way Tim opened his mouth as if to say something and then immediately closed it, he could at least tell Drake was actually pondering about them.

“I'm not ashamed to say I'm doing this for my own benefit, the institution my father established with Batman is the only thing standing between my mother and me. This is my Keep and if it falls, there would be only frozen mountains for me,” and it was true in a way: saving Alfred, protecting Grayson, even working with Drake, it was all for Damian's selfish reasons because he considered these disastrous people his family. “I don't care what you think of me but at least judge me for the choices I'm making here.”

In the past Damian used to complain about how useless he found Tim to be in general, how ill-fitted he was to form part of his father's allies and some part of him even believed those things, but the truth had always been that Drake was as good as any of his father's mentees and seeing the way he slipped into his vigilante persona now that Damian knew the tells was close to charming: detached, calm, in control. Damian could almost felt proud.

“You know,” he said in a conversationally tone. “When you rescue dogs from the ring, sometimes you have to sacrifice them because they're beyond help.”

That statement was so brazen that Damian could only laugh. “You're not even going to attempt rehabilitation with me first. Ruthless, Drake. I can respect that.”

One of Damian's unverified theories was that Alfred had some kind of sixth sense: he always seemed to appear at the least expected but more appropriate moments, like he did just now: clearing his throat to announce his presence, tray in hand with a bottle of the cold tea that Damian favoured these days and offended so much the butler's sensibilities.

“Master Tim, how good to see you,” he said not giving any sign he heard their conversation. “Can I offer you something? I'll bring it in a minute.”

“It's alright, Alfred, I was leaving anyway, I have things to discuss with Dick.”

“Very well, I'll see you both at dinnertime.”

Tim nodded in agreement and took two steps before it seemed like he thought about it twice and turned around. “I still don't trust any of this, you don't fool me.”

And so they watched in silence as Tim walked away while Damian took the bottled tea, breaking the cap seal and taking a good sip.

“Are you really sure my father doesn't have any more children?” He asked apropos nothing.

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. We already have enough with these ones, they're such a handful.”

“They sure are, sir.”

Of course it wasn't lost on Damian the meaningful look that Alfred directed towards him.

Colin's reaction at having a proper hideout - at least the beginnings of one - made Damian felt even more guilty for just giving him a garage and calling it a day.

What made it somehow worst is that he originally wasn't even looking for a base to share with Colin, he just stumbled on the building's potential while he was looking for something else in his father's database. Being a bad friend was low in the long list of Damian's offenses, but it didn't mean he was not going to prioritize it in this second time around.

“No One, I'm done!”

Colin's loud proclamation somewhere in the entrance of the room made Damian snap of his contemplations. And wasn't that amusing? Colin was left under the impression that “No One” was actually Damian's moniker; not that surprising coming from someone that chose “Abuse” for a name.

No One and Nobody. Maya would've had so much fun with that, she would've had called him her sidekick and probably suggested he colour coordinated with her... ah, every so often, thoughts like that made Damian wish he could cry openly for his losses.

“Good job,” he said instead, stretching his arms just for show before turning the chair he was in, in front of a rather modest computer system in comparison with the one Batman used. “I'll finish setting this tomorrow.”

Damian wasn't sure if his father wanted for this little deserted clock factory to be a stash house, but it had enough foundations to change it to whatever he wanted it to be. It didn't hurt Damian also had someone more than happy to do the heavy lifting, literally speaking.

“We're coming back tomorrow?”  

“If you're able. There's still a lot to do to make this place fully functional.”

“Really? It looks fine to me.”

“If you think this shoddy hole is fine, Batman's headquarters would make you faint.”

“You've been at Batman's place?” Even if Colin was in his Abuse persona, the childish enthusiasm in his voice was clear. “No way! Did he take you in the Batmobile?”

“He did and he even put a blindfold on me.” And just because he knew Colin would find it funny, he added. “So lame.”

And Colin indeed laughed a little, proceeding to sit in the floor, cross-ledged. “It's not lame!” He defended, always loyal to his hero. “His base is one of the more important places in the world, he needs to be careful.” The wishful expression in his face was unmistakable. “It must be great working with him and Robin.” And he sighed, looking a little pensive. “That reminds me that I told you my story but you never told me yours.”

The first time they met, circumstances made useless things like secret identities; Colin figured out pretty easily that Damian was Robin and Damian saw with his own eyes the kind of powers Colin had. This time around things were less straightforward. It took days and days of work - as in, beating thugs together - and Damian sharing the location of an authentic hideout for Colin to finally confide a little about himself. He told Damian about Scarecrow, about how Batman saved him and why he decided to use his newfound powers to help others, but he didn't tell Damian his name or his living situation. Maybe he was testing him, because if Damian really was a close ally of Batman, he could ask him about that incident with Crane.

Or maybe he was waiting for Damian to take off his mask and tell him his name first. Whatever the case, Damian didn't see the need to do that if it wasn't the result of natural progression. He viewed the knowledge he had about the people surrounding him like optional guidelines, not a manipulative tool to be perceived more favourably.

“Is not that interesting. Batman and Robin saved me too. I was...” And he pondered a little how much truth was too much. “...raised in a cult of assassins.”  

Back in the day Damian used to be very nonchalant about his past as an assassin, because he was proud.  He completed every and each one of his mother's demands, surpassed the highest expectations, survived the lowest odds and conquered the most brutal quests. It cost Damian so much pain, of course he was proud. 

But the pride of being an assassin died long ago, only everything else remained.

“I was trained to be one of the best because one day they'll need a substitute for their leader. I escaped and came to Gotham, Batman saw I needed help and let me stay.” And for a moment he almost didn't continue, reluctant to confess more, even if it was to someone he knew wasn't going to judge him too harshly. “I've done horrible things but Robin's existence taught me about redemption. I can save people, catch them when they need it, because someone caught me when I didn't know I was falling.”

The first time Damian told Colin about his past as an assassin, it was in a very dismissing way, just like he did with Jon. And maybe just like Jon didn't grasp the extent of his transgressions at the beginning, Colin surely didn't think too much about the ugly truth Damian's past encompassed.

It seemed that Damian was still underestimating others, even the ones he considered friends and family, because what Colin said next after a short silence was something he wasn't expecting of him.

“Someone told me that there's no bad kids, just kids in bad places, with bad adults and when you're a kid, you shouldn't blame yourself for the things that happen to you. That's why we need to grow up to be good adults, you know? Be like the ones we want to take care of kids like us.”

At ten Colin had so much more wisdom that Damian with all his knowledge of arts, philosophy and war could even begin to appreciate at that age. His mother wholly failed where some nuns didn't even try that hard, but his mother wanted a conqueror and a tyrant, not a normal, healthy child.

Even now, with all the additional knowledge Damian had, he couldn't help but feel like there was so much he still had to learn from Colin and truly, part of him wanted to refute those words, to tell him that Damian has always been rotten to the core even as a child, but it would be a disservice to kids like Colin and even the one Damian once was; hating himself was so much comfortable when he wasn't dragging others with him.

“Now everything makes so much sense.” He continued, happily unaware of Damian's internal struggles.

“What does?”

“The way you fight, those cool moves and the sword! You never use it but it's totally a ninja sword.”

“Tt! I'm not something as pedestrian as a ninja.”

“You're not a samurai, you use smoke bombs.”

“Batman uses them too, is he a ninja then?”

“You can't define Batman, he's too amazing for that.”

It became clear for Damian, given the mirth in the redhead's voice, relaxed posture and affable smile, that Colin was trying to make fun of him. He didn't need knowledge from another life to understand this was Colin offering the first tentative step to a friendship despite Damian's revelations, or maybe because of them; either way he was aware of what a gift this was, offered by pure chance twice to him now.

From all the things Damian had lost, he was so grateful to have this one back.

Just like he said he would do the first time they talked in the Batcave, Drake kept an eye on Damian, but he was years away to catch him out of line. All the commotion from moving to the penthouse and the preparations for the new Dynamic Duo weren't helping him either to discover his machinations. There was also the fact that Damian had on his side the most powerful resource in his father's arsenal: Pennyworth. Without his help Damian's latest endeavour would've taken much more time and effort.

So here he was, waiting on his third attempt to synthetize what he took the habit of satirically calling a “hangover cure”, because when he perfected it, he was alone in a bleak future where things like proper names were useless when he had no one to tell.

It was such a ridiculous scene too, with Damian sitting with his feet up in a chair too big for him, the manga he bought weeks ago in hands, waiting for the machine to finish with the formula he was trying to concoct, while Alfred was walking somewhere behind him with a feather duster and actually using it; all of that at two in the morning in the bat-bunker. To add to the absurdity, he was actually engrossed in the story of the manga. It was hard not to, when the protagonist was a teenager doing the things she was expected to do: having good grades, hanging out with her friends, going out with her boyfriend, all while feeling dispassionate about everyone and everything... until she found the world of painting. In a way, it made Damian think of himself a little.

But his discovery of relatable fictional characters was put to a halt when the computer announced that the process was done. He carefully scrutinized the results in the computer screen in front of him, only to read it twice after he finished the first time. As soon as he was sure of the result, he jumped from the seat and rushed to the processor meant for vaccines and all sorts of antidotes. He took the crystal tube from the only slot being used and examined the liquid inside: it was that clear shade of red, the one that made him think what rubies would look like if they were liquid the first time he saw it. There was no doubt about it, this was it.

“People usually say that the smile of a child is a beautiful and innocent sight,” said Alfred, who approached Damian after seeing the abrupt way he abandoned his spot. “If I'm honest, I'm feeling rather unnerved about it.”

He was smiling from ear to ear, all white sharp teeth and probably looking a bit maniacally. “It's the canines' fault. I'm sure they're one of the genetic alterations my mother made.” The explanation wasn't necessary, but Damian couldn't help it, he was feeling elated enough to answer the most asinine things.

It wasn't like Damian was trying to make some experimental formula work, no, he already knew it was functional, but the materials in his previous attempts proved to be faulty. And now, after so much defeats, after taking one step forward and immediately two back, Damian had in his hands his first real triumph.

Finally, after so long, this was undeniable progress.

“Going by this display I must assume this time the result is right.”

“Correct. We did it, Pennyworth, half of the battle is won.”

“Claiming victory too soon has been the fall of many generals.”

“I was once called Alexander, even if I lose this battle, the war will be mine.”

Hearing such serious words from such a small child was a whimsical experience, even if he knew full well that Damian wasn't joking one bit. “At times like this you remind me of Master Bruce.”

“I would prefer if I remind you of myself, my father's shoes are too big to fill them. That's why it's a good thing I have my own.”

Alfred closed his eyes momentarily, letting his thoughts drift towards memories he held dear; reminiscences of Thomas, Martha and a little Bruce. When he opened his eyes, nothing in his expression betrayed anything unusual.

“Indeed it is and I eagerly await to see what kind of shadow you'll cast, Master Damian.”

Chapter Text

Prior to moving out from the mansion, Tim thought carefully about the challenges that awaited all of them. Adjusting to a life without Bruce would be hard but not impossible, he just had to persevere and do his best, because that's what Bruce would've wanted. Tim couldn't waste time on doubts, hesitancy or dwell too much into irrational theories when Dick needed him, when Gotham needed them.

Of course when Tim thought about all of that, he imagined very differently what challenges he was going to face. Never, not even with his great ability to devise hundreds and hundreds of scenarios, could his mind come up with something as twisted like the scene he found when he entered the kitchen that morning. The kitchen island was occupied by Dick, Damian and even Alfred. There was nothing strange about them taking breakfast together... if you lived in Bizarro World, that is. This was one of the things Tim couldn't forgive himself to letting slip in: at some point when he wasn't looking, Damian lured Alfred and Dick into a fake sense of bonding and stablished himself as harmless, like the little knockoff Omen child could be anything else but deadly.

“Master Tim, good morning.”

“Drake.”

“Hi, Tim, you're on time! Damian made waffles and they're really good.”

“Don't coddle me, Grayson.”

“But it's true.”

“Acknowledging one's faults is the path to improvement.”

Tim felt the need to take a quick drug test, just to make sure he wasn't under something. But no, this was reality, this was the result of Damian's masterful manipulations and he'll need a way - and quickly - to convince Alfred and Dick that they needed to be wary of him. Just the fact that Damian was cooking should've been their first clue to see something was off! It was obvious he was doing all of this so he could state a precedent, so when he finally decided to poison them, he wouldn't any find resistance, just willing victims.

“I think I'll pass.”

Like he had been doing since coming to the penthouse, Tim made a point of taking the breakfast Alfred left for him in the counter, anticipating his negative to eat anything made by Damian. This time however, instead of retiring with plate in hand, he decided to sit next to Dick, in a display that was meant to show Damian that Tim wasn't going to give him the power of chasing him away anymore with his presence.

Even if he was annoyed with the situation, Tim had to admit that there was some pleasantness in sitting there to eat with Alfred and Dick, something that wasn't customary when Bruce was around, because he put little importance to things like keeping a consistent eating schedule. After they got rid of Damian, it'd be nice if they kept on doing this.

“Say, Drake,” he said so unexpectedly that Tim almost flinched. “Would you consider that waffles are breakfast? Or dessert?”

“....what?”

“Grayson says it's breakfast but Pennyworth thinks it's dessert. What's your opinion?”

Tim doubted for a moment if he heard that right, because seriously what even was that question. He glanced quickly at Alfred and Dick, hoping to find in their expressions some indication of this being a poor attempt on Damian's part to be funny, but there was nothing.

“Breakfast?” He finally said, doubtfully.

“See?” Dick smiled with glee. “Told you!”

“But the way they're normally served should count as a dessert with that much sugar.”

“Cereal has a lot of sugar too and it's breakfast.”

“You also eat cereal at night, I can't trust your judgment.”

“Hey!” He exclaimed with offense. “Cereal is a multipurpose food.”

Damian was about to refute that, but then he remembered vaguely seeing a recipe somewhere in his books about cereal bars, something he actually wanted to try. “I'll allow it.”

Tim discreetly took his own pulse just to make sure about the possibility of those hypothetical hallucinogens. Nope. Seemed fine. He looked at Alfred, who was eating with his usual poise, fork and knife in hands; the only response he got when Alfred caught his eyes was an elegantly raised eyebrow, his very own way of saying “I found this ridiculous but I won't fight it”, a look that Tim saw a lot being directed at Bruce in the past.

He almost shivered when the epiphany finally hit him: Dick and Alfred actually liked the gremlin, like genuinely, not in a “well he's Bruce's so what can you do”, but more like “look at this murderous Chihuahua, it's mine now” kind of way.

They were doomed.

Existed very few, very specific things Damian missed about the future... being taller was one of them. Not having to do homework was another.

Such thing was so demeaning, he could've doctorates if he wished by now! And while he understood the necessity behind this busywork to keep Pennyworth satisfied with his development, it didn't make it less boring or exasperating. It was a times like this he wished he could tell Alfred the truth, but time travel was a problem of its own, even if he wasn't the first one to do it and surely not the last, making a revelation such as this always carried a new set of issues and Damian currently had a lot to worry about to add more.

So, homework. Honestly this was the closest he felt in relation to his current age and it sucked.

He decided that if he had to keep doing such tedious task, he deserved to ransack the refrigerator for his troubles. But when he approached the door of his room, he stopped and frowned; his hesitation lasted just few seconds before he precipitously opened the door, right hand firm on the knob.

“What can I help you with?”

On the other side he was greeted by the figure of a very startled Dick Grayson.

“Hi, Damian,” he said, a little unconvincing. “Right, so, I'm taking the Batmobile for some field testing tonight and I wanted to ask if you'd like to come with me.”

“Why? I already taught you everything you need to know.”

“Yeah, but,” and Damian didn't understood why Dick seemed so sheepish until his next words. “This is my last patrol as Nigthwing and some company would be nice.”

This must be cosmic punishment for complaining so much about homework. “...why don't you ask Drake?”

“I'm going to see Timmy a lot from now on so I thought we could do this just the two of us, like last time, it wasn't that bad, right?”

“I suppose not.”

“Then it's that a yes? You can also say no, I don't want you to feel forced to accept.”

“Tt! I told you to stop thinking about me like that. I am, in simply words, the boss of me and I have no problems with accompanying you.”

That, of course, was a lie.

Damian was going to absolutely blame his child brain for getting carried away, just because he felt slightly peeved at Dick for trying to give him the kid glove treatment, so to speak. 

It was evident that it didn't matter how much he tried to stay away from situations where feelings would be a problem, he found his way into them anyway. Now instead of worrying about his stupid homework, Damian had to spend the rest of the day trying to prepare himself for the emotional challenges that were awaiting him later... caring about people was such a curse.

But maybe, maybe it didn't have to be, not this time. This was an end and probably exactly what Damian needed it.

Looking back with the benefit of a lot of insight, Damian knew that the reason of his disgruntlement on the last day he and Grayson went out as Batman and Robin, was because he was hurt by Dick's sudden decision to quit; they had been working so well together and then out of nowhere, Dick announced he was going back to be Nightwing, turning Damian's world upside down. In the end, after that whole mess with Deathwing, Richard did get to explain to him - even if it wasn't in too many words - the reasoning behind this abrupt departure.

Awake or dreaming, Damian visited countless times the memory of that lone rooftop somewhere in Blüdhaven. And sometimes... sometimes the Richard in his imagination even called him that one word the real one never could.  

Although Damian was altering the past he couldn't erase and remade his own. His regrets, his mistakes, his choices, all of that and more were set in stone, even if he was the only one left in the world who could read what the inscription said. But this was an opportunity to take something he regretted and make a kinder memory out of it; it'd would be a better farewell to his days as Grayson's Robin, like the last voyage of a ship. Damian couldn't change his own lived experiences, but he could make his own rituals to honour the meaningful lost moments of his past.

This new prospect made him feel better about his impulsive plans with Dick, so he decided it was best to stop moping in his bed and hurry up to secure a specific item he wanted to bring with him to patrol.

Pennyworth was thrilled - at least what passed for thrilled on his countenance - when hours later he saw them getting ready to head out together, but whatever he was thinking at the unusual occurrence, he didn't comment on it and instead just acted like it was an everyday thing, keeping quiet too about Damian's decision of not taking his sword with him for the first time since he started patrolling.

Damian got into the Batmobile pointedly trying not to look at Dick, not wanting to take the risk of staring, so instead he tried to kept busy looking at the scenery. It was so different to ride again the Batmobile - his, not least - compared to the last time he was in the co-pilot seat. He never thought he'd miss looking at the filthy streets of Gotham through red tinted glass, but maybe it was less about the familiarity of the roads and more about the person behind the wheel.

The shadows from the street lamps, the rumbling of the engine and the almost forgotten feeling of leaving his safety at the hands of another, made Damian contemplate the idea of folding his arms over the window sill and stop thinking for a bit, enjoying the ride for what it was. However it seemed like Dick wasn't all too keen about the companionable silence, because he spoke in that exact tone that sounded casual but it was all pretense.

“I saw you registered yourself as an agent.”

Damian didn't see why such topic warranted Grayson's attempt at nonchalance, but he answered without much thought. “Seemed appropriate given I'm an active operative.”

For a moment he assumed they were done with the matter, but Dick actually counted seconds before speaking again. “So, No One, uh? I thought you didn't want an identity.”

After the scene Damian put to reject the Robin mantle, it made sense the extra effort Grayson was giving into sounding casual to approach his apparent change of heart.

“I don't, that's why I didn't pick one. I'm just a no one in a sea of names and somebodies.”

Dick could almost sigh, because of course that was Damian's answer. At this point hearing him talk was like a roulette: sometimes Dick felt worried, others he was perplexed, recurrently he was amused and a times he was annoyed, but more often than not, what he felt the most was the desire to just touch him; a grip on his shoulder, a head pat, a squeeze on his hand, a hug, anything, but they weren't close enough for Damian to allow any of that. Dick just wanted to physically be able to comfort him, even if Damian seemed to unfazed by the harshness of his time in the League, because that was what it made it worst, the fact that everything he went through was just so normal for him, that Damian treated it like a mild annoyance instead of the tragedy it was. 

“All right,” Dick said cheerfully, trying not to get discouraged so soon when they were just starting. “Time to test the flying. Let's go up, up and away.”

The first time Damian had gotten this Batmobile to fly, hadn't been as flawless as he would've liked, so he subsequently made the necessary adjustments and changes. Needless to say he applied all that previous knowledge this new time around, thus he couldn't help the surge of pride that washed over him when he felt the subtle transition between the vehicle's mechanisms as it rose smoothly, even though he spent hours and hours testing these same aerial capabilities, there was a capricious glee in being present the first time they were used over Gotham's night sky.

Dick whistled appreciatively and then chucked a little. “This is going to take some time to get used to.”

Damian didn't know if he meant the flying part of the scenery that unfolded before their eyes. Gotham had been called many things, beautiful was rarely one of those, but so high in the air it couldn't be denied that it had a very unique charm at night, like it was trying to mirror a sky with all of its artificial lights.

“When I was Robin I would've kill for a flying Batmobile.”

Damian resisted the grisly impulse to tell him he'd killed for less than that, so instead he just made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “Drake is not as appreciative.”

“He'll change his mind after a night or two, this is too cool to dislike it.”

Seeing how annoying Tim had been the last few days, Damian almost wished he would continue being mad. 

Whether Dick used the Batmobile as an excuse to spend time with him or not, at least he took very seriously the testing part. Damian always assumed Grayson's natural disposition to show-off played an unconscious role in the way he piloted, especially after his father came back and Dick felt more relaxed using the cowl. And when he closed his eyes, concentrating on feeling every turn, up, down and change of speed, for an instant if was like he was really back there, in his early days as Robin, so contented at Dick's side.

But everything ended sooner than he would've liked when they received a call from Oracle, claiming strange activity with the security system in the Museum of Antiquities. Damian just hoped it wasn't Catwoman because he wasn't on the mood to deal with her antics or ambiguous alignment, not when he was trying to make the most of this night. Fortunately for his mental state, in the end it wasn't Selina the one trying to rob some random object, but a group trying a daring attempt at a heist, something Damian felt infinitely more enthusiastic about. Stopping the five thieves was all too easy, given they weren't skilled fighters and luckily for them, Damian wasn't as brazen as he had once been, because he felt a bit affronted at having his time flying around with Grayson cut short for this.

Dick left him in charge of keeping an eye on the tied up criminals while he went to free the museum night guards, which made sense, because Damian doubted Dick wanted to parade him around. It was easier for Batman to fight crime with questionably young sidekicks than it was for Nightwing, so the less people seeing him with Grayson that night, the better.

While he was waiting, his eyes wandered around and stopped in the nearest exhibition wing, which was closed at the moment in preparation for the next one, that was, according to all the advertisement surrounding it, Egyptian themed. Damian took a few steps in its direction, suddenly interested in one of the banners that in plain sight didn't seem very noteworthy, just standard depictions of Egyptian gods and from them, it was Anubis the one that caught his attention, because upon seeing it, it came to his mind the image of his grandfather, rambling and frenzied, offering to Damian with trembling hands a very Anubis-like mask, all while begging him to take his place as leader of The League. Damian used to wonder if the original version of him, the one really meant for such gruesome future, would had accepted his grandfather's offer when everything else was lost to him... but maybe his answer would've been the same, because the person he was now lost everything too, but he still refused to stray from the path a circus fool put him in years ago, with bright colours and a cherished name.

“The police is almost here, time to go.” Speaking of fools.

Damian gave the banners one last look before sprinting back to Grayson's side like the obedient child he never was. He could ponder about the past, the future and the what-ifs to the point of madness, but only one thing mattered in the end: the present, this present.

From then on, patrol was like a facsimile of his old days as Dick's Robin: rescue a couple from being mugged in the street, interfere in the looting of a department store, break up a gang clash and finally, stop Firefly from doing whatever the hell he was trying to do while wreaking chaos.

Just as before, Damian had to go away when the GCPD arrived, letting Dick exchange information with the commissioner. He chose the roof of a close building, walking a little until he reached the side that was better hidden in the shadows and sat at the edge to wait, distractedly swinging his feet a little while he was at it. As a kid Damian hated doing anything that could be considered, even slightly, as childish; sometimes he succumbed to silly whims but more often than not, he deprived himself of the littlest things: jumping on puddles of water, making hand shadows, using curly straws or swinging his feet when he was sitting high enough. Damian would never know what it really was to do those things when he was a kid, but he was done being just another one from the many that denied him a childhood.

Just when he was contemplating the need to add laced up boots to his new uniform, whatever that was going to be, Dick landed gracefully right at his side.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Before Damian could even give indication that he was standing up, Grayson sat next to him, faking a tired sigh. “What a night, right, chum?”

“Don't make me hurt you.”

Dick laughed and this time when he deeply sighed, he did it genuinely. He took a moment to look at the sky, free of the sign that called for Batman almost every night, because at least for this one there was some semblance of peace. “I know doing this isn't supposed to be fun, but it was, at least today. Thank you for coming with me, I really appreciate it.”

Damian never was good at receiving thanks, not unless it was in a situation he found appropriate to gloat or that he could dismiss, this was neither, so Damian hurried to search in his belt to took one packet from one of its pockets, shoving it to Dick. “Here.”

“Wha—?”

“Positive reinforcement for a job well done.” He immediately said, like it was something expected.

Grayson's confusion gave way to pleasant surprise when he realized what was given to him: a bag of jelly beans. “These are my favorites.”

Damian knew, just like he knew that Dick liked macaroni and cheese. Even when this Grayson wasn't the one that once sat in front of a drill and refused to push back to save his life at the cost of Damian's, here Damian was, trying to chase after his approval in the most meaningless things, to the point that he searched frantically that afternoon for this specific brand of candy. Grayson wasn't the only fool in that roof.

Dick inspected the packet and suddenly his smile turned a little sad. “You know, your dad used to carry around sweets in his belt too.”

It wasn't like Damian was trying to be insensitive, but he detested talking about his father in this context. He didn't deserve to partake in the grief of Pennyworth or Grayson, hell, even Drake, when he knew full well that his father wasn't dead, it'd feel hypocritical and even cruel to do so. If it wasn't for the fact that there was so much at stake, he would've already told them the truth, because he hated seeing them needlessly suffer.

He decided it was better to change the topic and say now what he intended to save for later, when they were in their way back to the bunker.

“I don't know if someone told you this already, but don't try to be him.” At his words that seemed harsh, Dick flinched almost imperceptibly. “Everything else was a mask for him, his real self was Batman and that's something none of us can ever dream to replicate, you'll destroy yourself if you do.” And he closed his eyes, feeling the phantom presence of a cowl over his head. “Your strengths and your weakness lie in different places from his, learn that and use it to be a better version of Batman, your own version... there will be moments when the cowl will feel like a noose around your neck and the cape like an anchor dragging you to the abyss, when that happens, when you feel like you're losing yourself to the mask, please, reach for us.” He suppressed a sigh and took a breath to keep his voice steady. "What's the point of having all these misfits united under the same crusade if you will not call for us? That was my father's biggest flaw, trying to carry the weight of this life alone. I know that's not the person you are and that's why you'll be everything he could not. Nightwing,” and he took a moment to swallow in an attempt to chase away the aggravating lump in his throat that threatened tears after. “You are going to be the best, no matter what anyone thinks.”

While it didn't seem like a smart move to talk about his father with so such understanding, Damian could always blame a lot of things for his otherwise inexplicably knowledge of him. There was still so much he wanted to say, things he wished he told his Richard when he had the chance, but none of it would make sense for this Grayson that saw them as a pair of strangers. Still, he was entirely taken by surprise when he unexpectedly found himself in Grayson's arms, who without warning proceeded to hug him; as expected, Damian tensed up as soon as Dick made contact, in a mix of his current reflexes and the sheer horror that it was to be held by someone he so dearly missed, even when they were next to each other.

“Shhh, I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Dick muttered trying to placate him, feeling his obvious uneasiness. “I should've ask, sorry, just, for a little bit, please.”

Damian stayed still, like a cornered animal, refusing to even try and relax because he knew that as soon as he did, he ran the risk of doing something stupid, like giving in and return the hug when he knew Dick was only hugging him as some kind of misplaced gratitude, not because it was something he really wished to share with him. Damian could endure this and stay composed, even if it was more for his own sake than Grayson's.

“Thank you, I'm going to let you go now.” Dick announced after that if felt like an agonizing eternity. “Damian,” and the name was said so low as to be only heard by him, like Grayson was trying to protect his identity from some imaginary audience. “I'm really glad you're here.”

Damian had to physically restraint himself from trying to follow after Dick when he finally released him, and who would've thought? That fighting affection was harder for him than pain. His mother would've been appalled.

“I did tell you,” and Damian was elated to sound so normal when inside him felt like a raging storm. “You're lucky to have my help.” He repeated the same phrase he said in what it felt so long ago, when Dick still looked at him with suspicion.

And Grayson, he just smiled at him, relaxed and trusting like he never had been anything else in his presence. “Yeah, I really am.”

Damian knew then, that if he tried to study Dick now, he would probably find an echo, however small and flimsy, of what he had been looking for that first time so many nights ago in the middle of the Batcave. And that was enough.

It was worth everything.

Chapter Text

For everybody else, this day was buzzing with the expectation and energy of a new era. For Damian it was just a Wednesday.

He followed his usual routine while pointedly ignoring how the atmosphere in the penthouse was different, how everybody was preparing in some way or another for the night. Damian didn't share the concerns that seemed to hang over the others, he knew Grayson will do well and despite how much it hurt his pride in the past to admit it, Drake was a highly competent Robin. They'll be fine, they had nothing to worry about.

With this being such an important happening for them, Damian decided to get out of their way to let them sort things out, but since he still wanted to voice his approval without directly say it and with that in mind, he decided the best place for that would be the kitchen.

Compared to cooking, baking was a breeze.

After so many humiliations with this food, Damian finally found something he was good at, if only because baking recipes were a precise science, which was something more aligned with his expertise. Even Pennyworth, who was always harsh in his honesty when giving criticism, felt satisfied with the results from his first attempts. It made sense then, that he used his recently discovered aptitude with the oven to show his support and make something celebratory... to the New Dynamic Duo! May at least his favourite of the two stay whole at the end of this ordeal.

He made sure to have everything he'll need with anticipation to make shortbread cookies, including a ridiculous cookie cutter with the form of Batman's symbol, something he was almost disappointed they didn't own already, seeing how many other mundane things with the bat sign they possessed.

So, the most important thing in this day for Damian was to get an acceptable icing on his cookies. That was it, amazing accomplishments for one just Damian, no Wayne, no al Ghul.

“I must say, you have a very steady grip, sir.”

Not jumping when Alfred appeared out of nowhere in the most pure style of his father should count as a feat, with bonus points for not messing up the icing he was doing at the moment.

“This is a good opportunity to inform you that I can perform surgeries.”

“Surgery, engineering and overcooked pasta. The wonders never cease.”

“Hysterical, Pennyworth.” But he actually stopped himself from smiling. “I prefer tales from your youth better than your jokes, I'm especially interested in your training.”

“Sadly my days at the Royal Butler Academy are not as riveting as you're imagining.”

“If that's all the training you have done, then I'm a well-adjusted average child.”

“Heartwarming to see we share the same point of view.”

Damian chose not to dignify that with an answer, so Alfred focused his attention on inspecting the undecorated cookies that were on the sheet pan.

“If I knew you were planning on using this shape, I would've brought the batcookie cutter from the manor.”

“Are you talking about an actual gadget?”

“I'll let you take a guess.”

Before Damian could decide on an answer, his phone made a sound alert and just like that, everything else ceased to matter. He rushed to take the phone that was near him on the counter; he didn't need confirmation as to what the alert he just received was about, but Damian still unlocked the phone to see.

“Apologies, Pennyworth, this is very important.”

Damian immediately jumped from the step stool he was on and ran straight to his room without looking back. Finding himself alone, Alfred merely arched an unimpressed eyebrow at the abandoned cookies and picked up the piping bag, proceeding to continue with the task left behind.

When Damian reached his room he hurried to his closet, setting aside a couple of boxes so he could move a fake portion of the wall to reveal behind it a handprint scanner, he placed his right hand over it and waited until a panel in the floor, that was in one of the corners of the room, opened.

Shortly after his arrival in Gotham, Pennyworth provided him with a phone and a laptop, so normal and simple that they were nothing more than toys for him. However at some point, possibly after he passed some kind of undeclared test from Alfred, he granted him heavy duty Batman-like technology. Damian was grateful to have a proper laptop he could work with, away from the unwanted eyes monitoring the Batcomputer; given the things he was up to, he had to be careful with its storage, because he had not doubt Tim would do something stupid if he knew of its existence.

After retrieving it from its hidden spot, Damian sat on the floor, not bothering to at least go to his bed. He spent the next ten minutes reviewing different fragments of footage, just enough to be sure this was exactly what he thought it was and once he was absolutely certain, he hurried now to leave everything exactly as it was before he entered his room, with the difference that he put the laptop in a canvas bag a brought it with him back to the kitchen.

When Alfred saw him, he made the attempt to say something but Damian didn't give him the chance. “I'm leaving, I believe this is the start of Operation B.B.W.”

Whatever Alfred wanted to share before, died right there. “Oh.” Was the only thing he could voice before he recovered his impeccable composure. “Not the best timing, I'm afraid.”

“Not the worst either, all considered. Don't wish me luck, Pennyworth, that's for amateurs.”

“Never, Master Damian, but I...” He glanced briefly at the plate where four perfectly decorated bat-shaped cookies rested. With resolve, he walked towards Damian and placed a gentle but firm hand on his small shoulder. “There's nothing I want more that for you to succeed, my boy.”

These horrible people, making Damian feel so weak at the slightest show of affection. “Keep the sentimentality for Grayson, he's going to need it later.”

“In these uncertain times we can all use a little sentiment.”

“And yet, I've never been this certain in years.”

Alfred knew that Damian wouldn't appreciate the comparison with Bruce, but it was true that at moments like this one, he was undoubtedly his father's son. The resemblance, of course, wasn't in the words being said but in their unwavering determination, so assured in their own competency while also planning for ten different ways to fail. It was a small comfort for Alfred in the middle of the nightmare that was losing Bruce.

While Damian liked the bunker better than the cave, it was easier to slip away unnoticed in the cave thanks to its size. Now, if he really wanted, he could just go without saying anything and let Pennyworth deal with Grayson once he saw Damian was missing.

One of the biggest drawbacks of establishing healthy social routines like eating together, was that absences were hard not to notice, but in his defense, Grayson invited himself to Damian's shared meals with Pennyworth, not the other way around. Leaving without a word will work against everything Damian was trying to build, so even if time was of the essence, he needed to do this in the best way possible.

“Where's Drake?” Was the first thing he asked once in the bunker.

Grayson was there, sitting behind the computer, still in civilian clothes, which made sense because it was early for patrol. “Inspecting the Batmobile or something.”

If it weren't for the fact that this worked in his favour, Damian would've rolled his eyes. “Here, one is for you.” He offered Dick the plate he brought from the kitchen, that had two bat cookies on it. “It's a token of my well-wishes, may you conquer this night and the many more to come.”

Dick took the plate automatically, looking at the pair of cookies almost mesmerized. “Aw, Damian,” he cooed. “That's so nice of you.”

“Pennyworth helped, feel free to eat the other one when Drake rejects it.” For a moment Damian wished this was all, that he didn't have other more upsetting things to do, so he could bask, just this once, in Grayson's pleasantly surprised smile. “I also want to serve notice, I'm going to be away for a few days starting today.”

“What? Days?” Dick's posture changed completely, any hint of relaxation gone. “Why?”

“I'm investigating a drug ring, I have a lead so I'm going to stage a stakeout. If you need more information ask Pennyworth.”

“You can't do a stakeout alone, are you crazy?”

“I spent the past year doing missions around the world on my own. You have no idea of the things I've achieved without help.”

Grayson didn't know either about all the atrocities he committed because if he knew, he'd have denounced Damian, seeing him as the monster he truly was.

“Gordon told you about my accounts, that money wasn't a gift, it was payment. I know you think it's funny when I call myself a professional, but it was never a joke.”

The weakest part of Damian wanted to take back everything he said when Dick covered his face with both hands, but as remorseful as he was from some parts of his past, he wasn't going to pretend they never happened.

“I know you weren't joking,” Grayson finally said soberly after uncovering his face. “But I can't let you do this without backup, why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?”

“As the next Batman you have more important things to worry about than some insignificant goons and their narcotics, leave the busy-work to the rest of us.”

“I get what you're trying to say but I don't like the idea of you being alone out there for days. Anything could happen.”

“I'm not an idiot, I know how to conduct myself in these situations,” Damian was trying, really, but it didn't matter his age, frustration always came easily to him. “I won't engage and I promise if I see the need to, I'll ask for assistance and wait. Grayson, please, trust me with this, I won't make you regret it.”

The universe had such a bad sense of humour, because Dick understood Damian well. He had been there once, asking Bruce to have faith in him and what he was able to do, only to be met with refusals and orders. Unsurprisingly, those negatives didn't stop him and he couldn't even remember now how many times he decided to act on his own.

At this point, disobeying Batman and going behind his back was an infamous Robin tradition; Dick never wanted to be on the other side of that and still, that's what was happening right now. While Damian was younger than Dick when he joined Bruce, he was also more skilled than any Robin had been at the start.

When he saw him patrol for the first time, Dick knew he didn't have to worry about him going on his own under Alfred's watch, however after actually spending a night working with him, Dick couldn't help but think how satisfied Bruce would've been with his son. If Dick didn't know any better, he would say Damian was a natural, taking to their methods like a fish to the water, despite how opposed they were to the League's style. He could only imagine how much effort Damian was putting into exceling like this.

Bruce would've told him no.

And maybe Dick should too, as experienced as he was, Damian was still a child, a small one, with a button nose, that talked like Alfred, took cooking too seriously and was so lively as he was somber. But Dick promised himself he wasn't going to repeat the mistakes Bruce did, he wanted Damian to know he could trust his reasoning, that he wasn't unapproachable or controlling; that even if they disagree, they could reach compromises and work together, not next to the other.

“You'll observe only, call for help at the first sight of trouble and if things get out of hand, you'll flee, your safety is the priority. I also want updates, hourly.”

“...” Grayson didn't know how lucky he was that Damian wasn't as quick to irk like he once had been. “I agree to your terms but you must know that I'm holding back some very impolite words.”

Dick's following laughter almost made worth all the hassle Damian will have to deal with. Almost.

Despite losing more time than he'd have liked coming to an agreement with Grayson, when Damian finally arrived to the hideout he shared with Colin, he was free to properly review the footage, like he couldn't in the penthouse and also make sure his target hasn't moved yet from where he last saw him.

Through the years, diverse circumstances made Damian analyze Gotham's infrastructure, not only because criminals liked to attack one building or another, but he also sought to know where his father's resources were... and his brothers'. He could pinpoint, even now, some of Grayson's safe houses all the way back to Blüdhaven.

It seemed that in the future Damian took that to new extremes, because in his efforts to be the Batman the city needed it, he tried to know every structure possible in Gotham to use that to his benefit. During his stay at that hellish place, he memorized all the information he could, places of interest in the city included. That was the reason behind the recent search that led him to find his current base, something he was grateful for, because he needed to work away for prying eyes.

Damian used to have a war table in the League, a military one. He never told anyone, not even Jon, but he always wanted a fantasy inspired one, with imaginary maps and troops, free of the burden of reality. Using games of chess as symbolism when one was planning something was a cliché, usually from people fancying themselves as masterminds, so it'd suit better losers like Nygma; Damian was fighting a war and before coming to Gotham, he decided on a campaign and made the first move in his little fictional table. And today, today may be the day he make the last for it.

Getting set for the challenge ahead was easy, because he had been gradually preparing in advance and did it so well, that he was even familiar with the place he had to go. So he readied the equipment he was going to need, left Colin a message in the communicator he gave him and then departed to his destination, to one of the many run-down areas of the city. Once there, he quickly located the building he identified from the recordings: an old warehouse. He surveyed its surroundings before selecting the side of the roof he speculated had a good blind spot, according to his vague memories of the site, still, he made sure to carefully look inside before finally entering. Damian tested the closest ceiling joist to him, getting on it when it was clear that the rust damage was only superficial.

When he found a good position, one that had a perfect view of a very specific area in the floor, he just stayed there, motionless, waiting, while the sky above him started to stain with the colours of the twilight.

In accordance with Grayson's ridiculous rules, he put together a last minute program to signal Pennyworth, so for now it shouldn't be a problem, at least until Dick started to feel suspicious and tried to talk with him directly, but most likely he was going to be too busy with his debut as Batman; hopefully Drake will be busy too, because even if Grayson agreed it was best not to tell him about his solo mission for the moment, Damian knew how problematic things could get if Drake decided to try and look for him. Damian covered his tracks, but Drake was, well, Drake, favourite of both his father and grandfather, all for justifiable reasons.

And so, Damian waited, and waited, until it got dark. Fortunately for him - or very unfortunate, if the truth had to be told -, he was well accustomed to waiting for long periods of time. His mother used to say it was part of a good hunt.

It was close to midnight when his communicator flared to life with a well-known voice. “Hi, No One, it's Abuse, reporting? I mean, I'm at the place you told me so I'm just going to wait until new instructions?... I know you said you can't talk, I just wanted you to know I'm here, so don't worry, I got your back. By the way, thanks for the cookie, it was so rad. Roger.” Clearly it was imperative that Grayson and Colin never met, otherwise Damian wouldn't be able to survive the embarrassment those two could bring to his life together.

Just to make sure Colin knew Damian was there and their plans still on track, he send him a quick text message.

Finally, after almost an hour later, the pair of doors on the floor that he had been watching so closely, opened. If Damian had lacked the proper training, surely his heart would be racing with excitement - elation and anxiety alike - at the sight of the figure that emerged climbing the uncovered stairs behind the doors. He couldn't help it, he smiled in that way Alfred found unnerving.

He waited while his target closed the doors again, using that time to take aim with the gun he brought, letting the night vision of his mask's lenses do all the work, not that he really needed the aid but he had to made sure this only took one try. Damian let his mark walk away, just long enough so he couldn't immediately get back behind the doors he just closed. He fired then, aiming right at his target's neck with a perfect shot.

His mark didn't immediately fell, instead he screamed a curse, taking in an instant the tranquilizer dart from his neck and turning around, gun in hand, pointing it in the direction where Damian was, but by then he already took cover. Ignoring the aggravation of accepting how convenient his small frame was, Damian kept watching carefully his target's movements, getting a little worried for a second when he saw he almost made it back to his den, so as a distraction he decided to throw a batarang to disarm him, only to be surprised when, even as uncoordinated as the other was getting, he managed to evade it, probably because he identified it just by the sound. Now this was so much better than catching unsuspecting tamaraneans out of guard.

As interesting as this was, his target didn't really stand a chance against the sedatives; there was no shame in being beaten by them, Damian and even his father had fallen against that too. His mark knew this inevitability, because as soon as he started to wobble, he tried to shield himself behind the closest industrial barrel. It was that moment when Damian decided to go down, moving silently, with his cloak making more noise than his steps.

He stopped right in from of his target, who was sitting on the ground, leaning against the barrel and fighting to stay awake. Even in that state, he still tried to shoot, but he was too drugged to aim properly or be fast enough, because Damian kicked the gun from his right hand with plenty of time to snatch the second one from his left.

“Hello, Todd.”

Although the place was almost in darkness - with only little light from the moon - and Damian was covered in black, with the hood of his cloak over his head and the domino mask hiding half of his face, Jason's dropping eyes sparkled with recognition. “You-”

Damian, ironically, crouched down to be on his level. “Consider this an intervention.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving him at knowing he wasn't at the mercy of some terrible enemy, or maybe it was just the drugs doing their job, but when Todd finally lost consciousness, Damian caught him before he hit the floor, letting him down gently. He made a quick checkup and then proceeded to tie him, just in case some miracle occurred and Jason immediately regained consciousness again.

When he finished, he stood up and pressed his communicator. “The cargo is ready, meet me at the warehouse.”

On the other side of the line Colin perkily answered. “Roger.”

With Todd secured and out of commission, surrounded only by shadows and silence, Damian put his hands closed in fists on his hips and let himself just... revel in this small moment in time. It wasn't the culmination of his plans or a defining victory, but it was a step, an important one, regardless of the end result.

He had earned the right to feel proud.

“Alas, I'm not Robin,” he said to no one in particular. “Nonetheless, I remain the best one.”

Chapter Text

“Cheer up, Komuri-chan, even the best of us must go through this.”

The way Damian was sitting at the moment would be something Pennyworth would disapprove of: positioned sideways in the chair, using its right arm as a pillow and his feet dangling from its left. In his hands was the second volume of the "Colours of the Stars" manga, which he was reading with the same contemplation he had once given to The Art of War or The Prince.

“You'll live,” he keep saying, directed to the fictitious protagonist. “It's the only path.”

If Damian had to be at Jason's bedside, still in his uniform - because one never knows -, monitoring his vital signs and playing doctor, he was allowed to let time pass however suited him better.

Currently they were in one of his father's better supplied safe houses; its medical bay wasn't as good as the one in the cave or the bunker, but it was more than enough for what Damian needed it for, performing impeccably its task. And honestly, one could say Todd performed amazingly too, he was so much more resilient than Damian had expected and for that he was profoundly grateful, because thanks to that, the worst part of this was over at a faster pace than he initially calculated for. 

He kept reading, with the sounds of the machines monitoring Jason's vital signs as background noise, the beeping of his steady heart rate the most comforting of them all. That peace only lasted until Damian looked at the time and then sighed deeply, standing up to go to another room, free of noises.

Once he was there, he sighed again before pressing his communicator. “No One reporting... that there's nothing to report, just like all the previous times I've called.”

After a few seconds, Dick's merry voice answered him. “Well, that's usually how stakeouts work most of the time, you know?”

“You're so insufferable, at least make it bihourly.”

“Sorry, not can do, if you want to fly solo, you need to follow the rules.”

“I've been ‘flying solo’, as you put it, since I arrived to Gotham, I'm only abiding to your rules as a courtesy. Mind your place and don't misunderstand your position, I don't answer to you.”

Grayson, the fiend, had the gall to laugh at him. “This is the first time I hear you so testy.”

“Because I'm frustrated, stop treating me like a child.”

Dick took a moment to respond but when he did, his voice took on a softer tone. “I'm not doing this to make you angry, I need to make sure you're okay. I know you don't like it, but I won't forgive myself if something happens and I'm not there to help.”

Damian's irritation disappeared like smoke on the wind. This Grayson and Damian were barely more than acquaintances and yet, he managed to sound so much like his Richard.

But then again, whether Damian meant something to him or not, this was just Dick being himself.

“I acknowledge your concern, but I'm still taking offense and I'll seek revenge accordingly at a later date.” He said, managing to sound very solemn, any trace of annoyance gone.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Dick laughed again, good-naturedly. “I'll sleep with one eye open from now on.”

It occurred to Damian just then, that lately he had been hearing Dick laugh more and more in his presence or directed at him. As pleasant as that sound was, it also felt somewhat bittersweet for him, a reminiscence of easier times long passed.

After they exchanged a few more words, Damian returned to his place next to Todd, resuming the same position on the chair he had been prior to the call. He continued reading without interruptions until he heard Jason started to make complaining noises; at first he ignored it, because in the past hours Todd has been in and out of it, but when he started to hear more articulate cussing and a subtle change in the monitor, Damian lowered the manga in his hands a little to peek over it at the other's direction.

“Todd, are you finally cognizant?” He asked in a very indifferent tone.

“Fuck off.” Was the prompt answer.

Well, that answered it. Damian closed the manga, stretching his right arm enough to drop the book to the ground while changing his position, sitting cross-legged with a straight back. He allowed Jason some room to assimilate his surroundings and the situation he was in, noticing he didn't try to test the bed restraints keeping him immobile, but he supposed in this family, waking up in weird circumstances was as mundane as to do it in one's bed.

The lights in the room were already dim, so when Jason finally opened his eyes the illumination wasn't as harsh on them. “What does Talia want?”

Damian had to admit that in the mental script he had for how this whole conversation could go, he never thought about his mother. “I'm not acting under my mother's orders or anyone else's. This is all from my own volition.”

Jason laughed but it was short-lived, because it actually hurt to do so. “How cute, you're trying to be dead daddy's little soldier now?”

“We share the battlefield but my fight is different from my father's, we just happen to have some aligned interests.”

“That doesn't explain shit and honestly I don't care,” all the initial calmness of his demeanour disappeared then. “Tell me what the fuck do you think you're doing here, no, no, better, tell me first what did you do to me.”

“I'm temporally restraining you, I think that's pretty obvious.”

“Don't play stupid, brat, you know I'm not talking about that.”

“Why do you think I did something?”

“Because I felt like crap, you little bastard. This isn't just the tranq.” That he wasn't feeling well was an understatement, Damian has rarely heard him swear this much. “What's in the bags?”

“Standard IV therapy to keep you hydrated and nourished, you've been unconscious almost thirty-two hours. I can assure you what you are feeling isn't related to that.”

Jason closed his eyes, grimacing but whatever he was thinking, he was still composed enough. “You're going to explain what the fuck is going on before I get out of this this bed and make you.”

Even though Damian spent so much time thinking about the things he'd say when the time to have this conversation came, for a second the words failed to come to him. He got up and took a deep breath, a childish mechanism he had been using to force himself to push the start of talks he'd rather not have.

“The waters of the Lazarus Pit raise the dead and cure the sick, but they change something in both.” He said conversationally, almost disinterested, like a kid talking about a school report.

As soon as he mentioned that name, Jason's eyes snapped open as he jerked his head around in an attempt to get a better look at Damian.

“When you get back from the pit, you don't do it alone, I know you understand this well. I've only met only one individual that was immune to this, he claimed it was thanks to his training, but I always suspected there could be something else about it.” As he spoke, Damian had been moving around the room, stopping in front of a near instrument cart. “I was right.”

Here, on the cart was a small vial, filled with a red liquid.

It wasn't a fact Damian was proud of, but most of his greatest feats came from his parents, in one way or another. It was expected then, that he spent the last years just following after his father's steps, solving things he couldn't.

For all the horrors the future held, it had at least one undeniable benefit: information.

Damian put all of his energy into absorbing all the data possible and committed to memory even the most insignificant of bits if it seemed like it could be useful in the long run. That's how he eventually found himself reading about some work his father left unfinished related to the pit, work that at some point Damian, the future one, picked up. That was also left incomplete, which didn't make any sense for Damian, the displaced one, because everything was there. It was almost like it was abandoned on purpose, so close to conclusion.

Damian's most plausible theory was that his older self found it futile at that point; all of his family was gone and what was left of them was something the green waters could not bring back. Maybe he was just failing in reverse - because his future self was just starting to consider time travel when Damian crashed there -, but all the things that were so pointless for that Damian, were a treasure trove for this Damian. A whole new world full of possibilities, he just had to exchange everything he ever loved for it.

He took the vial with his right hand and proceeded to slowly walk towards the bed. “The waters linger with you. If you never touch the pit again, their influence will fade eventually. How long does this take will depend on each individual.”

When he finally reached the bed, he stopped, keeping a respectful distance between them, because as calm as he looked, Damian knew Jason was anything but.

“Some compare the Lazarus' waters to poison. I think they're more like a drug. They cloud your thoughts, compromise your decision making, alter the way you perceive reality and exacerbate your emotional reactions. And it's ironic, how your body flourishes with healthfulness while you mind is rotting.” He waited a few moments before continuing, to let his words sink in. “If you were to be forced out of this state instead of letting time do its job, it would feel like snapping out from a sleep paralysis, the difference will be immediately noticeable. You would also feel unwell. Headache, nausea, high temperature, body pain, exhaustion, light sensitivity, vertigo. Overall, not dissimilar from a hangover.”

As one of the many aspects of his training, Damian had suffered the aftereffects of alcoholic consumption before, because his mother expected of him to being able to acceptably function under an assortment of different circumstances, intoxication being one of them. The whole ordeal had been awful and displeasing, but then again, his whole life before coming to Gotham could be summarized as that.

At this point Damian decided to get just a little closer. “The occult is just a pretentious science. Magic has restrictions, curses have counters,” and while he was talking, he raised his hand at the same high of his head, leaving in full view the vial with its red content in all of its splendour. “And mystical toxins have antidotes.”

By the standards of his father's family of detectives, Jason was the more unconventional but it didn't mean he wasn't smart, not like he needed Drake's deduction skills to understand Damian's little lecture when he made things so clear.   

A few moments after his revelation, Damian had to take a step back when Jason, absolutely enraged, started to struggle viciously, like he was trying to escape from the restraints by breaking them.

“You had no right!” He hollered. “You had no fucking right!”

After how patiently Todd had listened to him, Damian thought for a moment that for once things would be easier. Sure, he knew he was asking for too much, but who could blame Damian for having some hope? After all the difficulties he had to go through, it would've been nice if things went more smoothly for once. Jason's outburst was short-lived, not because the emotion wasn't there, but because he really wasn't in any condition to swear at the top of his lungs while futilely battling against the bed constraints.

Once upon a time Damian didn't have any qualms in seeing his so-called brothers in pain, with the exception of Grayson. He also didn't have problems with being the source of that pain either, but now, confronted with the rather pitiful grimace in Jason's face, he couldn't help but felt uneasy. In the grand scheme of things this was a slight inconvenience, but it wasn't something he could dismiss as easily as he did in the past.

He cautiously moved a little closer before speaking, trying to sound impassive. “Todd,” his voice sounded loud in the emptiness of the room. “I can provide painkillers if you require them.”

“Fuck you.”

Well, what can Damian do with such succinct answer? He suppressed a sigh and walked back to the chair he was sitting on before, picking up from the floor the forgotten manga. He sat down again and for the next ten minutes, he pretended to read.

When Jason spoke again he sounded weary, worse than when he first woke up. It didn't suit him at all. “What's this your big plan? Give me some random crap and what, fix me? Poor Jay, he wasn't crazy, just fucking sick!” And he let out humourless laugh. “Is this what Dickie is doing now? Sending snotty brats to do his dirty job? He learned so well from Bruce!”

Damian, still acting like he was occupied with his book, didn't even look in the other's direction. “I told you I'm working alone, Grayson doesn't know about any of this. I discreetly borrowed some resources from my father, he's not going to miss them where he is right now.”

Of course Damian was talking as someone that knew his father was displaced, not dead, but for Jason those words where startling enough to leave him speechless for a few seconds before he laughed again, more sincerely this time. “You and I could've gotten along, it's a shame I'm going to kill you as soon as I'm free.”

Part of Damian wanted to answer with a “been there, done that”, but he knew Jason would find those words very unamusing. “You're capable of a lot of morally questionable things, Todd,” he said instead, almost bored. “But you wouldn't kill a child. Not even one as monstrous as me,” while the statement could sound self-loathing, Damian stayed dispassionate. “The fact that you shot me should be proof enough that your mind wasn't entirely yours.”

Since Damian was busy pretending he was reading, he missed the way Jason eyes slightly widened just a little and then, he remained silent again. While patience has been one of the many virtues Damian lacked of, he knew the least he could do was to give Jason the time he needed to organize his thoughts after the necessary hell he put him through.

“What are you getting from this?” Jason finally asked. “You think I'm going to turn myself in and beg for forgiveness? Do you believe in Santa Claus too?”

“It wouldn't be surprising if he eventually joins Gotham's gallery of rogues.”

“Cut the crap, why are you doing this?”

“I'm not the one asking trivial things and maybe I'm just doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Jason's subsequent sarcastic laugh was not a surprise. "There's nothing good about you and you know it."

Harsh but true. Damian decided to stand up, leaving this time the manga over the chair and walking back to the bed, this time more relaxed, even if his posture - hands solemnly behind his back - didn't show it much.

“Perhaps I want to undo some of my mother's work,” he said rather blasé. “Or maybe I enjoy doing what my father never could,” and for the first time in what it felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to smile full of arrogance. “Because that's your grudge, isn't it, Todd? There was so much he didn't do for you, but I'm not like him,” and he came closer to the bed again, looming over Jason and completely ignoring the anger he was sparking. “I knew I could help you and I did. And I don't care if you hate me for it, because if you're going to wage a war against Batman's methods,” and leaned in close enough to see his own reflection in Jason's eyes, so clear and so blue. “I want you to do it in sound mind.”

Satisfied with his little display of dramatics, Damian stood upright and headed back to his chair but before he could sit, Jason's laugh, boisterous and a little unhinged, caught him off guard. Of course, in Todd's current state, laughter was also painful, so after a few moments he stopped, cussing again.

“You're so messed up, kid.” He said as soon as he composed himself.

“Of course I am,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I was raised under the al Ghuls, if there's someone that knows what's that like, I'd expected it to be you.”

Todd fell silent again so Damian sat down, prepared to keep pretending the answers to his troubles lied in that inane manga. Whatever profound contemplations Jason was doing, they didn't seem to last as much as the previous ones, because less than five minutes he broke the silence again, but this time his voice sounded less worn-out.

“If you're working alone, how the hell did you bring me here?”

“I had help... from a kid I met. We're the same age.”

At the absurdity of that statement, Jason chuckled, frowning only a little with discomfort but still sounding strangely spirited when he spoke next. “Fuck me then,” and he sighed, gaze lost at the ceiling for a moment. “Give me the painkillers and take this shit outta my arm.”

Damian didn't want to feel too pessimistic but when he rushed to do what Todd asked, part of him was expecting this to be an attempt of Todd to trick him, although it wasn't like he could do much, given the fact that Damian prepared this bed especially having in mind how apt his family was at escapology. To Todd's credit, he didn't actually try anything, which for some reason left Damian at odds about how to feel about the display of trust that implied given the circumstances.

However, in contrast to that, Jason had been less accommodating when Damian refused to immediately free him, even when Damian explained that he needed at least a couple of hours before clearing him to make sure nothing was amiss, not like Damian was doubting his own work, after all, he personally tested the antidote before coming back, but it was always best not leave things to chance.

Ultimately, the problem seemed to resolve in a very anticlimactic way when Damian retrieved one of the books he brought with him and without asking or explaining anything, he just stood close to his chair and started to read aloud the first page.

“Eighteen hundred and one,” he said very unceremoniously, with his left hand behind his back and the right firmly holding the book open, like he was an stereotypical actor in the middle of a stage. “I have just returned from a visit to my landlord, the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country!” And the infliction of his voice reflected the tone intended from the writing.

And maybe it was the painful exhaustion, the altering life changes, genuine interest or just utter bafflement at Damian's actions, but Jason didn't complain while he keep on reading the beginning of Wuthering Heights.

Chapter Text

When wildlife rehabilitators free animals back into their habitats, they take precautions with dangerous specimens; it's common sense not to stand close to the cage's door after it's open... that's why when Damian was sure Jason was fit to be cleared, he gave him instructions like a medical professional would, explained the layout of the safe house, pointed where to find his things and everything else he'll need and finally, took most of what he brought with him, gave him one last look and just left with a farewell, ignoring Jason's complaints in the background.

Only when he got out of the building and entered the closest one he selected to keep with surveillance, Damian activated the command to open the bed's constraints. While Todd was amenable enough for someone that had been kidnapped and put under medical procedures against his will, Damian wasn't under the belief that things would be safe for him once Jason was free. Although the Lazarus Pit had been a foreign influence affecting him physically, it didn't mean that his mental state had become stable now that it was gone. Todd was going to need time to come to terms with the things that happened to him; expecting those issues to be resolved in a couple of weeks was unrealistic, but Damian knew he'd have a better outcome if he waited some time before approaching Jason again, at the very least Todd would be less likely to shoot him again.

Damian headed towards the room he selected beforehand to do his actual stakeout and once there, he resigned himself to more waiting. Given how much he spent in silence with his thoughts in the past few days, the two hours it took for Jason to resurface to the world practically flew by. That’s what he had been waiting for: to see Jason in the screen of his laptop through the security cameras, up and ready, walking on the garage, bag on his shoulder and looking so much better after a shower, if his seemingly damp hair was anything to judge by. Jason got on the first motorcycle that caught his attention and put the helmet over his head, not even bothering with looking for trackers, so either he didn't care at this point or he was planning on ditching it as soon as possible.

And there Todd went, out of the garage using its secret entrance, free to roam the streets of Gotham once again.

This was something Damian spent so much planning for and while it had been exhilarating at the beginning, now it left him feeling like climbing a mountain and stopping just for a small respite, before being forced to keep up, carrying the invisible weight of his past. No rest for the wicked, so they said.

He gave a couple more of updates - enough time to cover up what he had been up to - before announcing his whole operation was a bust.

It was embarrassing to admit such juvenile overlook from his part, but when he arrived later at the bunker, the sight of Grayson, full in costume, took him by surprise. And it was something expected, logical, but the fact that Damian hadn't conjured this foreseeable imagery until now, meant he purposely avoided thinking about this inevitability, even when it was so impossible to ignore the reality of this fact... the mind certainly was capable of doing wonders when denial was part of the mix. Drake was there too, sitting in front of the computer and both of them seemed busy with something, but when Grayson noticed his presence, he turned and gave Damian his full attention.

“Hey there,” he said more warmly than he had any right to be. “Welcome back, kiddo.”

Tim threw at him a cold glance before returning his gaze to the screen and any hope Damian had of making this quick, died when Dick starting walking towards him.

“I'm sorry things didn't go well this time.”

Damian had spent too much time with Todd clearly, because his first impulse was to answer as crassly as him. “A mere setback, it comes with the territory.”

“Look at it this way, we can all work at this together now.”

“If you must.”

Like hell, Damian was going to bury everything about his cover a never brought it up again, even if he had to go and look for trouble to make it up for it.

“So,” Dick said in a playful tone and a little pause. “What do you think?”

Grayson was referring to the suit, but he must thought Damian needed the clarification because he extended his arms, trying to show better the ensemble. It wasn't all different from the original suit he once donned but Damian could see the small changes... changes based on his own design, mostly in the armor. And in another time, seeing again that ridiculous bat buckle would've make him smile, but at the moment he wasn't in the mood for the small joys of life.

“Acceptable,” was the neutral answer. “Could be better.”

Grayson laughed and it was so irrational how Damian wanted to just hate it; hate a sound he treasured so much he even dreamed of it while walking the barren land of the future.

Whatever Grayson was going to say next it was interrupted by Drake, who didn't even bother in looking in their direction. “Dick, come here and take a look, I think I found something.”

“Sorry,” Grayson said, directed at Damian. “We'll catch up later, okay?”

At the same time that Dick turned around, Damian extended his arm and for a second his hand twitched with the need to grab the cape, but he stopped himself right on time, covering that hand with the other, like it suddenly had its own will and needed it to be controlled.

Before he made a fool of himself, he hurriedly retreated to change his clothes, so he could go to look for Alfred. Damian wouldn't be his parent's son if he couldn't put himself together by the time he made it to the penthouse, where he found the man in the kitchen, preparing what it must be a midnight snack, just like he always used to do when someone was down in the cave working.

“Master Damian,” he said as soon as he saw him, stopping what he was doing. “I'm so relieved to see you again.” He could've said the opposite and the tone he used would've show the true meaning of his words.

“Your lack of faith is disappointing.”

“I'll let you know my faith is always unwavering, sir.”

Ah, Pennyworth, always a lighthouse in the middle of tempestuous nights. Damian could lose everything time after time, but as long as Alfred was there, extending his hand to him, Damian could endure it and even force himself to smile while doing it.

“There was nothing for you to worry about,” he said instead. “If you have time, we could discuss the final details of my mission.” The true intention of his words was clear: he wanted to talk about what happened with Jason away from unwelcomed ears.

Alfred gave him a once-over and the disapproving twist of his mouth told Damian everything he needed to know. “I feel this little conversation will have to wait, I recommend you sleep first.”

“I'm fine.” He said out of principle, because he certainly would prefer not to have important conversations right now.

“I'm afraid this is nonnegotiable, Master Damian.”

“Very well, I'll be talking to you in a few hours then.” He gave a small bow as a goodbye and he turned around to leave, but before taking the first step he added. “It's good to see you were fine in my absence.”

That was the closest he could manage to said he missed Alfred, but it was understood regardless.

Damian took a so much needed shower and while it was refreshing enough, it did little to relax him. After he made a quick check to make sure everything was in place in his room, he turned off the lights and climbed on the bed; at this point in his night routine, he'd usually took the earbuds and music player that were on the nightstand, so he could sleep without waking up at the smallest sound. But today he made no attempt to move and just lied there, eyes wide open even if the only thing he could see was the darkness surrounding him.

When his eyes filled with tears to the point where they threatened to fall out, he just absentmindedly wiped them with the tips of his left index and thumb. Normally crying came with warnings: a lump in his throat, a tickle in his nose, a sting in his eyes... it was rarely this easy and sudden, leaving him unable to just will the tears away; he turned to his right side, curling up and hiding his head under his arms and the pillow. The whole time Damian didn't make a sound even when he had to start breathing through his mouth.

He left behind the League long ago... but crying still felt like a sin.

The next day found him in a better mood for his conversation with Pennyworth... at least what it passed for better given the circumstances.

When he first decided to talk with Alfred about this mystical cure he knew about - which design he attributed to one of his tutors as a side project from his mother - and how it could help Jason, Damian tried really hard to convey the sincerity of his intentions and the mastery of his skills to pull it off.

Alfred asked question after question and Damian did his best to be as truthful as possible without giving away his ruse of just being the right kind of person, at the right time and place. Astonishingly, Pennyworth agreed that something like what Damian wanted to do was better left under wraps, because even if Dick knew that helping Jason was the right thing to do, he'd be more reticent in doing something so drastic, not without proof that Damian was saying the truth or being completely sure it'd work; it was a testament then, of how much trust he had gained from Pennyworth for him to go along with Damian's plans without doubting his methods. Damian wasn't sure if he really changed enough for an adult to finally recognize he wasn't just a stupid child, one with too many skills for his own good, or if somehow this was just Alfred being terribly conditioned by his father into doing morally questionable things in secret. Whatever the case, it was a godsend for someone trying to change the past without risking the future.

Teatime was the most appropriate moment to talk about Damian's little adventures in kidnapping and after he was done explaining the important parts, he took out a pen drive from one of his pockets and put it in the middle of the table.

“It contains my whole conversation with him, although you might want to skip my readings.”

Alfred looked at the pen drive like it was an object he was seeing for the first time and not being very impressed by it. “I think it's for the best if you destroy it,” he held the cup of tea that was in front of him and took a sip. “Some things are better left between two people.”

It wasn't the answer that Damian was expecting, but it was entirely just like Pennyworth to said something like that. He retrieved the pen drive and put it back where it had been previously and none of them say anything for a moment. Damian distracted himself by watching his reflection on his own cup of tea, still hating Earl Grey but drinking it anyway, because Alfred liked it.

“I don't believe things have changed,” Damian finally said. “But whatever happens now it's going to be entirely on him.”

They spoke about that a couple of times already, about how it was the most likely possibility that Todd was still going to raise chaos whenever he went, Lazarus' side effects or not. The only thing Damian did was to give him back agency and in a way, make him more dangerous. Jason with stupid ideas like dressing up like a rejected superhero and challenging all the criminals in a hundred-mile radius, had still been manageable enough for an unwilling Batman and a bellicose Robin... but Todd with the advantage of a clear head? Well... good luck, Grayson and Drake, Damian was out.

But despite the discouraging prediction, Damian was convinced that Jason would follow a similar pattern to the Todd he knew, because as time passed, Todd relented on his own and gradually came around, becoming part of their tragic family again. Maybe this time Todd could stay away from this whole “bat-family” mess, surely it would save him a lot of heartbreak, of that Damian could attest well.

“And that's all I wanted for,” Alfred answered, more soft and open. “Master Jason has been through so much, at the very least he deserves the right of choosing the path he wants to follow, on his own. And for that I will be forever grateful, my boy.”

“Pennyworth, please, I'm allergic to niceties.”

Alfred didn't insist because in the course of their coexistence, he realized very early that Damian didn't feel comfortable with displays of affection or gratitude, something Alfred assumed had to do with his upbringing. The truth of course, was more complicated, because the current reason was that Damian didn't feel like he deserved any of those demonstrations; he wasn't being selfless or self-sacrificing in his actions, it was the complete opposite: he was desperately trying to amend the biggest mistake of his life, even if it meant breaking the laws of time and space, because that's how big his regret and egoism were.

And speaking of mistakes...

“There's something else I'd like to discuss, this too, requires your discretion.”

“Oh,” Alfred raised both eyebrows, preparing himself to hear something shocking because the first time Damian asked for something like this, he told him about the Lazarus Pit and his intentions for Jason. “Do tell.”

“I want to acquire a property from my father's Estate, I'll pay its fair price, of course. There's a project I want to start now that I have back my own funds.”

“I'm sure this can be easily solved, I don't think there's a need for you to pay to have access to the family's Estate. What asset are you interested in?”

Damian straightened up against the back of the chair and put his hands over the table, intertwining his fingers. “The MacDubh Castle in the Gaweyne Island.”

“...oh my.”

Usually when Damian called for Colin, he did it late in the night, when he knew Colin was already out doing his own business. This time however, he asked if it's was possible for them to meet as early as ten o'clock.

That's how he found himself waiting at the agreed hour, sitting on the roof's edge of one of the buildings that were next to the street he asked Colin to meet. To Colin's credit, he was late only fifteen minutes and Damian couldn't help but smile at seeing his figure approaching under the street's lights, looking like the most untrustworthy character with that terrible trench coat and hat. Clearly it was about time Damian did something to remedy that attire.  

Colin stopped close to the corner looking for him, first in his surroundings and then, because he knew him well at this point, he looked up, finding him without much trouble, happily waving a hand at him. Damian chose that moment to stand up and then, without even thinking about it, he jumped, arms firmly grasping his cape and spreading it against the wind. Colin seemed positively awed when he securely landed in front of him, something he missed being able to do due to the lack of appropriate equipment made especially for him. 

“You have a new costume!”

Of course only a kid would pay more attention to that than the reason of their meeting or Damian gliding from a building. Calling it new was an exaggeration, it was basically the same design as his League uniform but everything was black; from head to toe there wasn't even the smallest flicker of colour, nor there existed any design or symbol that could exhibit an allegiance or selfhood. The bigger changes were only the pointy ends of his cape and the laced up boots he had been thinking about. Outside of that, Damian was just a shadow. In more ways than one.

“Now you really look like a ninja!”

“I can take you down.” Colin laughed and Damian turned around so he could hide the slight twitch of his mouth that betrayed a smile, and started to walk. “Let’s go before it gets too late.”

Contrary to what one would expect, Colin didn't ask where were they going but hurried to his side excitedly. “You were right!”

“I'm right about a lot of things, you have to be more specific.”

Colin playfully showed him, always mindful of their size difference, so Damian only staggered for a couple of steps. “Batman is back!” Now the excitement made more sense. “He put Scarecrow in Arkham! Everybody is talking about it, even robbers and thugs, some are scared because they think he's back from the death, like a zombie or some kind of demon.”

Oh, child, if only you knew. “Good, they deserve to be scared.”

“They deserve worst,” that right there was one the reasons Damian and Colin got along so well in the first place. “But I'm just happy he's finally back, I mean, we were handling it, but there's things only he can do and who knows, maybe next time he needs to be away for a little, he can let us in charge?” He sounded so hopeful that Damian didn't have the heart to tell him that it was very unlikely. “Have you talked to him?”

“Barely, he and Robin are very busy at the moment, I imagine it's going to be like that for a while.”

“Oh,” Colin's disappointment was momentary, because next he seemed as animated as before. “And how's your brother?”

Damian had to stop himself from cringing because ugh... he had done a lot of unwise things and calling Todd “brother” was definitely one of them. At the moment it seemed like the easiest way to convince Colin to help him, because kidnapping some random guy without any context undeniably sounded like criminal behaviour, but saying he was trying to help his brother, who was in a similar situation like Colin had been at the beginning with Bane's Venom, was a much more sensible explanation.

“Alive. Hopefully not psychotic anymore, only time will tell.”

“Oh, alright, hope he gets well soon.”

This was Damian's life now, this kind of absurdity.

“Where are we going?” Colin finally asked the most important question and it only took him a couple of minutes.

“There.” Damian pointed to some spot in front of them.

Colin squinted his eyes, trying to figure out what Damian's was referring to. “BatBurger?” He asked uncertainty.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To celebrate the possibility that I may be able to keep my spine intact.”

“Okaaay... are we really going there?”

“I'm not being clear?”

“It's not that, it's just... I didn't know, I don't have money with me, sorry.”

“I do, enough to buy anything and everything you want. And I'm not accepting refusals or else I'll remove your permissions to access the Grave.”

When Damian decided to baptize their little hideout with the ominous name of “the Grave”, Colin had alarmingly asked why like any normal person would, to which Damian replied that their activities as vigilantes were an absolute secret and secrets went to the grave. Colin must've thought it sounded “cool”, because he warmed up to the name instantly.

“You can't do that,” and he sounded genuinely offended. “I helped a lot with stuff.”

“We're not a democracy.”

This time when Colin tried to shove him again, Damian dodged it, because he knew it wasn't a playful push what was awaiting him.

Naturally, Damian's will was imposed at the end and although Colin seemed still hesitant while ordering, he didn't have problems to happily start eating once their food was on the table. 

BatBurger was at this point a relatively small business, with just three restaurants in the city. It opened not long ago to a moderate acceptation, but he knew that in the next few years it was going to grow into a very lucrative chain. Once Colin had commented about wanting to visit it, but Damian, busy with the need of being a warrior and not a kid, never thought that was probably Colin's way of expressing his desire of going there with him.

The best thing about a restaurant with a gimmick such as this, was that Colin and Damian didn't raise brows and could pass as some fools playing superhero dress-up or something; surely they must've a Batman cosplayer at least once a week. So no one questioned Damian's sword - that he put in the seat next to him -, or the fact that he used a batarang to slice a piece of his hamburger. He considered the piece - a perfect quarter of the whole - for a moment, like it was a clue in a crime scene before finally putting it in his mouth; he carefully chewed before finally swallowing with an unconvinced look on his face.

“Would you like the rest of my hamburger?” Damian asked while pointing to his food with a hand gesture more appropriate to reveal culinary wonders.

“Why? You didn't like it?”

“I limit my consumption of meat to what is necessary but I was curious, the advertisement highly exaggerates, this is below average at best.”

“Really?”

“See for yourself.”

With Damian's encouragement, Colin took a good bite of the now infamous hamburger. “It's not bad, I think is tasty.”

“Tt, I'm a snob then.” And he took one of the fries from his order directly to his mouth.

“You're not, you just talk funny.”

“I can hurt you, severely.”

And like every time Damian threatened him, Colin just laughed. “See? You talk funny but you're also funny.”

Damian just sighed, all pretense and theatrics. “I used to be feared.”

Colin giggled because clearly he was having more fun in this place than Damian, so to appease him, he offered him his box of nuggets. “Do you want one?”

“No, thank you.” He answered with a wrinkle of his nose.

Acting like this was an actual problem, Colin looked over the table to the things he ordered, finally stopping in the stickers that came with said order of nuggets. “And a sticker?”

Now that caught Damian's attention. A couple of colourful stickers with the Batman symbol were a far cry from the toys that eventually will come with their meals, but Damian found himself taking the blue one because it made him think of something else.

“They could at least introduce some variety, Batman's not the only one keeping this city standing.”

“Well, we're at Bat Burger.”

“Batman's overrated.”

Damian didn't understood the “gravity” of his words until he heard Colin's gasp of surprise. “That's not true.”

Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the place they were in, but he couldn't help the sudden need of doubling down. “There's dozens of heroes better than him, I can even use them to count instead of sheep.”

“Take that back! Batman is amazing even if he doesn't have powers, because he can always win without them.”

Colin could try to look like he was very offended, but the slightly tremor of his lips gave him away, so Damian put his left elbow over the table so he could rest his head against his hand, smirking. “Nightwing could easily defeat him, if he really wanted to,” and he made a point of taking another fry and biting it with his canines. “Or in terms you will understand better... he'll wipe the floor with Batman any day of the week.”

He caught the ketchup package that Colin threw at him, so Damian did accordingly and threw it back and from there, an array of things flew over the table - but not food, because both of them had respect for it -, so it wasn't surprising that by the time they tried to use the trays too, they were promptly kicked out.

And while sitting on the sidewalk in the cold of the night, finishing their food, they were still laughing.

Chapter Text

Damian's first fortnight as Grayson's Robin had been an hectic one. Between team disagreements, the lack of faith coming from the police and him trying too hard to prove he was worthy - whether it was to himself or everyone else -, time passed hastily in a blur.

Damian's first fortnight as a mere spectator in the adventures of Grayson and Drake had been calm, close to placid. Time passed so slow that it was like being on vacation; in addition to his usual night patrols and training, he reorganized his study program, set up the first drafts of patents he wanted to establish through Wayne Enterprises, made a plan to upgrade the Grave's security and even started expanding his baking to bread. It had even felt a little mean seeing Dick and Tim run around trying to navigate the challenges that came with their dynamic and responsibility, while Damian was just there, basically watching them while eating cookies, until he felt enough pity to threw them a bone under the guise of casual speculation or advice. His father would've been proud, because Damian sure was, seeing how quickly they came to the right answers with just a little push. It was almost enough to alleviate the occasional nostalgia he felt.

Despite his demanding schedule - if one could call it that -, Dick still tried to make it to breakfast, mostly failing, but Damian gave him points for the effort. Contrary to that, Drake now rarely appeared in the morning, so it was a little surprising when he joined Damian and Alfred that day, not that it made any difference if he didn't, because Tim stayed silent, unmoving, looking half dead and giving more attention to the coffee than his food. So, typical Drake behaviour.

After they were done, Damian offered to stay and clean just so he could see how long it'd take Tim to finish or if he was going to fall asleep in his chair, because he never had seen it happen but he did hear the stories.

Sadly he wasn't going to confirm this fact today, because just when he was done setting the dishwasher, Alfred reentered the kitchen to make an announcement. “Master Damian, you have a delivery. I left it in the living room.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth.”

Clearly this had higher priority, so Damian headed towards said room where a cardboard box was waiting for him on the coffee table. He took out a pocket knife and cut the seal surrounding the corners of the box, he opened the flaps and took out of the way the packing foam and paper; while he was preoccupied doing this, he didn't miss the fact that, for some reason, Drake decided to come back to the world of the living and follow him.

“What's in the box?”

“Guns, alcohol and drugs.” He replied as earnestly as he could.

It took a few seconds for Tim to react, but he did it in the exact same way Damian anticipated. “What?”

With a fake sigh, Damian took a step back and made a gesture towards the box with his hand, signaling for Tim to come and see, which he predictably did, because it seemed his curiosity triumphed over his exhaustion. So, again, standard Drake behaviour.

With a frown Tim looked at the box's contents and after a moment of indecision, he decided to take one of its items, bringing it close to his face to examine it. “It's written in Japanese.” He finally said, confusion now clear in his expression.

“I would hope so, seeing that's the reason I acquired them from Shibuya.”

Tim frowned even more and inspected the item more carefully, turning it to both sides and to make sure, he looked again to the inside of the box to confirm all the items were the same thing. Still, it took him a few seconds before speaking again. “It's a manga?” He finally said, dazed.

“Unbelievable,” Damian answered reproachfully. “Drake, either you finish your coffee or go back to sleep, but stop being such a sorry sight.”

Tim didn't immediately registered the insult, which gave the perfect opportunity for Alfred - that came out of nowhere, as always -, to intervene. “Master Tim, you could greatly benefit from a few more hours of sleep, if I may say so.”

“What? No, I'm good.”

“Timothy.”

Alfred's disappointed voice was too powerful, because Tim backtracked instantly. “Maybe an hour or two?”

“Ideally it would be whatever time your body needs, but two hours is a start.”

“Okay, so, I'll go. And do that, right.”

Tim started to walk back to this room and Damian had to restrain the sudden impulse of stomping his foot on the floor. “You're going away with my manga.” He loudly stated, with something very similar to a pout.

At such accusation, Tim stopped and looked down at the book on his hand like he didn't know how it got there, just before Damian made his way to him and snatched it, looking affronted before proceeding to ignore him; Tim rolled his eyes but anything he was going to say went away when Alfred put a comforting hand on his left shoulder. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I'm not a kid.” The protest was weak and Damian felt some vindictive glee at not being the only one being treated like a child for a change.

And so, while Pennyworth made sure that Drake made it alive to his room, Damian went to his own, box in hands. Unlike his first time living in the penthouse, he had a bookshelf now, mostly empty, with just the books Pennyworth had been buying him. He put in there his newly owned collection of manga - Colors of the Stars, to be more precise -, making the bookshelf a little more lively with the colourful spines of the books and their little foil stamped gold stars. It wasn't the complete works of Aristotle, but it'd do for now.

In accordance with his new study plan, after breakfast it was time for his piano practice.

While Damian kept up with a lot of his training after he came to live in Gotham, he neglected a lot of things is mother demanded of him while in the League, because he found them uninteresting or useless. Playing piano was one of them. In those days Damian regarded the world on terms of what he could master and conquer, so it was predictable that he chose the violin over the piano, because it seemed like a worthier challenge, even if he thought both instruments were a waste of time. He spent years not thinking about any of this, until one day he lost consciousness after a hellish night as Batman in that damned Gotham that loomed distant in the future. When he woke up, he found himself in the music room of the manor... and he thought about Alfred; about how once he saw him utterly at peace while hearing nocturne in E-flat major and Damian thought: “I could do that”. But he never did. Like he never did so many things that now haunted him in his dreams, in his nightmares.

So, piano practice.

He couldn't say he was enjoying retaking this particular skill, but at least his body remembered well enough on his own, because even if it had been so long since the last time he sat to play, this body was fresh out of his mother's training. And it was so weird, knowing this body so well he didn't feel like an intruder, while still being betrayed when it reacted in ways it took him years to unlearn. But it was fine, just another chore for Damian to do, a small inconvenience in the face of changing fate.

After he was done with this new self-imposed responsibility, he started with the first of his lessons, even if he was still annoyed with the whole concept. He literally broke time, twice! And he was expected to do schoolwork? Insulting. Grudgingly, like every time he had to fulfil this specific task that seemed so important to Pennyworth, he finished and the first thing he did was to go to the kitchen, looking for a bottle of tea. Unlike every time, Grayson was there this day, sitting at the kitchen island while eating a bowl of cereal, so of course, Damian clicked his tongue in disapproval and walked towards him.

“Good morning, Damian.”

“It's afternoon.”

“It's always morning for me when I woke up.”

Damian chose to ignore the answer and instead crossed his arms. “Why, pray tell, are you eating that? I'm sure Pennyworth left something more substantial for you.”

“He did,” Dick pointed with the spoon to some empty dishes in one of the counters. “This is like, complementary carbohydrates.”

“If you want sugar, you could eat something with more nutritional value.”

“Don't you know? Sugar from sweets and snacks burns better for energy.” Damian did his best to replicate Alfred's disappointed look, so of course Dick just laughed. “If you're free, do you have a minute? I need to give you clearance and assign your own permissions in the system.”

“I don't need it.”

“I've seen, but Tim's planning to upgrade everything and maybe you won't be able to hack it after.”

“I don't need to, just give me your protocols.”

“Good try, but in the unlikely case that I did, there's other things like voice recognition you can't bypass.”

He didn't stop to think about it, he just did what it seemed like the most logical thing: he cleared his throat before speaking in a perfect imitation of his father's voice, the highest level of authorization one could aspire of. “Wayne, Bruce, priority access.” And Damian knew how much of a mistake he just made when he saw Grayson's face going pale, all signs of lightheartedness gone in an instant. “I... I'm sorry,” he said, still unaccustomed to express such words. “I was trying to prove a point.”

It shouldn't feel like this, like Damian intentionally did something wrong.

“Hell of a proof.” Dick answered after a beat, going back to his jovial self. “Don't worry, I get it, but you still need your own verification.”

If Damian didn't know Grayson as well as he did, he'd undoubtedly believe Dick just shook off the whole thing, but he couldn't be fooled like a mere stranger would be... and that was what Grayson was thinking, wasn't it? That Damian was just this oblivious child, this outsider, who wasn't capable of understanding him, not like the others - the ones he considered family - were able, because they belonged in his life and Damian didn't.

This time he did had the warning of a tingling nose, so he did the only thing he could think of. “I have to finish my school work, I'm a little behind with it. We can go over with this before patrol tonight. Have a good day, Grayson.”

And like he had done before, he just turned around and ran back to his room, locking the door behind him and falling on his bed as soon as he was near to it.

Oh, how much his past self would hate him, if he only could see himself now.

Damian used to be ruthless, brandishing his words like poisoned daggers, having no consideration for friend or foe, and now, look at him, moping on the bed, again, like the infant he continually insisted he was not, feeling bad because he inadvertently didn't take Grayson's feelings into consideration once. Pathetic.

The thought that came to his mind made him feel despicable, but those years he spent alone with only his despair for companion, were easier to navigate in a way than this, because his emotions only got out of his control in those rare moments when he allowed himself to break. Maybe that was one of the reasons his father was always pushing everyone away, denying himself the opportunity of just be happy, surrounded by the people that loved him despite his many flaws and mistakes. It wasn't only about being distant in an attempt to keep everybody safe by not compromising them... it was also easier to concentrate on his “mission” and be consumed by grief when he was alone.

He wasn't like his father and he didn't want to be. But sometimes it felt like an inescapable fate, because they were so alike in all the worst ways.

As with most things he didn't appreciate enough the first time, Damian entirely dismissed the outside area of the penthouse, because for him, it was just a front made for shallow parties to keep up with appearances. But now that he had the time, the patience, the perspective, he could see what an idyllic place it was, so full of natural life that seemed incongruous so high in the sky, blooming in the middle of concrete. Of course it couldn't compare with the surroundings of the Wayne Manor, but Damian found the same peace here that in the gardens of the mansion.

That's where Dick found him: sitting on one of the benches that were around the fountain, drawing on his sketchpad. He sat next to Damian like they did this regularly, so he didn't have to ask for permission.

“Alfred told me you like to draw,” he started conversationally. “But he didn't told me you were this good.”

Well yeah, compared to Grayson, Damian's skill was noteworthy but for him, it was behind the level he once achieved. His drawing wasn't even that good, he was simply replicating the landscape in front of him, with some changes, like replacing the penthouse's tree species for yew and including zinnias scattered everywhere.

“You didn't come here to do small talk,” Damian said, keeping with his drawing. “What do you need?”

“Direct to the point, eh?”

“Makes for efficient communication. Answer the question.”

“Geez, let a man beat around the bush a little, it helps build confidence.” To prove the point that Damian wasn't fan of the idea, he stopped sketching and turned to his side, giving Dick a deadpan stare. “Okay, okay, just... look, I'm not mad, you didn't do anything wrong.”

“I fail to see why are you telling me this. Of course I didn't do anything and why would you be mad in the first place?”

“If you didn't think I was angry this morning, why did you left?”

Maybe Grayson had a point about beating around the bush after all.

Damian sighed and turned to look at the fountain. “I was... tactless. I know you're grieving, that's something I am supposed to have always in consideration and I didn't.”

He watched as understanding dawned on Grayson, whose expression changed in an instant from reluctant to alarmed. “Damian, no, it's not like that,” he stopped for a few seconds, trying to find his next words. “You don't have to walk on eggshells about this, I know that we all been weird about it, but you don't have to keep it to yourself, he was your father.”

“Only in name,” the quick and cold answer made Grayson grimace a little. “I don't resent his absence in my childhood, but I won't pretend my relationship with him has the same deep as the people he chose to welcome into his family.” He pointed his pencil threateningly at Dick, like he was holding a knife. “And don't you dare to say he would have loved me, if he had the chance. I'm not a sniveling child that needs platitudes, show me more respect than that.”

Dick raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, this is not where I was planning this conversation to go.”

“Because you started with the wrong premise.”

“Okay, let's take a few steps back.” Damian lowered his pencil with an air of haughtiness and went back to drawing, giving Dick time to think with this correction in his assumptions. “I can't speak for Alfred or Tim because we're going through this in our own ways, but you don't have to censor yourself around me, I don't even know why I was so surprised, I've heard your imitation of Batman's voice before, it's even better than mine. I don't know, I guess it's because it was just his voice, not Batman or Brucie boy, just... him, and... and it feels like it's been so long since I last heard him, but it's not. Maybe I'm starting to forget and I don't know if I'm doing it on purpose or,” he straightened his posture suddenly, like he snapped out of something. “Sorry, I'm making this about me.”

Damian wish he could tell him he was a self-sacrificing fool, so it was fine if things were about him every now and then. “And what else would be about? Grief is entirely personal, is not about the ones that are gone, but the ones left behind. I can't say I understand what you're feeling, because we all experience loss in our own unique ways. If...” even if Damian didn't want to, even if it feel like he was a charlatan, a hypocrite, a sadist, he just said it, this was about Grayson, not him. “And if you want to talk about it, I'm here and I'm willing to listen, whatever judgment you think I'll impart, I can assure you, it'll not be callous or malicious. Batman needs to be untouchable but Richard Grayson is allowed to be human.”

Dick's reaction was... a bit unexpected, he covered his face with his hands, making a sound of frustration and for a few seconds Damian was at a loss, but before he could start to worry, Dick sighed deeply and then gave him a contemplative look.

“Why are you always comforting me?” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. “I'm the adult here, it's supposed to be the other way around. Man, I'm so bad at this.”

Damian just shrugged his shoulders, looking in front of him to nowhere in particular. “Debatable, you have the titanic task of continuing with my father's work, in comparison I'm just a carefree child, enjoying the best years of my life,” the flatness in his voice didn't fit with his words. “Nothing to worry about in the world for me.” He finished, looking at his drawing. 

Grayson gently put his hand over his head, making him tense as his first reaction before he forced himself to relax. “I don't believe that's true, I'm sure there's a lot happening in here.” Dick patted his head a couple of times before withdrawing his hand, making Damian suspect that there was something about his current height that maybe compelled people to treat him like a pet.

“If you want to feel better about your shortcomings as an adult... I can be persuaded to go for ice cream.”

The suggestion took Dick by surprise for a moment, because next he let out a laugh while he hit his knees with the palms of his hands. “That's a great idea!” And he jumped to his feet without any effort. “Let's go ask Tim if he wants to come with us.”

“Right now?”

“No better time than the present.”

“Oh, goody.” He said with all the sarcasm he could put in those two words.

It was quite unfortunate, that acting like he was resentful was so hard to do when Grayson's sincere smile was so blinding.

Damian was well aware that the main reason behind his freedom while patrolling, was a combination of Oracle and Pennyworth's supervision and the low-risk areas they sent him to.

The aggravation of this being their version of daycare, was more tolerable by the fact that it left Damian with free range to do whatever he wanted while maintaining the illusion of being controlled. It also meant that Alfred didn't worry every time when Damian decided to cut communication without an explicit explanation, just like he did when he heard a very distinct sound echo in an alley bellow him when he was going from roof to roof.

Damian went back on his steps and jumped into the street, tracking the insistent sound to its origin: a cardboard box with three little kittens. Normally he could just ignore common animal sounds while patrolling, but not ones that sounded so distressed like this, with just cause, because going by the well-kept appearance of the cats and the worn-out but clean sweater under them, it seemed logical to assume they were abandoned and not just waiting for their mother to come back.

“They could at least left you at the doors of a shelter,” he said, stroking the poor meowing kittens, clearly hungry and cold. “Absolute degenerates.”

It would be a bit of an extreme to run tests on the sweater and try to locate the animal neglecter in question, so Damian would've to settle with just taking care of the kittens. Now he just needed a very convincing argument to justify arriving to the penthouse with three cats.

Damian was about to take off his cape to use it to transport the kittens, when he heard the characteristic sound of someone dropping on the fire stairwell of the building in front of him. He wasn't too worried because anyone looking for a fight wouldn't make this much noise, unless they were extremely good - or bad -, in which case worrying wouldn't be of much help either.

“It's a bit late for little kids to be out of their bed.”

Ugh, although it had been years since he last heard that voice, he could never forget who it belonged to. And what a cliché this was, crossing paths with that person in a situation like this.

“Are you here for the cats?” He asked instead, already rethinking his next course of action.

“Are they yours?”

“Does it look like they're mine?”

He got up from where he was kneeling, finally deigning to look at the person who decided to intrude in his affairs for some reason: Selina Kyle, in all of her Catwoman glory, because of course it was her.

“You have some attitude,” she said, amused. “It makes sense if you're here at this hour, but you need more than that for the streets, kid, it's not safe.”

“I'm the most dangerous thing here.”

“I know it seems like it's easy to be a hero when you see Batman and Robin running around, but it's not a game, believe me.”

Was she worried about Damian? How uncharacteristically altruist, but then again, without his sword and completely covered by his cape, maybe Damian did look like a misguided kid playing superheroes. Selina was a criminal, but she still had some morals, as surprising as that was.

Just like he did with Colin to prove his “credentials”, Damian took out a batarang and with a swiftly motion he threw it high over his head with his right hand in such way that it fell directly in his left, caught between his middle and index finger. His little show was enough, because Selina body language subtly changed.

“You don't look like a Robin.”

“Because I'm not one.”

“And yet, those are Batman's toys.”

“I'm a distant associate.”

“Is that so?” And with a maneuver that Grayson surely would appreciate enough to imitate, she dropped from the stairs. “I found hard to believe Batman would let a kid as young as you to wander alone with his things.”

“Tt.” Damian turned around, ignoring her approaching form and instead he proceeded to take off his cape like he was planning to do before being interrupted. “Look, woman, if you're not going to help then get out of my way.”

Selina thought that maybe it was this weakness that lately feels like it's afflicting her - not only physically -, what makes her say what she says next, because she did came for the kittens after all; she saw them a few hours earlier and promised herself that she'll take them in, if they were really abandoned, which seemed to be the case with the absence of their mother so long after. The mysterious child was just an unexpected inconvenience.

“Alright, let's see what we can do together.” She said in what she hoped it was a cheerful tone. 

Damian looked at her with calculating eyes for a second, before kneeling in front to the box, scooping the kittens and wrapping them with his cape. “Do you have appropriate food for them in your apartment?”

Selina raised her eyebrows as far as she could, looking ready to laugh. “I'm curious as to why you believe I'm going to let you go near my place, kid I've never seen before in my life.”

“Save the secrecy, I already know where you live.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“It's my job to know where the lowlifes of the city are.”

“Charming.”

Even if the kid was trained - given his little demonstration - and was bat approved - seeing what he was wearing -, it was hard to really see him as a threat standing there, so small in the dead of night, with his arms full of little noisy kittens while talking with such gravitas. Honestly it was just too funny for Selina to take any of this seriously. Gotham City, everybody.

“Tell you what,” she said, while confidently putting her hands on her hips. “If you really know where to go, I'll let you in.”

Damian stayed silent a couple of seconds but then, very slowly, he smiled. Frighteningly so, for a kid this little. 

Yeah, looking back, Selina could see this was her first mistake.

Chapter Text

Look, Selina is smart. Brilliant. An artist in her field, capable even of outsmarting Batman when the opportunity arises. She has enough skill and knowledge to maneuver the day-to-day in this cursed city, to not only survive but to thrive.

She knows all the rules of this game, she's alive because she knows how to play it well.

So why, oh, why is she letting this unknown kid into her apartment without stopping to think about how much of a bad idea this is? She's blaming Jason Todd for this; it's true that her life was a bit in disarray before her encounter with Jason, but she's choosing to put more fault into him because he had to mess with her while wearing a Batman suit, so the personal offense feels warranted. Besides there's not much she can do when the kid actually knows where she's staying at the moment, only worsen by the fact that he calls her by her name - or well, last name - as soon as they get inside. It's not like she had doubts about the kid being adjacent to Batman in some way, not with all the kevlar and the expert roof surfing, but she wasn't expecting him to actually know things. Maybe this is a sign that she needs to step away for a little while, you know? To rest, heal and all that jazz.

Damian, of course, doesn't have time to wait for Selina to sort her internal conflicts, so he just takes the throw pillows from her couch and makes a little nest for the kittens on the floor, depositing them carefully in it and putting the cape back almost in one fluid motion, he then turned around and without waiting for Selina, went directly to the kitchen, prompting her to finally react.

“Where do you keep the dishes?” He asked even though he was already opening the cupboards. “And what kind of food do you have? They look old enough for something else besides milk.”

“Hold on,” and acting like this wasn't not unusual at all, she took off her goggles off and left them in the counter, tapping with her hand in passing one of the cupboards. “The bowls are there.”

Selina didn't have a cat of her own but she had the habit of feeding the stray cats that sometimes visited her balcony, so she had more than enough cat canned food, even if said food was more suitable for adult cats, but going to the pet store wasn't an option at the moment, so for now it'll have to suffice. As soon as she poured the food into a bowl, Damian seized it, hurrying back to the cats while she took off her cowl, leaving it in the same place as her goggles before running her fingers through her hair, shaking it. For a moment she considered that maybe a glass of rum was in order, I mean, it was past two in the morning and she had an unnamed vigilante child sitting cross-legged in her living room, happily helping some kittens to eat from a feeding bowl that was a bit big for them... that surely entered in the territory of “I need alcohol for this”, but that also seemed exactly like the thing to not do with a kid present, especially when said kid apparently knew all her secrets.

“So,” she started, like she was continuing with a previous conversation. “What's your name?”

“No One.” He answered like he did that first time when he met Colin again. “That's what I go by.”

“Really? Sounds a little uninspiring.”

“I won't take criticism from someone calling herself Catwoman.”

“I hope you have this opinion for Batman too.”

“Batman is a simple and evocative name, easy for the vermin to remember and cower to. It's not the same.”

“You're biased because he's your boss.”

“He's not my boss, I answer to no-one but myself.” Which was a lie, because he did ask for Pennyworth's authorization for some things, but Kyle didn't need to know that. 

In the course of the conversation, Selina started to move in the kitchen after finally deciding that tea would be best, maybe with some luck it'll really help her relax; seeing the situation she was in, seemed doubtful but it was worth a try.

“Do you want some tea?” She asked out of politeness, even if there was nothing polite about this.

“I'd accept hot chocolate, if you have it.”

“Sorry, dear, not at this time. How about milk with honey?”

“No, thank you.” He said, turning his nose with disdain.

Selina was sure this was the first time she hear someone showing so much contempt at the simple mention of milk. It was kind of funny coming from a child that definitely needed the calcium.

“So,” she said again. “How did you end up as Batman's associate?”

“By misfortune.”

Yeah, no, on a second thought she's not going there. “Ah, don't we all? It's always like that when he's involved, isn't it?” And there was a sense of nostalgia in her words, but it was only momentary. “But enough of this, let's talk about what are we going to do with these kittens,” that had to be a safer topic, right? “What was your plan? I'm sure you weren't thinking about breaking into my place before I found you.”

“I was going to temporally house them until I found a proper place for their reallocation.”

“Not adopting one yourself, uh?”

“I'm not in a position to care for an animal at the moment.”

With everything that was happening in his life, acquiring a new army of pets wasn't an immediate priority for Damian, that aside, he still had the intention of locating his old four-legged friends, if possible, so what was a little more of solitude after so many years of it?

“What is your protocol for cat rescuing?”

Selina wasn't a fan of the implication that this meant No One knew enough of her to know that she, in fact, was on the habit of saving furry critters from the streets when able. It wasn't like she actually believed a kid could be a terrible threat to her wellbeing, at least not one that claimed to be bat aligned, but it was unsettling that someone she never saw before had so much information, so clearly next time she saw Tim she'll have to ask him what was this all about.

She took out the cup she put in the microwave - with tea bag and sugar included - and made her way to the couch, letting the cup over the coffee table so she could get her boots off. It has been a long night, alright? Selina definitely was past caring about keeping appearances in her own home, intruding child or not.

“Just the usual, I feed them, take them to the vet if they need it and I drop them later at the shelter.”

“What shelter?”

“The one in Gillams Avenue.” 

Selina chose to name that one because it was the one closer to her current location. In truth, Selina favoured the one she personally sponsored, but she wasn't going to offer more information about her life, god knows what else de kid knew already.

“Paw Friends has allegations of animal mistreatment. Management says the issue has been resolved but I remain doubtful, I would recommend the one in Holroyd Close instead, at least until I verify the administration's claims.”

“Oh-ho?” She expressed melodically. “Is this your thing then? The big bad bat saves people, so you save animals?”

“I've broken bones bigger than yours.”

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped from her, here she was worrying about her secrets being in possession of a child with undisclosed intentions, while said child seemed more invested in dealing with animal welfare.   

“Now, now, there's no need to be mean, we're practically on the same side here.”

“As if, we share very little in common. You don't even know what side I'm on.”

“Well, go on, enlighten me.”

“My own, obviously.”

“See? That's something smart we can agree on.”

There was a very unfriendly answer ready in Damian's lips but he decided to kept that to himself, because he had no interest in continuing with such a pointless conversation, instead he was more interested in the kittens, that were done with their meal and looked now like tiny balls of fur. He felt very tempted to rub the kittens' fat little bellies, so it was a shame he couldn't take off his gloves to do that, but such were the injustices of life he had to accept.

Selina used the silence that followed to drink her tea and carefully observe her guest. Putting aside the suit and his idiolect, he didn't seemed all different from a kid taking enthusiastic care of a stranger's pet because he couldn't have one of his own. She wondered about what kind of life he had, because people usually didn't end in Batman's company for happy reasons and she wasn't blind, he was well trained, not in a way that some gymnastics in the Community Center could do, but something methodical and precise, in a manner that could only take years to learn. If he was saying the truth about Batman, was that the reason Bruce took him under his wing before everything? Because this was better than the alternative?

Her second mistake should be blamed on Zatanna, clearly something went wrong when she magically healed Selina, because at least that'd explain her past restlessness and now this sudden lack of common sense.

“I think it'd take a couple of days to get them a spot at the shelter, so, if you want, you can come and see them before that.”

“Tt, while your lack of effectiveness doesn't surprise me, your authorization is unnecessary. I've seen farm pens with better security than this place.”

If Selina were on a TV show, this would be the moment she'd turn to look at the camera with a unimpressed expression.

Damian had no problems with ignoring her again, this time so he could start moving the cats back to their pillow made enclosure. “They need appropriate accommodations.”

“I have a cat bed somewhere, dear,” she said, taking the last of her tea. “I'll make space for them in my room.” With that, Selina stood up, empty cup in hand, walking back to the kitchen without caring about being barefoot. “Do you have a curfew or something? As you can assume, I'm a very busy woman and if you're coming tomorrow,” she left the cup in the sink once she was in front of it before turning around. “I need—”

And just like that Selina found herself alone in her apartment, with only the meowing kittens for company and an open window, mocking her.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

From the long list of traits Damian wasn't especially proud, being a sore loser was one of the many. He liked to think he was better at it now, but it was a little difficult to measure such thing when the past years of his life had been about endurance and remorse. His current life was lacking of that too, because he wasn't competing with anyone: not for his place in the Wayne household, not for his right to be recognized as a Robin and not for his father's acceptance.

So he was trying to figure out if he was bothered because he was losing the current chess game he was having with Pennyworth, or if it was the man's smug countenance, so proper and entertained, what was annoying him.

“Did you know,” said Pennyworth apropos nothing. “That the donation you made through Mrs. Wayne's Foundation has been accepted?”

Damian did in fact know, because whatever his plans were - big and small -, he was always paying attention; although he had more pressing matters than concerning himself with St. Aden's Orphanage's Easter celebration, it was still something he cared about. From the research he did the first time he met Colin, he found out that St. Aden was one of the many orphanages that ran under the Wayne Foundation, and like all the things that fell under his father's charity, it was well founded so it wasn't in a dire need of Damian's own charitable efforts. But just like everything he did, this was just something purely for his own selfish reasons.

“As it should,” he answered without taking his eyes from the chessboard. “Are you trying to distract me, Pennyworth?”

“I would never,” he sounded convincingly offended by the accusation. “That would imply I need the advantage.”

Alfred was lucky Damian was so fond of him. 

“I brought it up because I'd like to know if I should be preparing a customary Easter Hunt for you, sir.”  

His first impulse was to scoff at such ludicrous idea and say no, because he wasn't a child. But it was just that, an automatic response from years of never considering himself a kid, not even in his earliest memories; it wasn't what Damian wanted now. He promised to himself that he'd stop rejecting the little joys of childhood, because it was the least he owed to the child he never had the chance to be.

“That would be acceptable,” he said, trying to sound indifferent. “Nothing too extravagant, simple yet tasteful would do.” And with that, he finally made his next move in the board.

“Of course, Master Damian, we wouldn't want the colourful eggs made for children to be anything but stylish.”

“You're always so hilarious, you should consider joining Grayson in the circus. You have the talent.”

The only reaction Damian got for his words, was a small amused twitch in the corners of Alfred's lips. “We should always strive to bring smiles to the ones around us.” And as if he had planned it, he made his move, successfully ending the game. “Checkmate.”

“Well played, Pennyworth,” said Damian after a moment. “You deserve to be rewarded for this, so I'll be on charge of making dinner today.”

Alfred's disapprovingly raised eyebrow was Damian's own victory... so maybe he was still a sore loser, but just the tiniest bit. 

The computer in the Grave was a work in progress, while it served its main purpose, it had a lot of limitations compared with the Batcomputer, which was the reason why he had to sneak out from time to time in the cave -  and more recently in the bunker - to get what he needed it. Of course, given the kind of people he lived with, sneaking out usually meant going on little infiltration operations. The safest time to do things he was trying to hide, was to do them when Grayson and Drake were too busy patrolling; the second was to do them when they were out cold after coming back from said patrolling.

Hypothetically, past four o'clock in the morning, should be a safe time to go in the bunker without having to worry much, at least in normal nights, when they didn't have wild situations going out of control by Gotham's standards. But Damian would've done well to remember that he also lived with a self-inflicted insomniac, so getting his plans ruined by Timothy Drake was frustratingly typical; at this point he really needed to install is own secret cameras in the bunker, if only to help him not waste time.

Going back as soon as he noticed that Tim was on the computer would be too suspicious, something Damian didn't need to add to when Drake already was distrustful of him, so he decided to do the first thing that came to his mind and started to walk confidently to the lockers, hoping Drake would just ignore him.

Of course he wasn't that lucky, because Tim seemed to have a natural disposition to go against his wishes. “What are you doing here?” He asked, as soon as Damian passed behind him, even if he was at a considerable distance.

“I came for my sword.” Was the disinterested answer.

Tim let out a sigh but kept working on what he was doing. “Why do you need it at this hour?”

“I can't sleep.”

“Training won't help, you're just going to overtire yourself.”

While part of Damian wanted to call out the hypocrisy, he was more focused on the fact that this was the first time he heard Drake say something that could be interpreted as worry for him, so probably at this point he was working on autopilot if he didn't mind sounding like he cared for Damian.

“It's not for that, is to help me sleep.”

“Are you seriously thinking about putting that under your pillow?”

“Not under my pillow, I just need to have it close.”

“The penthouse is up to Batman's standards, if something manages to pass that, you're going to need more than a sword.”

“It's not for defense, this is my emotional support sword.”

At this, Tim finally stopped typing and for a few seconds he just stared blankly at the screen in front of him. “I feel like I'm always asking you this, but, what?” And almost immediately he shook his head. “Forget it, don't answer, I know you're just messing with me.”

For a change Drake wasn't wrong when it came to him, so Damian wasn't going to argue. After he secured his sword and gave a quick but discreet look to the places that could be appropriate to install cameras, Damian naively thought that this will be the end of it, but when he got close to the stairs, Tim's voice made him stop right on his tracks.

“Damian.” It was just his name, but the way it was said felt too deliberate, like a command.

Drake, of course, wasn't looking at him when Damian turned around. He knew what kind of game the other was trying to play, so he just clicked his tongue with annoyance. “What?”

For a moment Tim acted like he didn't heard him or even spoke to him in the first place, so maybe Drake was fancying a kick in the shin this early in the morning, because he seemed to be asking just for that, however what he finally said next made Damian forget completely about any irritation.

“Do you still believe Bruce is going to come back?”

The unexpected question didn't surprise him that much, instead he was more curious about what thing in their interaction made Drake think about his father all of a sudden. “Yes, I do.”

At this, Tim turned the chair to look at him clearly. “Why? What proof do you have?” And his tone had a trace of mockery.

“I grew up surrounded by the legacy of a man obsessed with cheating death, I've seen the impossible become mundane.”

“That's it?” He said in a mix of disappointment and disdain. “Just because Ra's refuses to stay dead doesn't mean Bruce is somewhere out there, we have his body.”

“For all we know that's a magical clone.”

Probably it would be for the best if Damian wasn't so close to the truth, but given how utter ridiculous their lives were, his conjectures could pass just as a lucky guess.

Tim then let out a mirthless laugh, one that Damian knew very well. “That's the best you can come up with? Not like it matters,” he put his elbows in the armrests of the chair and interlocked his fingers, giving Damian a look of unmistakable condescension. “But what if you're wrong? What if all this time Bruce has been really dead and you're just in denial? What then, Damian?”

Drake's mind was a mystery. Damian couldn't even begin to fathom what triggered this, how they went from him reasoning his visit to the bunker to Tim talking like Damian was a fool, all in the blink of an eye. But he did have a theory as to why Drake, of all people, would act as if it was stupid to believe Bruce was alive.

Well, Damian was always up for theatricality, because that's what his life has always been at its core: a perpetual portrayal of what his parents wanted him to be. His current life was still on a stage, the only difference was that now he was free to choose his role and how to play it.

“If my father is dead,” he started, sounding already bored. “There's only two paths for us to follow,” he unsheathed his katana and raised it at the same height of his shoulder, holding it horizontally in front of him. “We can defy the laws of nature and wage war on life and death alike,” with a subtle change of his wrist, he positioned the sword vertically, with its end pointing directly towards Tim. “And we search in heaven, hell and in-betweens until the universe kneels before us and has no other choice but give him back. Or,” very fleetly, he sheathed the sword again, setting it firmly on the ground, resting his hands - one top of the other - over its handle. “We accept that he is gone and begin to come to terms with his loss until we learn to move on.” And he waited for his words to settle before finishing his little scene. “I already know my path. Which one is yours?”

And as if a switch had been flipped, Tim's whole demeanour changed; he practically slouched on the chair and gone was that air of taunting and somberness. He lazily studied Damian for a moment before just sighing with fake disappointment.

“You were less annoying when you were just homicidal.” Despite his words, his tone wasn't really antagonistic. “And I bet you think you looked cool just now.”

Damian hid his amusement, finally abandoning his imitation a general in front of his army. “The fact that you think that's what I was trying to do, denotes that you indeed thought I was, as you said, 'cool'.” Tim just rolled his eyes and turned the chair going back to his work, looking like he didn't try some kind of strange test on Damian just a moment ago. “You shouldn't stay so late, you know how Pennyworth feels about that.”

“Mind your own business and go cuddle your sword or something. And you better not tell Alfred you saw me here.”

“I don't need to, he always knows.”

Considering how true that was, Tim's lack of retort was expected, unlike the whole exchange they just had. Psychological warfare aside, that had been one of their most civil conversations, so overall, Damian was counting it as a win.

Chapter Text

For Easter Sunday, Damian decided to prepare something of his own, because the idea of painting eggs was so childish and sappy he just had to try it.

Damian couldn't say he was well versed at gift-giving because he rarely offered gifts and when he did, they were usually unconventional things, like finishing the family painting after he came back to life, hunting one of Grayson's first rogues from his days as Robin or giving back to his father one of the pearls his grandmother lost the day of her death. Gifting small, simple things was something he wasn't very familiar with, but he could always learn.

With that purpose in mind, he acquired hollow wooden eggs and painted them accordingly for their recipient: a robin surrounded with green, yellow and red flowers, the masks of Melpomene and Thalia with grey monochromatic motifs and finally, an attempt of using white, green and black to create a neoplasticism pattern. As for their contents, he spent the day before using chocolate moulds for the first time, something that was even more easier than baking, which raised again the question of why his cooking was so average still. Another mystery for his Green Casebook it seemed.

Damian started Easter Sunday with his usual routine, at least the beginning of it, because after his first workout and a quick shower, instead of going to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, he went to Dick's room. Grayson, like the fool that he was, didn't even bother to properly close his door before going to bed, so there he was, soundly sleeping and defenseless. He was so lucky Damian wasn't there with ill intentions, but if Grayson was going to be this careless, Damian needed to review their security systems again and see if there was something else to improve.

Despite Grayson's current state, Damian gave him the benefit of the doubt, moving as silently as if he were in the middle of a mission, stopping next to the bed to observe him, trying to look for tells to make sure Dick was actually asleep, which, after a moment, Damian concluded he was, so he proceeded to carefully place the wooden egg he brought with him - the robin one - over the nightstand. If Damian wanted, he could easily make a proper egg hunt that would test Grayson's detective skills... but this was his attempt to keep things simple, so after one last look at Grayson's sleeping figure, he left the room as quietly as he entered. Once he was in the kitchen, he found Pennyworth busy with that day's breakfast and after they exchanged greetings, Alfred paused momentarily what he was doing to point towards a wicker basket that was over the kitchen island.

“Master Dick was very enthusiastic when he realized I was making an Easter Hunt for you,” he began explaining before turning his gaze back to his work. “Not only he offered to hide the eggs but he personally selected many of their contents. I'm sure you're going to find both things to be an entertaining experience.”

“Is that so?” And he wrinkled his nose when those words made him think about Selina. “Very well, thank you for your efforts, Pennyworth, I'll convey the same to Grayson later.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.” Alfred bowed lightly his head in acknowledgment. “If you desire, you can start before breakfast, just remember that there's ten eggs and Master Richard said everything outside the penthouse was, and I quote, 'fair game'.”

“Of course he said that.” And feeling eager to be done with this whole ritual as soon as possible, Damian took the basket in a more dignified way than he really felt.

Once outside, he stood in front of the door that led to the garden, looking at the exterior with the calculating eyes of a tactician, trying to theorize the most likely spots Dick chose, which is why he turned momentarily to look up, glaring, hoping that Grayson remembered that no matter how high the penthouse was in the sky, it was still in public, so he'd better not have put an egg on the roof. The easiest one to find was on the same bench Damian and Dick had a conversation some days ago. Naturally, he refused to entertain the idea that such placement had a deeper meaning and instead, he devoted his entire attention to locate the eggs with the same attitude of someone of doing a tedious job. To Grayson's credit, he had the common sense of not picking unreasonable places for an ordinary child to search for.

As time went on, Damian became invested in locating the eggs, so it started to feel less like a chore and more like a novelty. It wasn't like he never used his training for things outside of vigilantism, but usually they were things that couldn't be considered for pure personal enjoyment. While he couldn't say he was having the time of his life, it wasn't bad either, if anything, it had been a while since he put into practice his tracking skills in nature, at least as much as one could call “nature” the manmade landscape in the penthouse.

By the time Damian found all the eggs, it no longer felt like all of this had been a pointless exercise in missed childhood experiences. He went back to the kitchen, giving a passing look to the breakfast that was served in the kitchen island, presumably waiting for him, so he left the basket near the food and decided to use Alfred's absence to go to his room. Once there, he retrieved the egg painted with the masks and made his way back to the kitchen, going directly to the cabinet where Alfred kept all the tea, opening it and leaving the egg next to the can of Earl Grey's.

Not too long after Damian started eating, Alfred appeared again with a tray in hands, full of empty mugs. “I see you have finished,” he said after giving a short look at the basket on his way to the sink. “I hope you had a pleasant time.”

“It wasn't bad. You and Grayson did an adequate job.”

“Such high praise, I fear it may go to my head.”

“You hardly need compliments, Pennyworth, you know you're competent, highly skilled and in the habit of surpassing expectations. I don't need to pander to your ego.”

From his position Damian missed the small smile that flashed for a moment in Alfred's mouth. “While it's always illuminating hearing your opinions, I must change the topic and inform you that I won't be limiting your access to the sweets you received, because I trust you can be responsible. However, I have to remind you should think about the health of your teeth.”

“I don't have to worry about cavities, is more likely I'm going to lose my teeth from fighting.”

“That's not very reassuring, sir.”

“I'm just stating facts, besides, if you were worried about the high contents of sugar, you should've give me less eggs.”

“It wasn't an option, the number has significance after all.”

“The thought did cross my mind. Why ten?”

“That's a mystery for you to solve.”

“How I'm supposed to know the obscure motivations behind your arbitrary number without a hint?” But even as he stated that, he took some moments of consideration. “Did you put an egg for each year I missed this celebration?”

Given that Alfred was still facing away from him, Damian missed again the expression in his face, something Alfred was grateful for, because he didn't want Damian to see the sudden sadness that appeared on his features, even if it was only momentarily, because years of tragedies at Bruce's side made him an expert at keeping his composure.

“That's a good start, my boy, I'm sure you'll figure it out in no time.”

“Is this some kind of test?”

“Not a test, consider it an opportunity to practice your work on hypotheticals.”

“I need leads, otherwise I'll just be making wild guesses.”

“That's half the fun, or so I've heard.”

“We have different opinions on what's considered fun.”

“Not all of us find Machiavellian undertakings appealing.”

“I'm my father's son.”

Alfred stopped what he was doing, closing his eyes for a moment, tilting his head slightly to one side, like he was trying to hear something in the distance. “You are, Master Damian, never a doubt about it.”

Turns out, Pennyworth was worried about the candies for good reason: besides the few eggs that were just pure solid chocolate, the myriad of confectionery inside the eggs screamed “Grayson's” everywhere; all of Grayson's favourites were there and the ones Damian didn't recognize, he assumed were Dick's attempt to figure out what he might like. He didn't know if Grayson and Pennyworth had so much faith in his self-restrain or if they were just being careless now, but either way it was too much candy, even if Damian decided to stuff his face to his heart's content.

Not for the first time he thought about Jon. How nice it would have been, to being able to drop at the Kent's farm and share all of these sweets with Superboy. And what a futile daydream that was, because the Jonathan living there wasn't Superboy nor was Damian's friend, but as much as he wished for impossible things, he accepted time ago it was better this way, because Jon deserved to have someone worthier of being called his best friend.

Damian put aside his wistfulness when he decided to focus on the little post-it notes he found inside of the eggs. Some were just scribbles of happy faces, others had short encouraging phrases while the rest were congratulatory words, all related to the egg hunt, but more important than that, he recognized Grayson's handwriting in them. So typical of Dick, doing unnecessary things like this, but Damian couldn't help but felt comforted by it; it was bittersweet, exasperating and touching, all in one: it was Richard Grayson being his bright, remarkable self, defined by hope, not grief. As much as things have changed in Damian's world, some things - the ones he would die for - had stayed the same. In a way, it felt like a reminder, that's why he decided to place the notes in the same drawer where he kept the sticker Colin gave him weeks ago.

In the end, Damian spent half of an hour sorting and appropriately storing his new stash of candy, taking the effort to mentally outline the best way to consume them in a way that should feel rewarding. The rest of the day held little excitement, something Damian had already gotten used to, because the ones living on the edge were Batman and Robin, while Damian's current life in contrast could be considered a stroll in the park... if the park was in the Seventh Circle of Hell, that is. Regardless of that, the fact still stands: Grayson is a busy person any day of the week, today included, even when Damian left enough clues for him to apprehend the Mad Hatter early, before he could do any harm with his cliché plans, like he did on Damian's first Easter in Gotham. It's not surprising then, that he only sees Dick again when he goes down to the bunker to get ready for the night.

The picture of Grayson and Drake in full gear hunched over the Batcomputer doing one thing or another is a common sight by now, it still makes Damian nostalgic, but he's gotten better at ignoring it. Originally his intention upon seeing Grayson was to thank him for helping Pennyworth with the Easter Hunt, but he didn't want to make an interruption for such a trivial reason, so he tried to go unnoticed on his way to the lockers. He's probably been giving the new Dynamic Duo little credit, because just like Drake did nights ago, both of them did notice his presence in an instant.

Whatever they were doing, Dick seemed to think it wasn't that important at the moment, because he stepped away from the computer, going to him. “Hi, Damian,” he greeted, like he always does when he sees him. It makes Damian think about how people greet their pets just for the sake of it, all sugary and pointless. “Thanks for the egg, it's really pretty! You're very talented.” And slowly, giving time to Damian to react, Dick put his hand over his head and then unceremoniously ruffled his hair. “And the chocolate it's the best I've ever had! How much do I have to pay you to make more?”

Damian had little use for compliments because he knew how competent he was, however, after spending so much effort into figuring out how to make superb mint chocolate, he can appreciate the positive feedback.

“I can do more as retribution for providing Pennyworth with your help.” He said as indifferent as possible.

“You don't owe me for that, I was happy to help! I'm just sorry I wasn't there in the morning, I was pretty beat out but Alfie told me you found everything. Did you read the notes?”

“Yes, they were very childish, you achieved the tone of the occasion perfectly.”

At that, Dick laughed, resisting the urge to ruffle Damian's hair again because he didn't want to push his luck. “I can't believe he let you keep everything, that's crazy! On my last birthday he rationed my cake portions and didn't let me eat more than two a day.”

“He's a wise man, clearly he knows which one of us needs to be supervised.” 

This is such a nice interaction, so much like Damian's old memories, which maybe is the reason why Drake - unconsciously - chooses to intervene and ruin it.

“Why are you pretending you care about this?” He asks, sounding bored. “It's not like you're a normal kid.”

As much as Damian hates to be treated like a child when his current age is used against him, to the point where Drake's statement is one he, too, usually goes for, he can't help but felt insulted by the way in which Tim spoke those words.

“Tim.” Dick said in a tone that can't be interpreted as anything else but a reprimand.

“What? You know it's true,” and he crossed his arms, almost defensively. “I'm pretty sure he did more killing in the League than egg hunting. Who are you fooling, Damian? Yourself?”

Drake is right.

Drake is right and it makes Damian flush, not with embarrassment, but with anger. And he had to contain himself, because by now, Damian knows well what this kind of rage is hiding underneath. Even if his first reaction is to scream and storm out, he does his best to stay calm; he has heard worse, he has felt worse.

“There's a world outside the League that has been denied to me my entire life,” he said loathingly, nose high in the air with disdain. “And I'm going to take it back. All of it.”

With that, Damian abides a curt goodbye before turning around, battling with himself to not run on his way to the lockers. Behind him, he heard the way Dick started to chastise Drake for his uncalled for comments, something Grayson has never done before, at least not to Damian's knowledge. Any other day, that would make him feel vindicated, but not today.

Once he reached the lockers, he resisted the urge to angrily throw on the bench the bag he's been carrying with him, because its contents are important. And it's ironic, because one of those things is the egg he prepared for Drake, which he brought with him with the intention of leaving it on Tim's locker before leaving for patrol. To think he worked hard trying to figure out the best way to mix coffee and chocolate to make something decent out of it, and for what? Because he's not giving him anything now.

Damian know he's being childish. Technically he's older than Drake, he shouldn't take to heart the petty ramblings of a teenager that has good reason to dislike him, but from Drake's perspective, he was older than Damian, he was the one who was supposed to know better. Why can't Drake give him some grace? He forgave Todd long before he did Damian and Todd had tried to kill him more than once, and even then, it never felt like Drake truly let go of the resentment he had towards Damian.

It doesn't feel fair. And he knows that thinking of concepts like fairness is another childish thing on his part, but this whole day had been about Damian chasing the shadow of the kid he never was and remembering the ghost of the one that sadly, he got to be. At least he could take comfort in the thought that most likely, both versions of him would've had agreed that Drake should get nothing.

Later, by the time he made it to the Grave, the whole incident with Tim was almost forgotten in favour of more agreeable things, namely, arranging the basket he prepared for Colin. Damian decided against proper hollow eggs because they wouldn't be as easy to hide as a bunch of small chocolates and cookies, so to make it up for it, he bothered to make said cookies in the shape of an egg and he decorated them accordingly with the icing. Overall, he was quite proud of what he accomplished for this day, unpleasant occurrences aside, he was sure he managed well the basics of moderate gift giving. 

Not too long after, when Colin arrived, he found Damian in front of the computer, seated with both legs crossed over the chair, but as soon as Colin set a foot in the room, he turned the chair to face him, looking serious, as always.

“You're late.”      

“I know, I'm sorry, they let us get to bed late today and I had to wait to sneak out.”

“I gather that means you had an eventful day, then.”

Colin laughed, always finding amusement on Damian's way of talking. “It was great, better than last year! We got a lot of lot of chocolate too!”

Colin walked until he was in front of Damian, bringing his right hand to one of the pockets of his trench coat and he rummaged until he found what he was looking for. He held his hand in front of him and he opened his fingers one by one, revealing a chocolate egg - wrapped in colourful foil - on the palm of his hand.

“Mr. Wayne donated these, they're delicious! I saved you one.”

Damian observed the egg, that looked so tiny in Colin's big hand; it was exactly the kind he had requested to be delivered through his grandmother's Foundation. Just like with Jon, he didn't feel like he deserved to be Colin's friend, to have this wonderful selfless child caring enough about Damian to share what little he had with him. But circumstances had put him again on his path and Damian was going to do everything to honour that blessing.

He took the egg in the same ceremonious manner in which he accepted the first weapon his mother gifted him. “Thank you.” Damian said while getting up from the chair. “I have something for you too.” He went to the worktable where he left the basket, that was hidden behind the tech of a half-done project. He took it with both hands and went to present it to Colin. “They're snickerdoodles, you said you liked them best from the ones I've made but if you have another preference, you should let me know to take it into account next time.”

He was expecting for Colin to react with his usual childlike enthusiasm, but instead he took the basket from Damian's hands delicately, like he suddenly didn't trust his own strength. 

After a moment, he finally spoke, voice too soft. “Thank you... I...”

Colin stopped talking, leaving what he was planning to say incomplete and instead, he gave Damian an indecipherable look, something close to wonder and then, to his utter confusion, Colin seemed to snap of his trance, hurrying to put the basket on the worktable again, retracing his steps and going back in front of Damian.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close your eyes for a sec, please.”

Damian wasn't entirely convinced by whatever thing Colin was trying to achieve, but he trusted him enough to do what he asked. He closed his eyes and waited. And waited.

“Did you close your eyes?” Asked Colin after a little.

Damian let out a huff and put his hands over the lenses of his mask. “There, happy?”

He waited again and the first thing he pay attention to was the rustling of clothes, that soon got drowned by the cracking of bones, a very characteristic type of sound he knew well, one that Damian hadn't heard in years but it was impossible to mistake. For a moment he felt like he did when he reencountered Colin again: breathless.

“You can open them now.”

He already knew what to expect, but hearing Colin's voice, high and young, just confirmed it for him. He tried to subtly take a deep breath before removing his hands from his face, opening his eyes slowly... and there he was, in oversized clothes, just slightly taller than him, with disheveled hair, sparkling viridian eyes and freckles adorning his smiling face: Damian's childhood friend, exactly just as he last saw him, a whole life ago.    

“So,” he said, with a hint of shyness in his voice. “This is me. Like, the real me.” He rolled up the sleeve of the trench coat he was practically swimming in, to offer Damian his right hand. “My name's Colin.”

Damian didn't cry when he saw Grayson the first time after coming back and he refused to do the same now, but when proceeded to remove his domino mask with both hands, he didn't miss the opportunity of using that as an excuse to rub his eyes, eliminating any trace of dampness in them.

“I'm Damian.” He finally said, shaking Colin's hand.

Colin squeezed his hand, overjoyed. “You have green eyes too!” He said it like it was the most astounding discovery. “That's so cool!"

He tried to hold back, but Damian laughed, because it seemed that joy was harder to hide than sorrow. “You're such a child.”

“Hey!” Was the pretended protest. “You're a kid too!”

“I'm older than you. In my mind, at least.”

Colin took advantage of the fact that he was still holding his hand to push Damian back. “Well, that explains why you talk like an old man.” As retaliation, Damian flicked Colin's nose with his middle finger, making him shriek with genuine offense this time. “Of course you know, this means war.”

“Ah, too bad for you, I'm a ruthless general.”

Colin was about to retort, already visualizing in his mind a tickle fight of epic proportions, when Damian's smile abruptly disappeared just before he put his hand over the com in his right ear, his relaxed posture now completely gone. It was so much easier to judge Damian's emotions without the mask and the somber look on his face made Colin fear that something bad happened to Batman and Robin. When whoever was talking on the other seemed to be done, Damian let out a sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Is everything alright?” Colin asked, unsure.

Damian turned to look at him with a wry smile on his lips. “I suppose so.”

“You don't look happy.”

“Don't worry about it, it's not bad, I think. It's just that—” and he took a deep breath before continuing. “My brother has a terrible timing.”

It wouldn't surprise Damian then, if Jason chose on purpose this day to show any signs of life.

Chapter Text

When Damian parted ways with Jason, besides medical instructions and supplies, he left him two things: his copy of Wuthering Heights and a way to contact him. Not only Todd didn't communicate with him right away to at least threaten him, but after weeks of radio silence, he assumed he was going to ignore the possibility entirely.

Damian wasn't expecting to end his Easter Sunday hunting for Jason too, but here he was, in the location Todd sent him at the last minute after requesting his presence. Of course it sounded like a terrible idea to go alone to a dingy warehouse near the harbour, but whatever Jason was planning, Damian wasn't worried. Aside from the unsolicited medical procedures, Jason didn't have any other motivation against him, because Damian wasn't Robin, so he was willing to believe that Todd was being honest about the explanation he provided for demanding such a sudden meet up.

Still, before entering the building, he took the necessary precautions in case things went south, because Todd had the particular bad habit of being a wild card. Once inside, he surveilled the interior, not finding anything noteworthy in the various crates and boxes that were scattered everywhere; he took only a few calculated steps, enough to make himself noticeable but stayed near the window he used to get inside and then stood there, waiting, refusing to directly barge into Todd's territory.

This ended up being the right decision, because after a little, Damian first heard the noise of steps, followed by the distinctive sound of slow claps, so he turned in the direction where the sounds were coming from.

“Would you look at that? You actually came,” echoed in the silence. “Gotta say, wasn't expecting it after you ran away like a coward.” And there he was, Jason approaching at a confident pace in between the shadows and the moonlight.

For a moment Damian showed no reaction to his presence but then he tilted his head to the right. “You look better.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

While Todd took that as a taunt, Damian was being honest, he did look better, although it wasn't hard to look healthier now, compared to what he looked like in their last encounter, given the circumstances at the time.

“You said you wanted to talk.”

“I do,” and unceremoniously he took out a gun, cocking it before pointing it directly at Damian. “What's in the bag?”

Damian knew beforehand that the bag he brought with him could become something of a contentious point, but it was a necessary nuisance. “It's something I owe you but there's no need to be so dramatic, it's not a weapon.”

“Leave it there,” he ordered pointing with his gun to Damian's side. “And get away from it.”

Damian rolled his eyes and lamented that the mask concealed that from Jason's sight. He held the strap that was crossing his chest, passing it over his head and left the bag on the ground, stepping away in what he considered was an acceptable distance and crossed his arms morosely.

“Are you going to tell me what do you want? Or are you going to continue wasting my time with histrionics?”

“Don't try me, brat, I'm being very fucking nice right now after all the shit you made go through and now this,” and he vaguely pointed to the bag. “You're lucky I'm not shooting you first and asking questions later.”

“Ask your questions then, if you have them.”

“You got some nerve,” he laughed, humourless. “Fine, let's cut to the chase. I want answers, real answers, not the bullshit you told me last time.”

“I was truthful in our last meeting.”

“Oh please, you're an idiot if you think I'm going to buy the crap you spat out.”

“What lies do you think I told?”

“Why did you do it? The thing with the serum or whatever the fuck it was, who asked you to do it?”

Until that point, Jason's demeanour was almost playful, like he wasn't taking anything of this seriously, however it changed slightly before he muttered the last question. Damian decided to act accordingly, crossing his arms behind is back, evoking some resemblance to their past encounter.

“I've already told you, I did it on my own. Whether it's my mother or my father's strays, none have control over me now that I'm here, free from whatever path my grandfather or my father would have me to follow. I serve no one but myself.”

Jason seemed to consider his words or at least he pretended to, going as far as to tap the front of the pistol's barrel against his chin in a pensive gesture, clearly entirely for theatrics, but Damian couldn't help but feel like lecturing him about gun safety.

“Okay, let's pretend I bite,” he said finally, crossing his arms all with gun included. “You say you're not serving anyone but I know you're running around playing vigilante and I also know where are you staying and with whom. So make things clear for me,” and he chuckled a little, looking momentarily to the ceiling like he was mentally talking to a greater being. “What did you expect to gain from this little stunt? Because if this was your grand plan to try and reform me, oh boy, do I have news for you.”

Now it was Damian's turn to ponder about the situation. Todd wanted to rationalize his actions, but he wasn't condemning them, he wasn't showing outrage at Damian for daring to do what he did, unlike the last time they saw each other, he was even minimizing everything by calling it a stunt. Most likely, Jason had enough time to see that Damian had been right.

Damian's memories about being under the influence of the pit were a little foggy at best, whatever effects it could had being newly resurrected by it, were superseded by Damian's ill-conceived contract with the supernatural, but he did notice something felt different about being brought back from the death using the green waters instead of his cabalistic pact. It was only logical to assume then, that Todd must've eventually noticed it too.

“I wasn't lying when I told you I'm doing this to spite my parents, in a manner. Consider it my teenage rebellion.”

“Teenage?” This made him crack a smile. “You're like eight.”

“I'm ten. My growth got stunned by the severity of my training, I'm working on remedying that.”

And just like that, Jason sobered again. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, I don't care about your mommy and daddy issues, that's your problem, not mine. I didn't ask for your help and sure as hell didn't want it,” and because Todd was still being dramatic, he pointed at Damian again with his gun. “You try shit like that again and I swear I'll kill you.”

Damian did his best to channel Alfred's most unimpressed look. “I understand and I have a warning of my own. You're free to do whatever you want, but if you hurt either Grayson or Drake in ways that cannot be fixed or forgiven, I'll go after you and I'll make sure you'll never be a danger to others or yourself ever again.”

Damian failed to see what could be humorous about his words for Jason to start to laugh the way he did, or at least pretend he was doing, going as far as to putting his left hand over his forehead. Damian knew well how Todd sounded when he genuinely laughed and this was far from it.

“Pick up a lane,” he finally said leaving aside the charade. “You can't say you want to make your daddy roll in his grave and then turn around and be a good little soldier for his war.”

“You don't understand, do you? My father's crusade is secondary to me. Someone needs to take responsibility for the outcasts he surrounded himself with, lamentably, you included.”

Damian wasn't expecting for Jason to practically jump to eliminate the careful distance that was between them and while he remained unfazed, he was already preparing for the situation to escalate, something he hoped it wouldn't happen, because dealing with the aftermath of such event would be too bothersome and he really had better things to worry about.

“I just told you to leave me out of your games! You're pushing your luck, kid.”

“Don't be so melodramatic, Todd, do whatever you want with your life, I won't be involving myself in it. I will, however, make sure you don't get yourself killed a second time, that's the only thing that concerns me.”

“Like hell it does! Stay. Away. I meant it. I don't care about what you think you're doing here but this fucking mess your dad started has nothing to do with you, hell! It's not even about him anymore either.”

In a way, he was grateful that Jason forgo using his helmet for this encounter - for more than one reason -, because it made easy for Damian to read him like an open book. There was rage, of course, but it was restrained, cold, just a natural response to Damian's unintentional goading, something he saw before a few times, specifically before Todd had enough of his shenanigans and decided to fight him.

Oh, well, don't let it be said that Damian didn't try. “What if I'm interested because I think we're similar? Maybe I, too, hold deep resentment against my father.”

“Oh, shut up, we're not the same. You're a spoiled brat that's angry because he didn't want to join Ra's in your little terrorist club, boo-hoo, you can't destroy humanity together as a happy family, what a tragedy.”

If Jason had hit him, it would've had less effect on Damian's than his words.

He almost forgot what it was like, to be seen like this. It was so easy to forget when Pennyworth had always treated him the same, so easy to ignore Grayson's initial mistrust and so easy to dismiss Drake's continued antagonism as him just being good ol' Drake. Damian had not been what his mother raised him to be in a long time and the reminder from someone outside this bubble was something he couldn't just overlook. Tim's previous words felt even more poignant now.

It was so easy too, to pretend he wasn't oh-so tired.

“He left me behind too!” He screamed, not caring for once about being the most rational person in the room. “He knew I existed and didn't care enough to take me away from the League, he knew the things I was being subjected to and decided it was fine,” he closed his fists and took a step forward, daring. “He must have thought I was already corrupted, lost for his cause and not worthy of being at his side.”

This was hardly a revelation for Damian. He had enough time to come to terms about the unsalvageable relationship he had with his father. In his father's eyes, Damian was forever tainted, born like that and no amount of nurture would've changed it. Damian fought a lost battle from the beginning: his efforts, attempts and silent pleas, all for naught; there was nothing he could've done to make his father think different. And as painful as that knowledge was, Damian had made his peace with it.

The loneliness and devastation of the future taught him more than information, warnings and skills, it gave him the opportunity to understand himself in ways his old life would never had allowed. It seemed something so obvious now, but he had been so short-sighted, chasing so fervently after his father's acceptance that he became blind to the valuable things he already had, to the ones that accepted him at this worst and believed in him when his father didn't.

He could never hate him, but his world no longer revolved around trying to prove himself to Bruce Wayne, to The Batman.

“He is a flawed man who tried to do good, but the thing being said about good intentions is that the road to hell is paved with them, and there's no hell like the one my father has condemned us all.” He stood on his toes, raising as high as he could to be able to extend his arm and poke Jason's chest with this right finger. “I told you before I'm not like him, whatever I'm trying to accomplish, wherever I'm going with all of this, I'm not arriving there alone, I'm not leaving anyone behind, not even you, Todd.”

Jason's original plans for this night involved intimidation and violence, the second one in case Damian showed up in town with Thing 1 and Thing 2, also known as the New Dynamic Duo. Easy and direct to the point, just how he liked it.

If he was being honest, he was half expecting for Damian to not show up. It was a gamble, really, because the kid should be smart enough to not go to an unknown secluded place, especially after being ordered to do it alone, but he also was stupid, because no one would do what he did to Jason and expect nothing in retaliation. So, okay, in short, Jason wanted an explanation or at least enough info to understand why the fuck his life got turned upside down by a pre-schooler.

Seriously, he didn't come here to hear sob stories and find kindred spirits. What the hell. Leave it to Bruce to fuck up so much that his ten-year-old thought it was on him to look after all the people his dad failed. Goddamned it.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he finally bemoaned before decocking his gun, putting it away and rubbing his face with his hands frantically for a few seconds. “What do you want from me, kid?” And just like that, his ire was gone; he dropped his guard and his posture relaxed. 

It wasn't lost on Damian the sudden change in Jason's body language, but he still stayed cautious. “Nothing,” he took a step back, crossing his arms. “Only, if you choose to oppose Grayson and Drake, don't maim them too much, I need them in one piece, preferably you too, so don't do too many stupid things.”

Todd crossed his arms too, resting his weight on his left foot and looked at Damian like he was trying to assess him. “You can try and play both teams but eventually you'll have to pick and where's that gonna that leave you?”

Damian considered his answer more carefully than his previous replies, but then he just smiled, cockily. “Somewhere where I manage to keep all of you fools alive,” still with his arms crossed, he raised all his right fingers minus the thumb. “And I get four pets, five if I figure out how to accommodate two dragons in one place and only if the second dragon wants to stay.”

Jason would've found the situation funny if he hadn't been busier realizing that this was exactly who Bruce tossed aside.

This trained killer that did something to Jason that shouldn't be forgiven so easily; this misguided brat that apparently broke from Talia's indoctrination when she wasn't looking; this ridiculous kid that was thinking about pets and a future that was too optimistic for the kind of people they were... this was who Bruce discarded and honestly, Jason was kinda glad he did. Bruce didn't deserve to screw with another kid's life more than he already did.

“Look,” and he sighed, taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that he was actually doing this. “Stay away from my business, okay? Just go on your way and I'll go mine. And stop messing with people that can and will kick your ass, seriously, what are you even doing here? Where the fuck is Bat Wonder supposed to be at?”

“My dealings are my own, he doesn't need to be involved in them.”

“You spent a fuck ton of time in the safe house too,” he continued saying, ignoring Damian's answer. “Is he taking cues from your dad about how to care for kids or what?”

“I'm not a child, I don't need babysitters. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Usually, the look that Todd gave him would've made Damian feel the need to at least try and hit him, but given the situation, he was going to let it slide this time.

“I can rat on you.”

“I can break your kneecaps.” Of course Jason's poorly concealed amusement made Damian reconsider his previous thought.

“I'm not joking, brat, don't bite more than you can chew. I'm letting you go scot-free this time but if you mess with me again I'll make you regret even knowing my name.”

“You sound like a third-rate villain.”

Jason must've agreed with Damian's words, because he paused for a moment and the he just shrugged, turning around and throwing his right hand up in the air in a dismissing gesture.

“Whatever,” he said, sounding convincingly uninterested. “I got better things to do. See you never.”

Just like that, in such an anticlimactic manner, Jason started to walk away. Damian stood there, mystified... it couldn't be this easy, right? He had been prepared for a myriad of scenarios - even a fight like the last real one he had with Jason -, but Todd showing him mercy was none of them. Clearly, he had a lot to learn still and as naïve as it was to follow the hope for the best and prepare for the worst sentiment, maybe Damian needed to start considering it too.

At least Jason didn't disappoint; he was still as unpredictable as ever.

“Todd, wait!” He yelled as soon as he came out of his reverie. “The bag.”

Jason stopped, turning halfway and just giving him a quick glance. “Oh yeah, forgot about that, I don't really care.” And he resumed his walk.

“Don't be an ingrate, Pennyworth helped with it.”

That worked extremely effectively, because Jason stopped completely and then slowly, he turned around, crossing his arms once again. “Well? What are you waiting for? Chop-chop.”

Damian rolled his eyes and lamented again that Todd couldn't see his exasperation. He started to walk in the direction of the bag and once there, he raised both of his hands, palms extended to show he didn't have anything on them and then he knelt down, proceeding to open the bag, making sure to not obstruct its content from sight as he uncovered it; he waited a few seconds for Jason to get a clear view of it before picking it up with both hands, standing up and holding it close to his chest.

Here, in his hands, was a Red Hood helmet. It had not been a lie when he said that he owed Jason this.

“I saw the hideous ensemble you had in your nest. It was such an affront.”

Truthfully, Damian wanted to have the helmet ready way before the opportunity to kidnap Todd even presented, but some things were easier to obtain than others in his current position, which is why, as always, Pennyworth continued to be a blessing, facilitating the things he needed with the utmost secrecy possible. No wonder his father had been a force of nature from the start, having such backing.

This helmet was more simple and stylized than the one Damian once stole from Jason, but it was still designed with functionality and durability in mind. Until then, he kept it in the Grave, because he wasn't fancying the idea of Drake finding it and spiraling into crazy theories about it.

And as meticulous as Damian was, he really wasn't sure why he decided to construct such thing; maybe it was retribution, an apology or a gift. Maybe it was the first real instance of him following rituals for his lost past, when the idea hadn't even crossed his mind at that point yet.

“Catch.” Damian announced before tossing the helmet. He almost expected for Todd to let it hit the ground, but he took it with the same easiness someone would caught a football ball. “You're not obligated to used it,” he stated the obvious. “But I think you should have it,” back. “Feel free to look for trackers, there's none because I think I made perfectly clear I don't need them to find you.”

Todd stayed silent, putting his left hand in the pocket of his pants, holding the helmet with the other, having the front facing to him in such manner that he seemed to be trying to evoke Hamlet's scene with Yorick's skull, something Damian assumed it'd be on point for Todd.

“It's almost a shame your dad died,” he said sounding too cheery for such words. “I'd have paid to see him dealing with you, a little bit of comeuppance I think.”

“I'm surprised you even know that word.”

Jason smirked and had the gall of starting to spin the helmet on his right finger, like it was basketball. “I like good strong words that mean something.” At Damian's lack or reaction, he tutted his tongue in disappointment. “If you're reading one of the Brontës, you need to check May Alcott too.”

“Todd giving me reading suggestions, what is the world coming to?”

When Jason laughed, he did it in a manner that echoed a little that genuine way that lived in Damian's memories.

This time when Jason turned around, helmet under his arm, Damian didn't try to stop him.

“You should talk to Pennyworth one of these days,” he said to his retreating form. “He'll be happy to hear from you.”

Todd just kept walking without showing any reaction to his words, so Damian just stood there and as he watched him go under the shadows, he thought about his war table. He imagined himself moving the piece that symbolized Jason, putting it right over the line between the battlefield and the neutral zone.

Not a victory, not a loss.

Despite the downgrade of Damian's artistic skills, he was still talented enough to make decent oil paintings.

That's how the afternoon of that Tuesday found him: in the garden gazebo of the penthouse, in front an easel stand, palette and paintbrush in hands, busy painting over the canvas while Alfred kept him company silently, sitting by the table, enjoying a cup of tea and the nice weather.

As much as Damian liked talking to Pennyworth, he also appreciated the pleasantness of their shared silences, which is why he glared at the painting as soon as he heard Grayson approach with the grace of that elephant of his. They hadn't seen each other after that Sunday night, so part of him was expecting some kind of feel-good speech about how Timmy didn't mean his words and surely, Damian knew what a good kid he was, not killing anyone in the past few months.

Instead, the first thing he got was a surprised gasp. “No way! Is that Diana?”

Damian's painting was a very simple one: Wonder Woman, in full armor, posing defiantly yet dignified with her lasso in both hands, flying in the middle of the sky with Themyscira behind her, far away. At the moment he was working on the underpaint, but the subject was clearly distinguishable.

“It's my art project.” Was the bored answer.

“When I was your age making paper mache masks were the pinnacle of art for me.”

“I'm sure they were an improvement from your face too.”

“Oof, you're mean today.”

“How unobservant, I'm always mean.”

Because Damian was preoccupied with this painting, he didn't see the look that Alfred and Dick exchanged.

“Unfortunately it seems I need to refill the teapot,” Alfred said while standing up, taking the tray with the half-full pot of tea in it. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen, Master Damian?”

“No, thank you, Pennyworth.”

“And you, Master Richard?”

“No, it's fine, I just eat, thank you.”

“Very well, I will return shortly.”

Alfred gave Dick one last encouraging look before going away and Damian waited until he couldn't heard his steps to speak.

“What do you need to talk about this time, Grayson?”

“Why do you think I want to talk about something? Maybe I just wanted to say hi.”

“You could've send me a text message if that was the case.”

“What if I think it'd be nicer to do it on person?”

“You're very sleep deprived these days, more than usual, you don't have the time to waste in courtesies anymore.” 

Hearing this, Dick winced a little. “Yeah, about that... remember the Egyptian exhibition in the museum? I got us tickets for the inauguration next week.”

Damian stopped what he was doing, taken aback, his mind rapidly trying to make sense of what he just heard, but he didn't have to think too much before Dick continued talking.

“You looked interested in the exhibition when we were there.” He said letting slip some uncertainty in his tone. “I mean, honestly, it was more like a shot in the dark, you can tell me if you don't want to go, it's fine, really.”

Damian could see how that night at the museum his deep contemplations - while looking at the banners for the upcoming display - could be mistaken on the outside as fascination, what he wasn't expecting was for Grayson to have paid enough attention to him to take notice of that fact and memorized it as something relevant in relation to Damian. 

“You don't have to force yourself to do activities in a pointless attempt at bonding.” He said, resuming his strokes in the painting. “I don't need to be reassured that I'm not being sidelined, I understand where the priorities lie for all of us and I don't take offense in not being one of yours.”

“Whao, no, hold on, hold on, I know we've seen each other less these days but it's nothing like that.”

Since Damian was facing away from him, Dick felt free to hide momentarily his face behind his hands while trying to not sigh, because, of course, even when he memorized what he was going to say, Damian just had to throw him a curveball... as always. This kid, seriously.

“Just, please, before I continue, tell me you know I care,” and he waited a few seconds of silence. “Damian,” his tone was more demanding. “You know I care about you, right?”

“Tt. I know you do, Grayson, it's what makes you who you are, hardly news.”

“Ah, that's good?” He said not entirely sure if it was actually a good thing. “Then you should know spending time with you isn't just some line in a checklist.”

“I understand but it'd be better for you to use your free time on more productive things, like resting appropriately.”

“I feel like that ship has sailed for all of us, but you have to admit that spending time with the people I care about is healthy too, mentally speaking?”

Honestly Dick thought that ship had also already sailed a long time ago, but he was that desperate. Usually he wouldn't insist when Damian seemed unwilling about something, because he took to heart what Damian said about being deprived of freedom while in the League and he didn't want for him to feel like things were the same here, but he couldn’t let Damian kept the wrong idea, believing he was just a footnote on Dick's life.

“If you don't want to go to the museum, we can do something else, your pick!”

It was such an innocuous phrase but it made Damian think about his recent encounter with Todd. About the memory of battlefields, his father and half-truths. What a tragedy, indeed.

“...The museum is an acceptable choice.”

What one had to do for these fools.

Chapter Text

True to his warning - if one could call it that -, Damian didn't hesitate to invade Selina's apartment the next time he found a cat in need of help in the streets of Gotham.

He decided to call it a night early after a pretty uneventful patrol, but his plans of going back to the penthouse were derailed when he found an injured cat. The injury wasn't serious and after patching it up and feeding it, Damian decided he had time to spare and stayed in the apartment, waiting for Selina; he could, of course, leave a note, seeing he hadn't given her a way to communicate with him yet, but surely the cat would appreciate some company in an unknown place. If that also gave Damian the opportunity to spend a peaceful time with a cat after years of living deprived of pets, clearly it was just a bonus, not an excuse.

By the time Selina got back, Damian was sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room, with the cat comfortably sleeping on his lap. When she entered the room, cowl in hand and messy hair, she just gave him a passing glance before going directly to the kitchen.

“It's rude to show up uninvited.” She said, leaving the cowl carelessly on the table.

“You shouldn't have such a sorry security then.”

“My security let me know I had a guest waiting for me, I think that's good enough.”

After rummaging on the upper cabinets, Salina took out first a lowball glass and then a bottle of rum. She opened the bottle and poured herself a glass, which wouldn't be all interesting on its own, but Damian couldn't help to raise his brows when she proceeded to down the glass in one. She closed her eyes letting just a bit of discomfort show on her face before she poured another glass.

Damian's first impulse was to make a critical remark, but he stopped himself on time and instead, he cleared his throat before speaking. “Is everything alright, Kyle?” He asked what he thought Alfred would've said in his place.

Selina opened her eyes and stayed silent with a lost look on her eyes for just a moment, before she took the glass and the bottle, going to the living room where she left them of the coffee, dropping ungracefully on the sofa and finally looking directly at Damian.

“When I let you bring those kittens the other day, it wasn't an offer to turn my apartment into a rescue home.” She said, acknowledging the cat in Damian's arms. “I know you have plenty of space back at your place.”

He raised just his left brow this time. “Do you now?” He said, imitating Selina's voice cadence.

“A little bird told me. It's been a long night.” She took the glass and gave it a contemplative look. “So,” she took a moderate sip this time. “Son of Batman, uh?”

Ah, how troublesome. If, as Todd put it, Selina “ratted on him”, Damian had some explaining to do now, because he was mostly sure the little nosy bird Kyle mentioned was a robin.

“It would've been nice to know,” she continued. “Just for the record.”

“My lineage is irrelevant for our conversations.”

“You have one big scary mama, I wouldn't call that irrelevant.”

“That's why I didn't say anything, I won't be judged in the name of my parents.”  

“Ah,” she sighed, listless. “Can't say I don't understand.”

Selina fell silent then, lost in her thoughts again.

Damian would always prefer silence to worthless chitchatting, but there was something about this that he felt he just couldn't ignore. Kyle's relationship with his father was convoluted and Damian wouldn't be as presumptuous as to say he understood it, but he knew that in their own ways, they loved each other. Selina wasn't just one of his father's paramours, she was the woman that almost became his step-mother and was so remarkable that she even once had his mother's approval.

Ugh, Damian was so sick of having to consider the feelings, at least to some degree, of the people around him. Curse him for deciding that such matters warranted his consideration.

“I assure you that my parent's relationship was lost long before I arrived to Gotham,” he said, trying not to show disgust for his own words. “He didn't know about my existence while I was growing up and even if he did, I'm certain it wouldn't have changed things between them.”

Selina frowned, briefly confused until understanding dawned on her and then mortification. It was one thing that Damian seemed to know so much about her when she didn't know about him, but now, with his identity revealed, Selina could only imagine what kind of things Talia probably told her son. Surely there wasn't a version of the story where Selina wasn't a homewrecker, at least in Talia's world.

Tim had been very open about distrusting Damian given his origins and past actions, but even after hearing the warnings, Selina couldn't really bring herself to think this tiny child was up to something evil, not when she initially found him - entirely by coincidence - trying to help some newly strays. Talia was a formidable woman, capable of terrifyingly extraordinary things, but Selina doubted she would use her own son in an intricate ploy to hurt her, not when most likely Talia would want to claim that privilege herself; it was clear too, from the way Selina saw Damian interacting with the kittens, that he was honest about helping them. She couldn't be sure if Talia's little son had really turned over a new leaf or if he was the most obvious placed agent in history, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, after all, someone that liked cats that much must've a saving grace.

Which brought her back to the initial, embarrassing, point: apparently Damian thought here she was, languishing about her relationship with Bruce. Which, okay, was only a minuscule part of the problem but her ex's - or whatever - son didn't need to know that.

“Oh, no, no,” she said, making herself sound light and jovial. “Believe me, if someone knows how things are between your parents, that's me. But don't worry about that boring silly stuff, leave it to us grownups.”

Damian of course took offense. “I wouldn't have to worry if you weren't trying to choke on cheap alcohol. I can't let this cat under such unreliable care.”

Whether Damian was worrying about the cat or about her in a harsh way, it was weirdly endearing. “Like I said, it was a long night and I needed a pick-me-up, I wasn't trying to get drunk... much.”

“Alcohol is a depressant.”

Selina glanced at the unfinished glass still on her hand and then sighed, leaving it on the table. “Well, aren't you the littlest killjoy?”

“You can get back to your self-destructive habits after we deal with the cat, he doesn't look like a stray, so we should work into finding his owner.”

“We are a team now?” A small smile crossed her lips. “I thought you said you worked alone.”

“I said I'm on my own side, it's different. I can work with others when the occasion arises.”

She tried not to, but Selina couldn't help but chuckle a little. “Do you really talk like this?”

“This referring to?”

“All uppity and proper? Because it seems a little forced to me.”

“On a second thought, please go ahead and drown yourself in liquor, he will survive without you.”

“So young and so mean,” she faked a sigh, hiding her amusement. “And here I was thinking about making a cup of tea for me and a cup of hot chocolate. I updated my grocery list.”

Damian stayed silent for a moment, looking at Selina with calculating eyes, until he decided to move, holding very gently the cat in his arms that meowed weakly in protest and ignoring it, he walked towards Selina and stopped once he was front of her.

“Here, hold him. Mind his right foreleg,” Selina didn't have any other choice but to take the cat, that seemed unusually manageable for the circumstance he was in. “I'll prepare the drinks.”

“Are you sure you can reach the cup shelf?” Even with the mask - or maybe because of it -, Damian's vicious glare was perfectly conveyed and in response to it Selina just laughed. “Honestly I don't know how I didn't see it before, you really do look a bit like him, you know?”

“I'm poisoning yours.”

Damian turned his head with contempt, making Selina laugh again while she started petting the cat. There was just something funny about seeing so much disdain in a little kid for such trivial things. It was like looking at a prickly kitten, which unfortunately didn't help Tim's case against him.

Contrary to what Damian expected, they weren't repercussions for keeping in secret his meeting with Selina. Maybe it was because Alfred explained to Dick that he was already aware of Damian encountering Selina, but didn't consider it important enough to bring it up. Or maybe Grayson was just glad that Damian didn't make an scene, given Kyle's past relationship with his father or her current “profession”. Whatever the reason, he was just glad to move such trifling secret out of the way, now if only the others were so easy to deal with.

“What are you doing?” Ah, speaking of dealing with trivial things.

At this point, Damian's presence in the bunker wasn't the foreign element it had been in the Batcave. He was, for all intends and purposes, part of the team, even if all he did was to roam aimlessly at night, doing measly things like stopping petty robberies or terrorizing local gangs.

“My science project.”

“You can't be in the lab without supervision.”

“I was using beakers long before you discovered what vowels were.”

“I meant being here alone.”

Damian missed a lot of things from the past, countless ones, but he never thought he would once yearn for those days where he could just try and stab Drake for the sake of it.

“I have Pennyworth's authorization,” he said instead, refraining from sighing. “I'm just attempting to preserve flowers, as I said, this is a school project.” And he had to close his eyes momentarily to refrain from doing something unwise, like saying Drake could never relate to that kind of commitment.

“Flowers?” He said it like it was something offensive, finally close enough to see the assortment of things scattered on the metal table. “You're trying too hard, pick something that's more believable coming from you next time, like a pipe bomb. If you're going to pretend at least make an effort.”

“Pretend that I'm making school work?”

“That you're different, that you changed, not like I'll ever think it's true, you can try to fool Alfred and Dick but we both know what you really are.”

Whatever discussion unrolled between Grayson and Drake after Damian left the bunker on Sunday, it seemed like it did little to deterred Drake from his usual taunting. Despite the few occasions where his emotions got the better of him, Damian had been enduring very successfully Drake's fixation with being so annoying for no apparent reason, besides Damian's poor first impression.

Usually he would just ignore him or say something barely mean-spited back, not enough to merit a fight but sufficient to not be entirely passive in their endless back and forth. This time, however, he keep silent while he took off his gloves and from the way Tim's body language subtly changed, he must've thought this was Damian getting ready to get physical; instead he stepped away from the table, fishing out his phone from his pants' pocket and proceeded to make a video call.

“Yes, Master Damian?” Answered Alfred on the other side of the line after just two ringing tones.

“I'm calling to inform you that Drake is antagonizing me without provocation, you can check the security footage if you need further proof.” Damian tried to keep his's voice and posture as the same he used for debriefings, so he had to kept himself from smiling when he saw the way Drake recoiled at his words. “I'm doing my science project, as you are well aware and Drake has decided that's a good reason to tell me I'm incapable of change, alluding that I'm insincere and thus should be always watched, only to contradict himself later, saying I should have selected pipe bombs as my project, because that's something more aligned with my nature. Would you please tell him to leave me alone?”

And to Drake's dismay, Damian offered him his phone, forcing him to take it, because he couldn't just ignore Alfred like that. Damian for his part, did his best to remain impassive but he had to admit that the expression on Tim's face was amusing enough to get a very honest laugh out of him.

“Master Timothy,” said Alfred solemnly, when Tim finally appeared in his field of vision. “I understand our current situation is not ideal, we are living difficult times, even by our own standards, but cooperation and tolerance are vital if we are to success.” While his voice was calm as always, the tint of disappointment was clear.

“I was just kidding,” he answered on the defensive. “He took it too seriously, he needs to loosen up and learn to recognize a joke.”

“Maybe so, but I would like it if you two could try to get along for my sake,” and he closed briefly his eyes, as if pained. “It would set my heart at rest.”

Ah, what a ruthless tactic from Pennyworth, straight to the throat. Damian always held some admiration for his style.  

“Okay, I get it, no more joking with Damian because he doesn't know how to be normal about it.”

Alfred raised a disapproving brow but took the peace offering for what it was. “Thank you, Master Tim, I appreciate it greatly,” he said, more open and warm. “I'll return to my duties now, please don't forget you're both expected at supper.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “See you there, Alfred.” The call ended and Tim pressed the power bottom, spending a few seconds looking at his reflection in the black screen before he turned to look at Damian, baffled. “I can't believe you told on me! That's so childish!”

Damian just extended his hand, asking for his phone back without words and only when Tim returned it, he spoke. “When I apologized to you, you asked me to stay out of your way, I thought that meant you'd do the same, instead you had been stepping out of line without provocation.”

“Without provocation? Are you for real? You tried to kill me! Or did you already forgot?”

“I didn't ask for forgiveness but for civility and you agreed to it. You have not delivered.”

“Delive—seriously? You put me in a coma, you psychopath!”

Damian looked at him with some consideration before making a point of holding his phone high in front of him. “I'm calling Pennyworth again.”

Tim stood still for half a second before he raised his hand. “Don't.”

Tim spent the next moments looking troubled; it was clear he had a lot of unsavory things he wanted to tell Damian, but he was trying his best to restrain. Whatever internal crisis he was going through, it seemed to solve finally when Drake gave him a rather cold look before pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“This isn't over.” And with that, he just turned around and started to walk away.

Who would have thought? This was the second time in less than a week that Damian's so-called brothers left him speechless. Adopted or not, clearly the dramatics ran in the family, but more importantly, Colin had been right.

Besides going into intergalactic strolls, they were things Damian never did with Colin that he did with Jon, like complaining about his family. It had been a deliberate choice, because he didn't want to look less bright in Colin's eyes after they met under circumstances that left Damian in a flattering light: embraced by the Robin name, perceived as fierce, heroic and competent. In contrast, his first encounter with Jon had been a total disaster that left very little room for charades. Colin had been, at the time, the only person in his circle that didn't see Damian's many faults in full display: from his short-temper to his recklessness, savagery and egotism. It wasn't surprising then, that he tried to keep the pretense, hiding the worst parts of his life, family problems included.

Damian's current concerns were more important than maintaining appearances, so there was little use for keeping Colin from hearing some of his woes at home... at least the redacted version of them. That's why he decided to complain the day prior about how annoying Robin had been - because he was still offended about his wasted egg -, only to see the absolute shock in Colin's eyes, which made Damian backtrack instantly, because Drake was Robin, one of Colin's beloved heroes and Damian didn't want to take that idealism from his friend, even if Drake was acting like a brute. The only choice left was to explain the events that occurred in his poor first meeting with Robin, which justified the resentment he had towards Damian.

Despite Colin witnessing first-hand the cruelty of Gotham, he still had the childhood naivety that Damian never was privy to, because for him, it seemed that Damian's apology should had been enough since he really meant it. His solution for Damian's troubles was also very childlike: just tell Batman. In the orphanage, when one of the kids was being mean to the others, it was enough with telling one of the nuns for the problem to be solved. Equating Batman to a nun was a bit of a stretch, but Damian could see Colin's logic and in this instance, it made more sense to tell Pennyworth than Grayson, but those were the minor details about his identity that Damian wasn't ready to tell Colin yet.

He didn't think Colin's innocent advice would actually work but Damian didn't have anything to lose by trying. After seeing the miraculous result, it was clear he owed Colin an entire batch of cookies.

...maybe acting like a kid wasn't entirely abhorrent all the time.

The Industrial District was far away from the territory Damian usually patrolled, but it was one of the many places he was keeping an eye on, because they had the potential of becoming relevant points in the future. In this particular case, he was interested in surveilling the abandoned building of the Koko Candy Company, searching for any sign of recent activity but after finding none, he just took note of what places where the most appropriate for installing a hidden camera or two, just to make sure nothing will escape his attention.

After finishing what he had gone to do, he chose to spend some time in the area after considering some change of scenery was due, roaming a little from rooftop to rooftop.

“We can't debate properly if you don't acknowledge that morality is bound to culture and historical periods,” he said while walking on the edge of the roof he was currently on, sizing the jump he'll have to do to go to the next. “It makes for a flawed concept,” he didn't stop talking, ignoring the voice in the other side of his communicator. “Just like what's understood as humanitarian. Humans are—“ and he took a small pause to jump after taking a few steps back, landing firmly on his feet into the slightly lower adjacent building. “Cruel by nature.” He didn't wait and kept walking, more concerned with his monologue than his surroundings. “It's absurd to consider kindness as something that can be described as humane, any person that choses to be compassionate is fighting against their own nature, it's a commendable if not hopeless act.” He stopped after reaching again the end of the roof and finally allowed to his listener to speak. “I'm not reading too much Kafka.” He complained, crossing his arms, offended.

While Pennyworth usually left Damian to his own devices, enough to not even need feedback from him for a few hours, it was different when he decided to go outside the parameters of what Alfred considered safe; he didn't strictly prohibit it but was very adamant to hear from him and be informed of what he was doing. Damian endured it because as irksome as it was, obeying orders and being well-behaved gave him liberties he could only have dreamed of in his days as Robin, which stung a little, at least for the person he had been, in what it seemed so long in the past now. Nevertheless, it was undeniable that it was easier to overlook his age and trust his judgment when he obeyed orders and showed nothing but levelheadedness, so it was a sacrifice worth enduring.

As he was about to rebut Alfred again, he heard the distinctive sound of multiple rounds being fired, sounding so loud in the relative silence of the night.

This acted like an instant lure, because Damian was already running in the direction where he heard them, purely on instinct. “I think there's a situation unfolding, I'll call back when I have more information.”  

After navigating a couple of buildings, he heard more shooting and soon the distinctive sound of a fight reached his ears before he finally arrived to his destination. High as he was, he had a full view of the altercation below and the first thing that crossed his mind, upon seeing the glimpse of a dark cape and bat ears, was that Grayson was there. Of course it was a short-lived thought, because soon it was clear that the person fighting against five men - three of them armed -, had an smaller frame under the nearly identical shape of Batman's cowl. 

Damian would recognize Cain's Batgirl suit anywhere. Gotham was really a handkerchief.

That same way he would also recognize the unrefined movements, clumsy dodges and amateur fighting style of the person wearing it. With a long suffering sigh, his left hand went to his belt while the right pointed his grapple ahead of him.

Damian dropped into the fight with a smoke bomb and a perfect kick to the closest goon that made him fall directly to the ground and he used the opportunity to disarm him. By the time the smoke dissipated, three of the five men were out with a little help from Batgirl, who after her initial overreaction to his presence, at least recovered fast enough to keep her head into the fight, however, that didn't stop her from trying to talk to him over the sounds of the battle, something that Damian ignored entirely; only when the men were incapacitated and tied up, Damian deigned to speak to her.

“Explain.”

Batgirl seemed surprised to finally hear his voice. “Me?” And she actually pointed a finger to herself. “You explain! Kid, what are doing here? Who even are you?”

“Explain what is happening here so I know what kind of response is needed from the dispatch, besides the police, I'm assuming.”

“Ah,” she exclaimed, unsure, looking at Damian like he was some kind of supernatural being. “I guess it's drugs?”

“You guess?” His tone was disbelieving.

“I had a lead okay? I just need to check that van over there,” she briefly pointed to the side. “And make sure, but that's not important!” She was more confident now, crossing her arms and trying to look more imposing. “You shouldn't be here, what you did was very dangerous!”

Damian decided to ignore her again like he was one of the goons that haven't stopped making noise, spouting expletives and threats. He started to walk towards the van Batgirl pointed at and she stayed still for a few seconds, before she hurried after him, still trying to get answers. One of the doors in the back was slightly open, so Damian opened it completely, revealing the interior full of suspicious packages.

“See? I was right!” She said proudly, seemingly forgetting about her problems with his presence but she soon faltered when Damian took out a batarang and used it to make a careful incision in one of the packets. “Did you steal that?” She said with more surprise and disbelief than what Damian though was genuine.

This was what finally made him concede; he left the half examined package on the van's floor and stood firmly, crossing his arms. “Take a careful look at my person, think about the fight we just had, take a breath and ask yourself this: do I perhaps look like another one vigilante running around in this city, albeit young?”

Damian knew that Stephanie Brown had a rough start as a Batgirl, he had been there to see it, but he didn't remember her being this slow on the uptake. Even Catwoman, who wasn't in the business of bat-themed pseudo-detectivism, understood quickly that she wasn't dealing with a normal child.  

“You're working with Batman?”

Brown's question and demeanour wasn't too dissimilar from when Colin questioned the same, but even if she was trying to keep a straight face too, it was betrayed by the way her eyes flickered briefly upwards, like she was expecting for Batman to drop from the sky.

“I'm offended,” even if he said that, he sounded indifferent. “I would expect for Oracle to at least mention me in passing.”

“You know Oracle too?” And there was something akin to worry in her tone.

“She's not going to chastise you for your subpar performance,” he made a diminishing gesture with his right hand. “At least you didn't let the criminals go and we secured the cargo.”

“No, it's not that,” and now she seemed openly concerned. “She doesn't know, like, that I'm doing this? Please don't tell her!”

Whatever Damian was thinking about, it came to a halt with this information. He knew, vaguely, that Brown started her days as a rogue Batgirl, but he didn't have the exact date when she had started working with Gordon; he just assumed she was already under her mentoring at the present time. 

As unexpected as this was, it took him less than a minute to rearrange the plans he had made regarding Brown. 

With a sigh, he crossed his arms behind his back and tried to appear as relaxed as possible. “Would you please get on my level? I need to whisper some information to you, it'll clear some of your questions.” The request was humiliating, but even if they were far from the tied up men, Damian didn't want to take the risk of being heard. 

Stephanie seemed unsure again, but she must've thought that Damian was inoffensive enough - given his age and established association with Batman -, so she came as closer as she could without being too invasive and crouched down in front of him.

“Okay, I'm all ears, little bud.”

Damian resisted the desire of click his tongue with annoyance at begin called that and instead, he tried to sound as serious as he could while muttering. “Robin must have told you about me,” and he thought for a second in the irony of his next words, compared to what he told Selina very recently. “Batman is my father, I'm the blood son.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Stephanie said, almost candidly, but soon enough it was clear that her eyes were widening behind the cowl as realization slowly dawned on her. “Ooh.”

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Damian had an unfortunate encounter with Dubbilex while helping Supergirl. Despite his training, he was still behind his father when it came to resist mental manipulation and so, in order to break him, Dubbilex showed him where his worst fears laid: family and allies fallen under his feet, with his mother at his side, proud of him. It should've been a valuable lesson about himself, something enlightening that should've helped him to gain a better understanding of what he wanted from life, a starting line. Instead, he ignored it.

He couldn't keep ignoring it when he landed on the future and that scenario wasn't just a vision, but the brutal reality. Everybody was gone, his mother included. Ra's was the only one left and by the time Damian figured out how to get back, even his grandfather had beginning to beg for death.

While he worked to undo his mistake, he started, at some point, to conjure in his imagination versions of the long departed; he did it in an attempt to not lost his mind, even if, as time went on, it began to feel like the complete opposite. Delusional lost Robin, sometimes his own voice would said over the others, talking to make-believe ghosts.

It had been so ironic then, how much Damian talked to the Brown living in his mind, when the real one barely had any success in her efforts to make him open up. His biggest realization about Stephanie was recognizing how alike they had been at the time. Both of them were carrying heavy legacies on their shoulders, while failing to be what was expected of the identities they took: a chaotic Batgirl and a joyless Robin... but even then, Barbara and Dick had enough faith to pass on their names.  

Despite the fact that Damian will always think that being Robin was the best thing he had ever done, the truth was that he never believed he deserved it nor that he was adequate for it. And on occasion, when he talked to that imaginary Brown that sometimes presented in front of him wearing her Batgirl suit, he asked if she felt like that too.

Damian couldn't do anything about his regrets regarding Robin anymore, but he could do something for Stephanie.

That's why he originally planned to approach Gordon to offer his help in training Brown. Of course he was envisioning nothing but rejection at first, but Damian had no problems with being relentless and using any method at his disposition to make Barbara agree with him. Being presented with the possibility of jumping the cue in front of Gordon was too good to let it pass, because convincing Brown seemed like an easier task than persuading the first Batgirl.

With that idea in mind, he promised to keep quiet about Stephanie if she agreed to meet him the next day just to talk. Part of him was expecting for her to not show up, even when Stephanie seemed more willing after he told her that Pennyworth was going to be present, but luckily - because it meant he wasn't going to have to track Brown at her school again -, she was exactly in the spot where he told her to be, in the corner of an ordinary street, in the middle of the day.

The car Pennyworth was driving was pretty unremarkable, just one of the many in the lineup they had to move around the city without problems, so it was understandable for Stephanie to be confused when it stopped in front of her. The confusion disappeared as soon as Alfred lowered the tinted window, enough for her to get a good look at him.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Stephanie.” He said, polite as ever.

“It is you!” She exclaimed, putting her right hand in the middle of her chest. “Thank god,” and she let out a deep breath. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

“Rest assured, the feeling is entirely mutual, miss, I only wish this meeting was under different circumstances.”

“Yeah, no kidding, I really wasn't—oh!” She interrupted herself from what she was saying when the rear door abruptly opened, making her move to avoid getting hit.

“Enough chitchatting, get inside.”

Damian retreated to the right side, making space for Stephanie, who approached tentatively, placing a hand on the door's window and crouching low enough to peek inside, where Damian simply gave her an unenthusiastic look and after a few seconds of hesitation, she finally got in, closing the door behind her.

“Brown.” He greeted, with a small nod.

“Yes, hello, uhm,” she went silent for a second, looking briefly unsure. “Okay, I know Tim told me your name but I forgot. To be honest I was paying more attention to the part where you tried to kill him.”

Ah, classic Drake, always singing Damian's praises.

He made himself more comfortable, crossing his arms while Alfred started the car again. “It was a misunderstanding,” Damian said mechanically. “I grew up somewhere with well-defined rules and a rigid hierarchy system. While living there, I was expected to prove myself by removing anyone in a position I wished to occupy. I understand now that the outside world doesn't work like that, so worry not, I won't make the same mistake again, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Those were a lot of words just now.”

“I consider myself a wordsmith, you'll get used to it.” Damian's arms were crossed, but after some contemplative seconds, he decided to uncross them to offer his hand in greeting. “I'm Damian.”

Brown eyed his hand like she was trying to find a hidden weapon, but ultimately she took it, giving it a firm shake despite everything. “Nice to meet you, again? You can call me Stephanie.” Damian just crossed his arms again, not adding anything else. “Okay, so, you didn't tell Barbara or Tim, right?”

“I didn't.”

“That's great!” But her expression didn't match her forced enthusiasm. “But why do you wanted to talk to me? Don't get me wrong, I love meeting new people but usually there's less blackmail involved.”

“I want to clarify some things, for a start. Where did you get the suit?”

“I didn't steal it if that's what you're implying,” and she was the one crossing her arms now, defensive. “Cass just... left it behind. She said she was fighting for Bruce but, you know, he's not here anymore so the fight is mine now, I guess.”

Damian kept silent, pondering this new information but deciding to left it for later. He took a deep breath, briefly thinking he'll have to get rid of that habit sooner or later and spoke as apathetic as he could. “You are undisciplined, unprepared and unimpressive.”

“Hey!” Was the instant complain.

“I understand Batgirl works as a separate entity from Batman, but it would be negligent of me to let you go into this battle of his as you are now.”

“What's that even supposed to mean?”

Alfred chose that moment to clear his throat before joining the conversation. “Master Damian believes in preserving his father's legacy. He also believes that said legacy doesn't live in aliases and masks, but people.”

“Tt!” He expressed with displeasure. “What Pennyworth is trying to say with unnecessary sentimentalisms, is that my father dragged people he shouldn't have into his war and it falls on me to take responsibility.” He made sure to look Stephanie directly in the eyes, trying to convey the importance of his next words. “You need direction, support and proper training. All of those I can provide.”

Stephanie frowned, looking stunned. She opened her mouth with a breath as to say something but closed it almost instantly, stopping herself.

At the sudden silence, Pennyworth interceded again. “Don't be fooled, Mistress Stephanie, despite his age, Master Damian is a very skillful young man of keen intellect. I wholly and solely believe there's benefit to be gain, should you accept his proposal.”

Brown, properly dumbfounded, turned her head trying to catch Alfred's eyes in the rear-view mirror, but he was focused on the road; not knowing what else to do, she directed her gaze back to Damian, who only raised an eyebrow, nonchalant.

“Thank you for the offer but no thanks?” She finally uttered, at a loss. “No offense, I just don't see how that could it work, besides I really don't want Tim to know about this, I promised him I was going to stop with the vigilante stuff.”

“You seem to be under the wrong impression that I answer to Drake or Grayson. This is a private matter, Pennyworth will keep silent about it and so will I.”

Stephanie turned again to the front, vaguely gesturing towards Damian with her right hand with incredulity. “Alfred, are you reeally okay with that?”

Alfred took some seconds before answering, steady and composed. “Dick and Tim—“ he started with unusual informality. “Are in a very demanding position right now. No amount of years protecting this city would've prepared them for this ordeal, and the only thing we can do is to ease their hardships in any way we are able.” Alfred's voice stayed calm, conversational, like he was just making small talk instead and not about the difficulties they were facing. “I know by experience that we cannot stop you if your mind is truly set on this. Let us help instead.”

Damian hoped that Pennyworth's succinct words were more convincing than his, but it was hard to tell giving the fact that Brown still looked like a confused forest animal in the middle of the highway. In a way, it was entertaining seeing Brown like this, when he was used to her acting with more bravado, but he supposed she hasn't found her footing yet.

“How long has it been since Cain gave you the suit?”

Stephanie looked away, purposely avoiding Damian's eyes, which tell him everything he needed to know. “Like a... two weeks, technically.”

That explained why Brown seemed to be fumbling with her new role much more than he remembered. On the other hand, he had to commend Cain for remaining undetected, because just as he had been in the lookout for Todd, he searched for Cassandra too, coming to the conclusion that she must've left the city long before they moved to the penthouse. Knowing she had been there as recently as a week ago - more or less -, made him a bit unsatisfied with himself, because if he had known she was in the city, he would've redoubled his attempts to find her. Despite the missed chance, Damian knew he'd see her again and luckily for him, from all of his father's hellions, she was the only one he didn't need to worry about.

“Take your time and think about my offer,” he said almost as a dismissal, suddenly becoming more interested with looking at the window. “I don't require an answer today, but I do expect one eventually.” Almost coinciding with the finality of his words, the car gently stopped. “We're here.”

Promptly alert, Stephanie straightened in her seat, turning from side to side trying to recognize where they were. “Here where?”

“Antonella's Ice Cream Parlor.” Without waiting for an answer, Damian opened the door next to him. “Hurry up and get out, Pennyworth needs to park the car before joining us.”

“Ahm,” as it seemed to be her demeanour for this day, Brown hesitated for an instant before speaking. “At the ice cream place?”

“Of course.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing.

“Are we actually going in there? Like, to get ice cream?”

“I know my father attempted to train you,” he said, expression bored. “Don't make him the disservice of asking these kind of questions.”

“You could've just said yes,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “And why are we getting ice cream? Are you doing field work right now?”

“No. We just had an uneasy talk for you, something to lift your spirits is due.”

For the second time Stephanie tried to say something while stopping before even uttering the first word, however her stupefaction was short-lived, because with jolt she started dragging herself towards Damian, who stepped aside to get out of her way.

“You know what? Fuck it! Let's get ice cream.”

“Mistress Stephanie,” Alfred chastised swiftly. “Language, please.”  

“I know, sorry, sorry,” she said with a more lively tone than the one she had been using until that point. “Hope you know you're totally paying.” She announced to Damian as soon as she put the first foot outside.

“Obviously.”

“And I'm ordering the most expensive thing they have. Twice.”

“Naturally.”

When Brown finally stood next to Damian, she crossed her arms and watched in silence while the car drove away. “This is not how I was expecting this meeting to go.”

“The world is full of wonder.”

Damian's flat delivery made Stephanie's lips tremble slightly before succumbing to a smile given the ridiculous of her situation. “You're a strange little man.”

Unlike other times when Damian was called little, he decided not to take offense just this once, because at least Brown didn't call him a kid for a change.

The dreadful waiting for the opening of exhibition came to an end on a sunny Thursday.

Damian had not been stressing over this casual outing, that would be immature from his part... he was simply preoccupied with all the possibilities that could unfold during their time in the museum. He kept that to himself, choosing not to bother Pennyworth with it, given the fact that the man was already busy helping him with more important tasks, so whatever Damian's feelings were about this, they were at the most, frivolous.

Still, while he was getting ready, he wished he could tell Colin more about the not so heroic parts of his life. He wasn't in need of guidance, but he wanted to complain about the things he had to tolerate thanks to the fools his father welcomed in his folly; Jon had been so good at that, just hearing his grievances, even if most of the time he wasn't on his side of the argument. It was humorous, in a very mirthless way, how Damian spent all his life acting like he was above needing a friend to share his thoughts with and now here he was, longing for something so insignificant like having someone to tell that Grayson was an oaf. The irony of his circumstances, as always, didn't escape him. Fae contracts and Faustian deals.

He finished getting ready early than he intended, since he was eager to be done with this nonsense as soon as possible. Sadly, he was the only one in an imaginary hurry, so after sending Grayson a message stating he'll wait for him in the living room, once he was there, he went directly to the one armchair that was nearest to the window, deciding this was a good opportunity as any to take a dive into Todd's reading recommendation, choosing to start with Flower Fables. He was halfway the third tale, when he heard the murmur of voices he recognized as those of Alfred and Dick, becoming more clearer as they approached where he was.

Damian had been holding a bookmark between his left index and middle fingers, finally placing it on the page where he stopped reading, before closing the book and getting up, taking a few steps to leave it on the center table, crossing his arms behind his back almost at the same time Grayson and Pennyworth entered his field of vision.  

He gave Dick a once-over, arching his brows with something akin to disapproval. “You look like a Philosophy student. Disgraceful.”

All in all, Grayson's attire was acceptable, just casual clothing, with the only remarkable things being the fact that he was using a blond wig - with matching eyebrows -, under a beanie hat and glasses with a wide frame. It wasn't the worst attempt at a disguise he had seen from him, but it wasn't impressive either.

“I'll pretend I don't know you, so please stay six feet away from me.”

Inevitably, Dick cracked a smile at this. “You get meaner each day. And here I was about to compliment your outfit,” he turned to his side, looking at Alfred with amusement. “How much did you have to bribe him to put him on that?”

Alfred arched a single brow, his expression remaining neutral. “Master Damian dresses himself, I'd be concerned if he didn't at his age.”

“Uh,” for a moment he seemed surprised, but soon enough he was smiling again. “I should've seen this one coming. You finally got your wish, eh?”

“Good things come to those who wait, sir.”

Damian frowned, caving in and looking down to make sure the clothes he was wearing didn't magically change - stranger things have happened, after all -, but no, the black dress shoes, slacks and tie were still the same, just like the dark green V-neck sweater and the light grey button-up shirt underneath it.

“What's so noteworthy about my attire?” He asked, not knowing if he should feel affronted.

Most of his life, when it came to clothes, Damian had been more worried about their usefulness and practicality than anything else. In the past, Pennyworth used to be the one in charge of buying his clothes, leaving Damian with the choice to wear whatever he wanted, with the rare exceptions when some social gathering required a specific dress code.

Damian's interest in his own wardrobe changed after spending years being chained to a Batman suit, with some days feeling like the bat symbol was burning his chest through the layers of armor. Now that he was better established, just like he started to occupied himself with cooking and books, he decided to spare some of that effort for the contents of his closet. Nevertheless, he didn't feel that Pennyworth's initial selection varied drastically from the clothes he end up choosing for himself; he thought long about the kind of garments he had been more comfortable with, in his early years on Gotham and from there, he just picked things that he liked in those styles. Overall, just frivolous stuff that he only was paying attention to now, because he was committed to find out the mundane things he overlooked in his past life, if one could call it that. That's why he didn't understand the sudden fuss about some clothes he personally bought.

“Nothing,” was the annoying answer that Grayson merrily gave. “It's just an inside joke.”

Just like he had been done more and more, Dick extended a hand to ruffle Damian's hair, who didn't react, which was something he was proud of to achieve so quickly, because the first time it took him months to be able to relax around Grayson. “I dislike those.”

“I can give you all the context you need on the way.”

Damian wrinkled his nose before starting to walk. “I didn't say I want to understand.”

As he passed them, Dick turned again to Alfred, giving him a look that was a mix of amused exasperation. “Looks like we're off. Do you need anything? We can get it for you once we're done with the exhibition.”  

“Nothing at the moment, thank you. Please take care and remember that I expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure Damian is not going to cause any problems.”

“I was talking to you, Master Richard.”

Fortunately for Damian - because he had a reputation to uphold -, Alfred and Dick were behind him, so they couldn't see the smile, almost childlike, he couldn't suppress at hearing Alfred's dry words.

The journey to the museum wasn't that terrible... because Damian carefully planned his words, strategizing his conversation topics like he was in the middle of an intelligence gathering operation. Since the moment he accepted to accompany Grayson, he spent the next days mentally preparing for this, trying to do as much control damage as possible in advance, because he knew that this little innocent daytrip was going to do unspeakable damage to his emotional state, how could it not? When spending time with Grayson felt like both, a punishment and a reward.

Regardless of his initial success, he had to admit that his interactions with Grayson were harder to navigate when they weren't fighting crime or conversing about their night lifestyle. Damian was avoiding talking about anything that could be considered “work” related, because he wanted Dick to have a respite from the heavy shadow of the bat that loomed over him, but it didn't mean he was having an easy time forcing himself to be as socially acceptable as possible. That's why he welcomed the sight of the museum when they reached their destination, eager to use it as buffer between him and Grayson.

Once they were inside, Damian examined the architecture now that he could see it in the daylight and whole, because the future hadn't been kind to locations like these one. Initially, when he came to Gotham, he didn't think much of its mixed architecture: the obnoxious art deco interlaced with soft art nouveau, drowning in a sea of gothic style edifications. It made for a somber city, which suited his father well.

Damian's fondness for Gotham's architecture was initially born out of necessity. Upon arriving in the wrong time, the only thing he had left of the life he knew were the foundations of the city. The more information he tried to absorb about, well, everything, made it clear that this enigmatical future version of him was, as Drake once said about him: “very overkill”, at least one had to be to go as far as to booby-trap every single prominent building in Gotham. In attempting to keep his mind from going astray, Damian not only talked to the dead, but he tried some other things, ordinary and desperate, like reading books from the remains of the library and actually checking out for them, hunting down the surviving bottles of what it became his preferred iced tea and sitting in dilapidated gargoyles, sketchbook in hands, looking at the crumbled city and restoring it to its former glory from memory in between the blank pages.

It was comforting in a way, looking now at the interior of the museum and seeing it so pristine if solemn in its design, because the last time Damian had been there in the day, they were only ruins left.

And as expected of an inauguration, the museum was full of people interested in the new display; usually Damian hated crowded places, but in this case, they provided convenient distraction, that's why he also didn't protest much to the guided tour Grayson got them into. In a way, he appreciated that Dick was willing to suffer this activity for him - as misguided as his attempts at bonding were -, so he did his best to pretend he wasn't bored while following the guide, mentally drowning her words while he was more focused on the Egyptian objects scattered on the wing.

There was everything one could expect to see in an exposition of such nature: colourful sarcophagus, statues of all kind of sizes, funerary masks, Canopic jars, weaponry, tablets, clothing, jewelry and everyday items. All of these things he was very well familiar with, given the kind of artefacts his grandfather collected through the centuries, even gifting him a set of khopesh that once belonged to some pharaoh Damian never bothered to remember his name.

By the time the tour was coming to an end, Damian's thoughts were far away, lost in the past that never was and the future that will never be, but then again, it wasn't unusual, because that's how he spend most of his waking moments, being his own Pythia, prophesizing tragedies and thinking of ways to prevent them. Just like his father. And it was that thought that made him finally snap from his musings, because from all the omens he was carrying with him, that was one he wanted to avoid most. Should his father be in his place at this precise moment, he would waste the entire visit daydreaming about his Batman's pursuits, instead of trying to enjoy the company; Grayson was sacrificing his free time for Damian, doing something he thought Damian would appreciate, so the least he could do was to at least be present, truly present, and not roaming in the corridors of his mind.

With this new purpose, Damian waited until their guide concluded the tour and as soon as they were dismissed, he turned to Grayson with the intention of asking him to take some photographs, since the man actually brought a camera with him, however, he was too slow, because one of the women from their group beat him to it. If he had to guess, she was around Grayson's age and clearly interested in him, something Damian noticed early on when he was assessing every person in the group, which was understandable, because Dick's poor attempt at disguise didn't do much to conceal his attractiveness.

Damian rolled his eyes, exasperated. If he didn't want this to end like a typical Wayne party with Grayson entertaining strange women, he was going to have to intervene, but a simple question from her made him stop before he could do anything.

“That's great!” She answered to what Dick said with a flirtatious smile. “And are you here alone?”

“Oh, no, I'm—” to any person that didn't know him, the minuscule pause that Grayson took before his next words could pass unnoticed, just him inhaling so he could keep talking. “With my brother, he likes this stuff, at least I hope he does.”

As always, Grayson was all charm with an easygoing disposition, but the way he doubted for a split-second before declaring Damian his brother, was something that took Damian's breath and made him tense up, feeling more than ever the need to say something as crass as he hadn't done in years, just like all those times he interrupted Grayson's conversations in Damian's days as his Robin, uncouth and angry. Instead he turned around and walked away, trying to call as little attention to him as possible, getting out of sight, shielded by the visitors.

He passed many objects being displayed, looking but not looking, willing himself not to fixate in any thought, because if he did, he felt like he would crumble like that Gotham he left in the future.

In his aimless steps, from the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of an statue of Anubis and that made him retrace his way. They were several people surrounding the crystal showcase that contained the statue, but Damian had no problem moving in between them until he was at the front, something that hardly bothered anyone, given his size. Damian looked at the basalt statue representing Anubis and he let himself think about his grandfather, just like that night weeks ago, because that felt like a much safer line of thought at that moment. Looking at the head of the statue, Damian questioned, not for the first time, what made his grandfather take it as an inspiration to symbolize his position as leader of the League. Anubis didn't exactly fit in the “demon's head” aesthetics - if such thing existed - and going by his grandfather's antics, it would've made more sense to choose any figure that opposed death, not oversight it. But maybe it was precisely that, after all, his grandfather fancied himself as a judge for humanity and their evils.

He could've stayed there for the rest of the day, thinking about his grandfather's motivations, be they about fashion or morality, but hearing Grayson call his name dragged him out of the little safe space he made for his thoughts. He didn't turn but he knew the precise moment Grayson came to stand next to him.  

“This place is huge,” Dick said after contemplating the statue a little, like he was trying to see what Damian was seeing in it. “You could get lost.”

“I know where every door in the building is,” he answered, stoic and unmoving, still looking at Anubis and the secrets it didn't hold. “Getting lost isn't an option.” Grayson chuckled and Damian clenched his teeth at the sound, instantly infuriated at himself.

“The point of coming here was to relax, not to give you homework.” He waited for a response but at Damian's prolonged silence he tried again. “Are you a fan?”

“Of what?”

“Anubis?” He put his hands in the pockets of his pants, too casually to be an spontaneous gesture. “Personally I think Ra is my favorite, you know, classics.”

For a moment, Damian visualized Todd there, asking Grayson what the fuck he was talking about, because Damian was trying to be as decorous as possible, so he couldn't inquire that way. “I like dogs.” Was what he chose to say instead.

Clearly the answer wasn't enough for Dick to work something out, because after another moment he tried again, more clearly this time. “So, what do you think? Are you having fun?”

“It's been educational.”

“Aw shucks, I missed the mark with this, eh?”

“No!” He said immediately, surprising himself. “No, you didn't.” He added, more measured.

Damian gave the statue one last look and proceeded to move, making a vague gesture at Dick to follow him, which he did. Damian used those few seconds while they walked away from the people that were still admiring the statue, to reorganize his thoughts, because whatever he was feeling, it was irrelevant, asinine, worthless. He wasn't going to fail Grayson and ruin all the effort he put on this, Damian was better than that and if he wasn't, he will make himself be, right away.

“You must understand, I've been in Egypt before and some things here aren't new for me.” Telling truths was such a convenient tool, because he didn't even have to lie, just let people form their own ideas about his words, based in the context they thought they had. “But I appreciate seeing them again, it's been an introspective experience.”

“I'm going to assume that's a good thing,” just as Damian wanted. “But now I have a lot of questions, you weren't there raiding tombs, were you?” He asked playfully.

“I know you're trying to be funny but I can't answer that in public.”

Dick looked at him like Damian was jesting, shaking his head with something like looked suspiciously like fondness, it made Damian want to stop and kick him right there. “Okay, let me ask something that won't get you in trouble. Tell me about Egypt, how was it?”

He frowned slightly, considering the question. “Beautiful. Merciless.” He said ultimately, frowning again, at himself this time, because he could do better, Grayson deserved better. “I spent most of my time in the dessert, days are unpleasant there and the nights are harsh, but if you have a fire and you're not suffering from hunger and thirst, it's magnificent,” the fingers of his right hand twitched almost imperceptibly, with the desire to hold a pencil. “The sky is so clear it feels like you drowned beneath the stars. It's easy to be at peace there when it's only you in an ocean of sand... I'm not sure if I can say it was a humbling experience, it feels so long ago in my memories and I'm know I wasn't having spiritual revelations in the middle of the dessert, I was most probably irritated and tired but even then, every time I looked at the sky at night, I understood why my mother and grandfather love this world so much.”

And just like that, Damian felt suddenly very self-conscious and muscle memory made him try to reach for a hood that wasn't there, which in turn made him feel even more of an idiot. Curse Grayson and his ill-advised efforts to establish a connection with him. And curse Damian too! For caring so much it felt like he was suffocating with every breath he took. Things like this were precisely what he was trying to avoid from the start. Damage control his foot!

He ventured a glance at Grayson and when he looked like he was about to say something, Damian decided on a whim that the only viable option now was to act like the kid he certainly wasn't. “No,” he declared, pointing at Grayson with his right index. “I don't need your feedback and right now I want to... decipher that papyrus over there,” and he vaguely gestured to someplace behind Dick. “So please keep quiet while I work.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Damian rushed to the wall where various papyri were spread behind a crystal barrier. Oh, if his mother could see him right now, she would be positively aghast at his behavior. For his part, Grayson was too gracious, pretending Damian wasn't making a complete fool of himself, waiting patiently at this side with hands behind his back, his expression composed, not betraying anything. And he waited longer than Damian expected him to before finally talking again.

“Did you find something interesting?” He asked, humour tinting his voice despite his serious expression.

“Just boring praises to Osiris.” He answered trying not to sound as mortified as he felt.

“Really?”

“Yes, there.” He pointed to the second papyrus that was in the bottom row and closer to him.

“Are you sure you deciphered it,” and his façade started to crack. “Or the explanation at the side told you?” He finalized, poorly concealing a smile.

“Who do you take me for?” He uttered, affronted. “Of course I did.”

At this, Dick finally dropped the act. “Wait, do you really can read that?”

“My mother instructed me to learn a dead language as a pastime. It seemed like an easy option at the time.”

“Only you would say something like that,” he said, incredulous. “Or your dad, which yeah, actually makes sense I guess,” and he crossed his arms, looking at Damian in a way he hadn't done in ages: like he was measuring him. “Can you tell me what it says?”

“It depends, do you want an exact translation or I'm allowed to take liberties? I can understand the general intention just fine but I don't think I can translate word for word.”

“Sure, put it on layman's terms for me.”

If Damian was being honest, he was more than happy to fulfill Grayson's request, because translating hieroglyphics was infinitely more easier than trying to navigate conversations when his emotions were working against him. 

He supported his right elbow over his left palm, holding his chin with the other hand and stood straight as possible, his eyes examining the symbols in the papyrus while he mentally constructed an appropriate way to convey what was placed there. When he felt satisfied with what he had, he crossed his arms and taking a quick look around, he judged that he was at an acceptable distance from the other visitors.  

“In broad terms is something like this,” he started, adopting the same tone he used to do when he was reporting to his mother. “Hail Lord of Time, Heir of Geb, hail Lord of Life, bearer of the Atef-Crown, hail Lord of Fear, son of Nut. Hail to you, Osiris, Lord of the Two Horns, Ruler of the Hidden Place, Chief of the Westerners, worshiped by followers of Re and Atum, reverenced by Shu and Tefnut, adored by the Two Lands. We humbly fall before you, Creator of Gods, judge of dead and living, grant us a place amid your followers.” He wasn't exactly glowing with pride, but he was satisfied enough after acting like such a simpleton before.

Whatever reaction Damian expected from Dick, it definitely wasn't for Grayson to start rummaging through his jacket. “Damian, that was amazing,” he said almost at the same time he took out his phone, tapping in the screen before he placed it horizontally, pointing it towards Damian. “Say it again!”

“Are you recording?” He asked like he was disgusted after hearing something unsavoury.

“Alfie wanted photos of you,” he at least had the decency to explain. “But this is so much better! He's going to love it,” but then he lowered the phone a little, looking dissatisfied. “But if you repeat it it's not going to be as genuine,” he mused for a moment before cheering up again. “Oh, I know, the first tablet the guide showed us, the big one with colors? That is perfect.”

Damian didn't need to be familiar with how Grayson's reasoning worked to understand what he was saying. “It's also very crowded and has a literal translation next to it.”

“Good thing you're not saying it word for word.”

He was going to protest, of course he was, but Grayson in his sudden joyful madness, took Damian's right hand with his left and started walking, making Damian follow his lead while he happily chatted about Alfred's family albums, giving the context he didn't ask for.

It wasn't like Grayson's hold was inescapable, it wasn't a strong grip, just enough force to keep one's hand closed. Damian tried to think if Grayson ever did this outside of necessity, such as a move in the middle of a fight or catching him in midair; it was such a pointless thing, always has been, because Damian had never been the kind of child that needed to be secured in public spaces. Still, it wasn't bad, it didn't feel patronizing or asserting, so Damian didn't object, not that it was surprising, considering that he would follow Dick Grayson anywhere, even to the very doors of Hell. So he went.

He wondered if Grayson knew this is what he apparently needed. If that changed something, if it was even intentional. Whichever the case, after this, Damian fared better the rest of the visit, satisfying Grayson's silly requests to translate every time he pointed at something, letting him take photographs and even taking some himself for his art studies, telling him more about his stay in Egypt, but being careful to only talk about inconsequential things like animals or food. By the end, he even accepted Dick's suggestion to visit the gift shop before they left. Initially he had no interest in buying anything, he was just wandering while waiting for Grayson but when his eyes fell on an Egyptian themed hourglass, it was like a call. The same reason he picked an abandoned clock factory for his hideout, was the reason he decided to make such a frivolous purchase; in another life, his father would've been proud to see Damian taking after him.

On the way home, Damian felt like he could finally loosen up and have a brief moment of tranquility, like when he just successfully finished one of his mother's tasks, the kind he would prefer not to do again. Grayson, however, seemed to enjoy wrecking Damian's solace, because while waiting for the green light in a particularly long stop, he unfastened his seat belt to be able to delve in the back seat.

“Now that we are far away and you can't ask for a refund,” he said before sitting properly again, this time with one of their paper shopping bags from the museum in hands. “I bought you something.”

Damian scowled, clicking his tongue but accepting the bag nonetheless. “That was unnecessary... but I'm thankful for the gesture.” He added after a thought.

The gift in question was a plush toy of Anubis. A very caricaturesque one, clearly designed to look appealing to children with its big head, small body and oval cutesy eyes.

“There was one of Seth too,” Dick said after fastening the seat belt again. “But I think this one looks more like a dog. If you don't like it please don't throw it in the trash.”

“I'm not that thoughtless, the design it's ludicrous but I can see the intent.”

Damian couldn't understand why Grayson seemed to find his words comical every so often, but Dick smiled like he just told a joke and ruffled his hair for the second time that day.

The Anubis plush ended up placed over Damian's nightstand, becoming his new companion in his silent sorrows.  

Although Pennyworth was more permissive than the first time around and let Damian get away with a lot of things, a patrolling schedule with breaks every third day was non-negotiable. Usually Damian found that to be an annoyance in the same category that homework was in, but for once he was looking for a good night of rest after day he had. That, of course, was an unsuccessful plan. He did his best to fall asleep but instead, his treacherous body decided that his time was best spend crying.

He had done so well over the course of the day, withstanding everything and not breaking even once, even if he faltered at times, but as soon as he was in the privacy of his room, lying on his bed and sheltered by the darkness of the night, he couldn't help but openly mourn for what he had lost like he rarely allowed himself to do. He was glad, oh so glad, exultant even, to have Alfred back, safe and sound, but the price was so excruciating.

Damian took a deep breath and moved his right arm that until now had been covering his eyes, he opened them and the darkness welcomed him. He couldn't know how much time passed while he laid there, looking at the ceiling, incapable of distinguish anything, but at some point the grief gave way to something close to wrath. He furiously wiped his tears with both hands, sitting up abruptly while still looking upwards.

The price was agonizing and he would pay it a thousand times! Crushed, brokenhearted, bested, tormented, none of that mattered! Damian was a king, a general and his own entire army, he didn't chose this outcome while trying to rectify his worst sin, but he was going to make the Fates fall at his feet all the same.

And if he has to spend sleepless nights looking at the ceiling, he might as well do something about that too.

Chapter Text

While Damian's vigilante life didn't contain dangerous ventures like going toe to toe with criminals like Killer Croc or Mr. Freeze, his status as part of Batman's network was officially cemented when Grayson assigned him his own budged and resources for anything No One related, not that he need it, since he could fund his own efforts if he wanted to, but he had to admit they were some perks that came with such of approval, like sneaking in some of the things he needed for the gear he was making for Colin.

His father's use of technology to overcome his human limitations was something that Damian always paid close attention to, because it was stated very early in his education that his mother expected the same from him. It wasn't until he was brought back to life that he took a personal interest in it, thanks to the Hellbat suit his father donned when he went looking for Damian in Apokolips. The Hellbat armor was an absolute marvel, combining technology and magic that only people of the caliber of the Justice League could wield... so, of course, Damian wanted to prove he could understand the process and replicate it one day, if he wanted to.

Looking back, that had been really ambitious and unrealistic from his part, but his research still gave useful results. Although the inspiration to use said results came only after his father and Superman provided headquarters for him and Jon.

At the time, Jon's street clothes and a ridiculous red cape had been good enough as a uniform, after all, he was - theoretically - invulnerable, but Damian had been thinking about their future and the inevitability of Jon hitting a growth spurt sooner or later. It seemed only logical for Jon to have a proper uniform that was able to follow the development his kryptonian genes had in store - because he clearly took after Clark -, so Damian started to plan for it.

How optimistic and naïve he had been then, thinking him and Jon would get the chance of growing up together. What an absolute fool.

Maybe it was divine punishment, if one was inclined to believe in such things, for no taking into account that Colin could had also benefited from a change in wardrobe. There was also some irony in the fact that Damian needed more help for Jason's helmet than he did with Colin's new costume, but then again, he laid the groundwork for it years ago.

Of course, when he summoned Colin that night in the Grave for the big reveal, Damian didn't explain how the suit came to be and instead he focused in its properties, explaining what made it special as simple as possible, the same way he used to explain things to Jon. Colin listened carefully and unlike Jon, he didn't interrupt Damian or even asked questions, but when Damian finished, he didn't seem very convinced, looking at the small - for his current frame - suit that Damian had in hands.

“April's Fool was two days ago.” Said Colin apparently apropos of nothing.

Damian was well-aware of that fact. Everyone in Gotham knew that holidays were mostly bad news, especially the first of April and October thirty-first. Damian's first April's Fool in the city had not been a memorable one given the absence of a certain infamous clown, but despite that, he prepared for the possibility of seeing the Joker now, because he couldn't trust that things would happen the same way after the many changes he had caused.

However, just as the first time and to the great relief of the city, when April’s first came around, the Joker was nowhere to be found. That, of course, still meant bad news, but at the end of the day, it was just another thing of the many Damian was juggling in his hands.

“That's relevant why?”

Colin frowned a little, his wariness lessening a little. “You're not trying to trick me?”

At the question Damian tilted his head to the right. “Trick you how?”

“Like I put the suit as Colin and when I become Abuse it rips everywhere! That kind of prank.”

“That's not a prank. Pranks are supposed to be amusing, not cruel.” At least that was what Richard always claimed.

“Okay.” Colin said, still unconvinced it seemed, but he finally took the costume from Damian's hands. “I'm going to change, wait here, please.”

Damian couldn't really be offended by the small display of doubt, because from Colin's perspective, what Damian was claiming sounded a little fantastical even for a Gotham resident.

With no other choice but to wait, he decided it was a good opportunity to tinker some things in the computer or, as Colin recently named it, the Gravekeeper. Damian had chosen “The Grave” as a name because he found some ironic humour in it, thinking about the unutterable truths he was going to keep with him until his last breath; he wasn't trying for it to become a thing, like his father with the bat nomenclature. What vigilante name would even fit such theme? The Gravedigger? Should he use a sword with a shovel handle then? Terrible concept, with that motif it wouldn't be surprising if he ended up with Solomon Grundy as his arch-nemesis... but Colin had been so enthusiastic about coming up with that name for the computer, so Damian didn't have any other choice but to agree. Still better than the Fortress of Attitude, he supposed.

Damian's work in the system stopped when he finally heard Colin approaching; it wasn't the fact that his footsteps sounded different - which was expected, given the change in footwear - what made Damian halt, but the frantic hasty pace in which he was moving, heavy steps making the floor tremble under his weight. At this, Damian kicked the chair to make it move, getting barely a glance before Colin screamed his name as soon as he turned around.

“What's wrong?” He asked, getting up in an instant, his eyes rapidly trying to assess Colin and their surroundings, looking for some kind of sudden treat.

Because he was more concerned about Colin's well-being, the redhead found no resistance to scoop Damian up, holding him as high as he could. “It worked! Damian, it worked! It's like magic!” Colin's words, full of elation, were enough to relax Damian enough to not mind for a moment the position he was in. “It's amazing! You're amazing!”

Damian soon minded a lot being carrying like this after Colin twirled, moving away from the computer and to Damian's utter mortification, threw him up in the hair, catching him without problems. For a moment he was too stunned to react, but a second later he acted the same way he did when Grayson tried such thing with him the first time: he kicked Colin in the left shoulder, just marginally less viciously, which was ironic, because Colin was definitely a thousand times more tougher in this form than Grayson could ever be at his best, but then again, Damian used to be a little more blistering back then.

“Put me down, you fool!” He snarled, giving him a second kick for good measure.

Colin, the absolute simpleton, had the nerve to laugh right in his face. “No.” He said, before throwing him again in the hair.

Damian decided to use this as an opportunity to shift all of his weight backwards, making a flip before landing on the floor with bent legs, right hand on the floor as additional support. He got up with a jump nearly at the same time Colin started to clap, like he just saw a magic trick in the street.

“Consider yourself blessed, Wilkes,” he said, attempting to sound as foreboding as possible. “Others had suffered my wrath for much less than this.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, sounding not sorry at all, on the contrary, his tone too happy, almost airy. “I'm just really excited, this is so so wicked! I can't believe it's exactly like you said!”

It was nearly impossible to keep being righteously indignant when Colin was practically glowing with joy, so Damian accepted his defeat with a sigh. “I need to make sure everything is working as it should, after that I'll explain everything you need to know. If you can focus until we're done, we'll go to BatBurger next time, my treat.”

“I can focus,” he said, straightening his posture in an imitation of a soldier doing the position of attention. “Not because I want to go to BatBurger but because I can be a professional too!”

Ah, how dreadful, Damian was starting to rub off on Colin, surely that should count as being a bad influence. But he'll worry about that another day, for now he had more important things to do, like verify the suit was well fitted.

Although Damian made this suit with Colin in mind, he drew inspiration from what he envisioned once for Jon, with the appropriate changes. Starting by the colors, instead blue and red, he chose black and brown, leaving the yellow in a way, because he changed the shade to a golden similar to Colin's brass knuckles, making the soles of the shoes that golden color and much sturdier than what Jon would've gotten, because Jon could fly and rely in his superhuman strength to fight, instead of hand to hand combat. The rest of the shoes were black, imitating the style of the boots of Kon-El's costume.

Most of the outfit was brown, from the legs to the chest, where Damian tried to create a triangular outline that was meant to evoke the letter A and from there the rest was black, up to the collar of the costume and to the long sleeves. This, of course, was just the costume in its simplest form, devoid of all of its complementary equipment... and in all honesty, only what Damian managed to make work with the changes in Colin's genetic markers.

Even if the time he spent with Colin had been short and Damian was a poor excuse for a friend, he never forgot the things Colin said to him, even the ones that seemed small and uninteresting, like the fact that he thought Batman and Robin's belts were “the coolest part” of their outfits. Maybe that had been another moment lost too: Colin hinting another wish, this time something simpler than visiting a fast food joint, because Damian didn't even need to change clothes for Colin to rummage in the pockets of his Robin belt, like many kids surely dreamed of doing when thinking about the fabled protectors of the city. As always, there was no point in lamenting all the things he failed to do, but he can always made good use of those regrets, that's why he decided to include an utility belt - golden instead of yellow - in Abuse's costume too.

While Colin's original choice in fashion for his vigilante persona was impractical, Damian knew - thanks to Grayson -, how important the first steps towards an identity could be. He didn't want to entirely replace what Colin was able to put together with his limited resources, so in lieu of that, he opted for a short sleeve black trench coat, with a matching wide brim black fedora hat, decorated with a brown band that was the same tone as the brown of Colin's new suit. Naturally, these clothing elements were made with the same materials Batman and his associates used, but that didn't make them magically more practical, yet, Damian would be a liar if he didn't accept he saw worse on his days of running around in traffic lights colors.

The last element for Colin's costume was a pair of glasses, round and green. They looked inconspicuous enough, because Damian designed like them that, trying to hide a little the fact that they were night vision glasses.

Once Colin was wearing everything, Damian took a few steps away from him, to admire his work in silence for a moment, coming to the conclusion that the final result was... as sketchy as Colin's previous look, maybe even more, because now Colin was giving the impression of being more than an everyday random man. Well, at least the gear offered more protection? That should be helpful, even for someone that healed much faster than the average human.

“Stand here.” Said Damian, gesturing towards a point in the floor.

Even with the weekly work, Damian had to admit there was a long way to go before the Grave could be considered up to his standards; from the things that were missing, some were more pressing than others, but maybe it was time to move the mirror for the locker room to a higher position in the list of priorities. 

So, after Colin stood where he was told, Damian went back to the computer, typing some commands to access the video feed from the security system, selecting the one that perfectly captured the red-head's figure at the same angle the missing mirror would have done. After putting said feed on full display in the biggest screen, Damian moved to the side, dragging the chair with him as not to obstruct the view. 

“Well then,” he said with his well-practiced disinterested tone. “This is the final result.”

Truth to be told, calling it “final” wasn't correct, because there was at least one more thing Damian wanted to add to Colin's equipment, but as with many things, for now it'd have to do. 

Damian was expecting for Colin to react as boisterously as before, but by know, it was beginning to be clear that his previous knowledge about the people surrounding him was driving him to the wrong assumptions, because instead of being annoyingly enthusiastic about the new costume, Colin just stood there, motionless for a moment, before slowly raising his right hand, placing his fingers almost delicately on the glasses' temple, with his gaze never leaving the screen. Damian tried to be patient while Colin was, for some confounding reason, acting like the concept of live self-footage was a new for him, but just as he was about to make one of his usual snide remarks, Colin lifted the glasses, just enough to quickly pass the back of his left hand over his eyes.

It took Damian a few seconds to come to terms with the obvious, but as soon as he did, something akin to dread started to creep in him. “Are you crying?” He asked, still in disbelief. 

“No.” Colin's answer was almost immediate, but it was the wavering in his voice, with just one single word, what made Damian start panicking.

What did he do wrong? Has been there a good reason for Colin to wear that old coat and he never told Damian? Something that should hold sentimental value, deep enough to make him cry at the first attempt to replace it. How could Damian have known? He was a time traveler, not a seer! 

But just as he was about to try and salvage the situation by telling Colin he could go back to his old clothes, Colin beat him to it, voice watery. “I'm sorry,” he said, horribly sounding genuine this time. “I didn't mean to cry,” and he sniffed, making Damian feel worst. “It's just,” he raised both hands, palms to facing up, like prayer. “When I became like this... I always knew I'd never be like Superman or Green Lantern,” he looked down to his hands for a few seconds before turning them to look at their backs, covered by the sleeves of the suit. “I know I look like one of the bad guys and it's fine, I don't need to be like Flash to do good things,” and again, he closed his right hand to rub at his right eye under the glasses that he was still stubbornly keeping on. “So I never thought I could look like this... like I'm really a hero,” he finally turned towards Damian and tried to smile, which was a bit ruined by the fact that he was also trying to hold back tears, not very successfully. “Thank you.” And it was finally at saying that, that his voice broke into a weep.

Damian had never been a sympathy crier, he had been hardly allowed to shed tears for him own self, let alone others, but seeing Colin openly cry, whether it was from pain or happiness, emotions so intertwined that it was impossible to tell them apart, Damian couldn't help but feel his own eyes damp under his mask against his will. 

Instead of joining Colin, like they were a pair of lost kids wailing for their parents, he let an annoyed huff and opened his arms with an exaggerated motion, as big as he could. “Come here, you child.”

If Damian had any hope of his offer being rejected, it banished in an instant, when in two large steps, Colin lifted him up, with Damian's figure so small in comparison that, if he wanted to, he could find a hiding place in his arms. Just like the art of gift giving evaded him, offering comfort was another mundane thing that was excluded from his education, but Damian had the best example he could ever ask for in his recollections of Grayson: all those times Richard held him in joy, in sorrow, in relief and even in rage.

So he removed the glasses from Colin's face and rested his head against the other's, doing his best to circle Colin's neck with his arms, his grip firm but gentle. He closed his eyes, thinking about Richard and letting the ghost of those memories speak through him. “I got you. Always.”

In response, Colin just tightened his hug with enough force to make Damian's back crack and that, for some reason, was enough to incite a laugh from him, making Damian smile in turn, because there was some kind of indescribable beauty in hearing his friend laugh after just seeing him heartbreakingly cry.

It was also clear now, how unheeding he had been. He should've hugged Colin ages ago.

Back at the League, before arriving to Gotham for the first time, Damian had been precise, lethal and unstoppable, conquering obstacles one after the other, having no other choice but to earn daily the right to be called the grandson of the Demon's Head; coming to live in his father's city uprooted not only his life, but the person he had been until then.

What made him so effective in the League, was the same that made him so inadequate under his father's methods, and flaws that were easier to manage under his grandfather's teachings, became the bane of his existence in this brave new world.

He became more reckless, less strategic, too assured in his own myth to the point that even in the face of his own mistakes, he refused to accept he erred, always obstinate, prideful and so, so pitiful. Underestimating others so he could assure himself of his own worth, because sometimes it seemed like he was the only one that believed he had one.

Of course, he couldn't see it back then, how desperate he had been to be recognized in the eyes of his father like he used to be in his mother's. Alas, poor Damian, forever trapped, walking in the line where his parents' worlds collided, always staggering from one side to the other; it made him fallible, not only against foes, but against allies too.

For better or worse, that was, ironically, in the past and he was different now... but, maybe not as much as he would've liked it, because he knew he needed to work about being a “good sport”, but he also couldn't help but feel self-satisfied when Brown, spread-eagle on the wooden floor, suddenly proclaimed. “Okay, okay, you win!”

At this, Damian did his best to not smile. “The proper way would be to say that you yield.”

“Don't start.”

Pride aside, Damian had to admit he was surprised by Brown contacting him so soon after their meeting, but not so unexpected after she explained why while doing a very poor job of bargaining with him. She should be thankful that Damian decided to take a magnanimous approach with her, because the only thing he asked in exchange for providing the ammunition she ran out of, was a friendly sparring match. Since the bunker and the cave were out of question, he decided to borrow a vacant dance studio in one of his father's many buildings.

Any other day, Damian would gladly fight Stephanie with genuine intent, but today, he was only interested in measuring her, so he remained on the defensive, counteracting Brown but never making the first move. It was a shameful thought, but if he was being honest with himself, it had to be say that he was going to miss the moment when he was no longer able to use his small size to his advantage against opponents... he just needed to live long enough for it to happen naturally this time.

It seemed like Stephanie had no intention of standing up after he made her fall for the third time in the last five minutes, which was a good indicator for Damian to decide he had enough information to work with. Instead of asking her to stand up again, he walked to one of the corners of the room, where he left the gym that he brought with him, retrieving it and making his back to Stephanie, who hadn't moved an inch yet. Damian sat close to her on the wooden surface, opening the bag and searching inside it before taking two bottles of water; given how much time they spent there, the bottles weren't ice cold anymore, but still colder than the room temperature, so it was better than nothing.

He put one of the bottles on the floor and sent it rolling in Brown's direction, stopping when it hit her forearm, which finally made her sit after taking it. She rested the bottle against her right cheek for a moment before putting on her forehead, chasing after the cold feeling and when she finally unsealed the cap, she practically downed it in one go. In contrast, Damian tried to be more decorous while drinking, something that, for some reason, offended Stephanie.

“I'm dying here and you're not even sweating, what the hell.”

Like he needed to make sure, he put the back of his hand against his temple. “Not true, I'm perspiring.”

“That's nothing, like, look,” and to make her point, Stephanie took a strand of hair from her forehead, drenched in sweat. “And who even says perspiring?”

“It's to be expected, you have less stamina and I've been training all my life... I'm also much younger.” He added, hiding a smirk with another sip from the bottle.

“Are you insinuating I'm old? I'm still in my teens!”

Instead of answering, Damian put the bottle aside on the floor and went back to rummage in the bag, taking this time a black plastic file folder out of it, extending it to Stephanie, who frowned but accepted it. “You need to build more muscles.” He said as soon as she opened the folder. “I designed a diet regimen for you and attached the money necessary to make the transition in your diet viable, at least until I can prepare a bank account you can use safely.”

“You're not serious,” she said even though the first thing on the folder was a pocket envelope over the pages that contained said regime. “I'm scared to open this, I swear I'm going to lose it if I only see Bens.”

“Don't be obtuse now, you know money is the reason we can afford the kind of night lifestyle we lead.”

“One, that sounds wrong and two,” Stephanie took the envelope, offering it back to Damian. “I'm not accepting money you stole from your dad.”

“I didn't steal it, this is mine. Before coming to this dump of a city I was already a millionaire, that's something you would know if you talked to Gordon.”

“I was actually feeling bad two seconds ago,” she put the envelope back to where it had been, closing the folder with both hands with a noisy clap. “Eat the rich and all that.”

Just like Damian was doing more often, he gave Stephanie his best impression of an unimpressed Alfred. “I trust you can be responsible,” he even used Pennyworth's own words. “You've been on this path before, things are easier when you're just a nobody third-rate vigilante, but when you're carrying the name of someone associated with Batman, you become a target. You need to be prepared.”

This affectively soured Stephanie's mood, who, without further ado, just let herself fall again not very graciously, hugging the folder against her chest and taking a deep breath. “I know,” she said in the same tone one would use with a nagging parent, sighing deeply. “I know.” And this time her voice was softer, almost like another sigh. 

It was so strange seeing Brown like this. The Stephanie of his memories was an overzealous buffoon, boldly overconfident despite lacking in skill and fearlessly hopeful, like only an idiot or a child could be. For all the complaining he did back in the day about her attitude, this subdued version of her was a bit unsettling. 

Curse Damian again and again, for choosing to waste his time with such trifles. “If my word is worth anything to you,” he started, as deadpan as possible. “I'm confident you can do this. Of course you won't excel, but as they said, you'll get the job done.”

Brown kept looking at the ceiling, like she was thinking about his words while slowly frowning. “I want to say thank you, but I'm pretty sure you just insulted me.”

“Truth can be unflattering, yes.”

Stephanie's frown deepened before she broke into a smile. “I can appreciate a little honesty.”

“Good, remember those words in the future.”

“On a second thought, I take it back.”

“If you're done being dramatic,” just like everybody his father has ever decide to take under his cape. “Pay attention, do you know where the S. K. Animal Shelter is?”

“Doesn't ring a bell, why?”

“It's in the Bowery, you're going to meet me there today at midnight. I'll send you the exact location.”

“Again, why?”

“To give you the things you asked for, keep up, Brown.”

“Wait, you didn't bring the stuff?”

“Of course I didn't, you could encounter a thief and be the victim of a robbery.”

“First of all, I would totally win in that scenario and second, how does an envelope full of cash is fine but not the ammo?”

“Money is understandable for a random citizen to have, flash grenades are not. I do hope your deduction skills are better on the field.”

“Yeah, sooo taking it back.”

Damian rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation, setting his gaze on the bag and after a few moments of contemplation, his aggravation became real when he recognized what he needed to do next. Ah, how the mighty have fallen. 

With a click of his tongue and in a way that could only be described as grumpy, he took his bottle of water and put it inside the bag, before standing up, taking a long step to position himself looming over Stephanie and then proceeded to look inside the bag one last time, extracting an object he considered, on a personal level, in the same tier as Eris' apple: a cookie wrapped in cellophane.

The only difference between this cookie and the bat shaped ones he made for Grayson and Drake so many days ago, was the little bow he constructed with pink icing in the bat's left ear. He considered using purple for the bow before discarding the idea, because he didn't want to give the impression that he cared that much.

He leaned down enough to hang the cookie in front of Stephanie's face, shaking it a little like he used to do with Titus' treats. “Here.”

Brown raised very prominently an eyebrow and took the cookie. “What's this?”

Damian took a deep breath, not only to refrain from answering with mockery at the obvious, but to force himself to say what he practiced in his mind while baking the day before. “As inexperienced as you are, I recognize Cain made the right call, consider this my blessing. May you conquer all the nights that will come.”

Stephanie examined the cookie, turning it around like she was expecting to find something significant behind, but it was just that, a simple pastry in a ridiculous shape, still, it was enough for her to sit up again. “You're just a big softie inside!” She cooed, worse than Grayson when he gave him the same offering. “If we ignore the murder attempts.”

“One attempt, singular, and don't be fooled by these pleasantries, I am ruthless.”

“You just gave me a batcookie with a cute bow.”

“Fooled already, pathetic.”

“Oh my god, you're one of those.”

“And they are?”

Instead of answering, Stephanie decided to lie down on the floor again, leaving the cookie and the folder over her stomach, closing her eyes and putting her arms behind her head while crossing her right leg over the other, looking like the stereotypical example of someone relaxing under the sun, only missing the wheat straw in her mouth.

“Brown, who are they?” He insisted and waited, narrowing his eyes at the lack of response. “Stop being obnoxious and answer me.”

“...”

“Just so you know, I'm taking offense to this, forewarned is forearmed.”

“Yup, totally one of them.”

Damian had to resist the urge of taking his water bottle to pour its content right on Stephanie's face, because upon revision, a subdued version of Brown didn't seem so bad after all.  

Chapter Text

In his many nights alone, pondering over the ruins of the city his father once loved so much he sacrificed everything for it, Damian came to the conclusion he was never going to be a good person, no matter how much he tried.

Luckily for his cause, it was a moot point.

It didn't mean, however, that he felt free to be as uncaring as he wished. While he was sure his Richard would come to understand the complexity of his situation and the limitations it imposed on him, he would still be very disappointed in Damian if he knew that Damian had the possibility of helping others without risking his position, and he chose not to.

Why, come hell or high water, he had to worry about the living, the dead and the never were? This, it seemed, was really a purgatory crafted especially with him in mind.

So, given this reasoning, he had been trying to follow track of all events he could remember from his early days as Robin, which proved to be more difficult than he initially expected because Damian had been very dismissive of Batman's methodology at the start. Dick had been the one in charge of writing their reports because Damian deemed it a waste of time and thus, later, when he finally recognized the necessity of this kind of organization and the importance of memorizing all that was possible from his father's database, he always skimmed through Grayson's reports from his time as Batman, because it was logical, right? Why should he pay attention to that information he lived first hand? There wouldn't be anything useful there he didn't already know.

Pitifully, the real reason was just as pathetic as Damian himself.

He evaded everything he could from Grayson's brief period as Batman because it made him sad. Those files told tales about their time together, written with Grayson's characteristic style and made Damian long for what he lost, because even if it was for such a short period of time, those had been the happiest days of his life. Days that he could never get back, because Richard left, eager to retake his life in Blüdhaven while parting from everything else: Batman, Gotham, Damian. Not that he could fault Grayson for that, it was understandable, because everybody always left him behind: his mother, his father, his friends and his teams. Pennyworth was the only one that never did and in the end, his reward had been paying for Damian's mistakes.

If it indeed this was a ring in hell made for him, at least this time the punishment fitted the crime.

Naturally, back then, Damian had been unable to tell the real reason behind his avoidance of everything related to Dick and instead, he was convinced that what he felt was annoyance at the reminder of Grayson's days as a mediocre Batman, more so now that he was finally at his father's rightful side. His father, Bruce Wayne, the superior Batman, the real one.

All that denial and disdain, to what end? Because even back then, he knew, deep down, that he truthfully considered Grayson as his Batman... and, ironically, that made his father the replacement, the inferior one, the consolation prize.

Now, as always, thanks to his own shortcomings, Damian had to piece back the events from his past with only vague memories on where to look at. Currently, there wasn't any activity related to vampire covens in Gotham Cemetery or unoriginal church obsessed crooks. Hush and Zsasz were still in confinement and Damian had to be an absolute imbecile to allow them to escape imprisonment on his watch; it was also too early to think about Black Lanterns or bombs on historic landmarks of the city, which only left him with worries about bigger fishes like the Joker, Hurt or Red Hood. With any luck, Todd wasn't going to attract a new garden-variety of criminals to the city this time, but if he did, Damian was going to make him regret it, because he really didn't have the time nor the will for that kind of nonsense.

On the other hand, from what he gathered, Sexton's wife “died” before Damian even made it to Gotham and with the Joker still missing, the only rational next step was to wait; as for Hurt and his freaks, there hadn't been any sign of them despite Damian's constant surveillance, so he came to at a standstill.... until today's afternoon, that is.

Using pure, boring, detective work, he was sure he finally found a promising lead after months of being in the lookout. In the past, that's all he would need to be on the move, but as stated before, his newly night freedom came with the price of acting like the perfect little soldier, always following the rules and doing everything Alfred told him to do, which was the reason why instead of taking his gear and going out in the middle of the evening, what he chose to do was to look for Alfred, who at the moment was very busy in the kitchen, with a variety of cookware in the stove and all sorts of food in different stages of preparation scattered over the counters, giving the impression he was in the process of making a banquet all on his own.

Suppressing a sigh, Damian crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture. “I know you're indisposed at the moment, so I thought prudent to inform you I'm going out early today, an unexpected development has come up. Don't worry, your assistance won't be needed."

Alfred, who was currently chopping carrots over a cutting board, paused his movements just momentarily before resuming his work. “Master Damian,” ah, there it was, his admonishing tone. “What a big coincidence it is, for this development to happen on the day you knew I was going to be very preoccupied with this task, not to mention Master Timothy's absence.”

“Some would say that coincidences don't exist but I'm telling the truth, this wasn't planned,” and finally, he did sighed like he was trying not to. “It's a lead I need to follow and I don't want to disrupt your work, so I would... appreciate,” he said the word like he was unsure if that was its correct use. “If you allow me to do it on my own. I promise I'll be careful and follow protocol.”

For the next few moments Pennyworth stayed silent, skillfully moving the knife in a way that Damian knew that, despite being a master with sharp objects, he wouldn't be able to perfectly imitate. “We make decisions daily,” Alfred said then, almost soothingly. “Some are big, some are insignificant... but at the end, we all go to bed with the consequences, whatever they may be.” He finally stopped, carefully leaving the knife on the table, graciously turning to his left side, putting his hands behind his back, mirroring Damian's posture. “Damian, right now, at this very moment, I'm choosing to take your word and I can only pray this decision will not haunt me for the rest of my nights.”

Damian stood there, actually stunned for a few seconds before glaring at the man. “Pennyworth, please,” he uttered with obvious disapproval. “This is just some measly vigilante work, the use of your Thespian training is highly unnecessary and honestly, insulting.” He crossed his arms then, angling his head high. “When I become the head of this household I'll make sure your salary reflects the cost of your continuous disrespect.”  

To Damian's utter fascination, Alfred actually cracked a smile, full, amused and free of any pretension. “Hopefully by then I would have retired to a quiet and peaceful life in the countryside of Suffolk.” And just like that, all gravity was gone from Alfred's demeanor when he went back to his task. “All jesting aside, I do agree with your intentions, this seems to be a good moment as any for you to start acting without supervision, as I know you're capable of.” His tone sounded too light, almost cheery. “A promise from you is all I need, my boy, I trust you with my life.”

...

Damn it all to hell, now Damian really had to behave. Pennyworth, that treacherous man!

The last time he had been in Paris Island, was after a long night of running around the city trying to foil a very harebrained plan from Loveless; looking back, he didn't know why he bothered when he owed nothing to that Gotham he was stranded in. How ironic then, being back in this island for the same reason, at least on principle.

Ah, sometimes he hated Grayson for having ruined him irreparably with his kindness.

Unlike the Paris Island from the future, this one was just slightly less in disrepair but they were significant differences, like the presence of the failed residential complex buildings from the Anderson Real Estate Company: they were abandoned and falling apart, but still standing. And if his search had been correct, they were the perfect place to house dangerous criminals too.

Anticipating another long night, Damian selected one of the many buildings at random, knowing that the chances of finding what he was looking for at the first try were slim, but maybe he will get unlucky enough. Despite the building being completely boarded-up, he had no problems finding the spots where people had previously broke-in and taking that as his starting point, he entered as the last rays of the sun died in the sky. Like he anticipated, this search not only took him what it felt like an eternity, but it was also very unfruitful. From the basement to the last floor, he moved quietly, carefully, finding only traces of homeless people but nothing else. His search on the second building he entered went the same, with the only noteworthy thing being some empty shell casings in one of the first floors, but without any hint of an actual crime being committed to go along with the discovery.

The third building, however, made him take a longer pause when he was examining it. It was boarded-up too, but one of the side entrances had been freed and there were signs all over the ground of constant human activity, from tire tracks to footprints. In a way it was a bold display, making him more wary to the point he went to look out for a different point of entrance, ultimately deciding to make use of a basement window, taking the necessary tools from his belt to cut through the cover and once the window was open, he looked carefully inside before sliding in, standing still for a few moments and evaluating his surroundings, concluding easily that the place was far from being abandoned.

When he started to walk, he did it cautiously, looking for the slightest movement or smallest sound, taking notice of the objects he was passing but not considering any important enough for a second glance, at least until he briskly come to a halt by something that wasn't seen or heard; something faint but so recognizable.

The unique, unmistakable smell of human decay.

Damian gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists, his steps becoming incensed while he started to look for the body that without a doubt was there, berating himself for daring to hope something better than this, because this outcome should've been the only one expected from the start, given the kind of beast he was hunting for. His search finally led him to a far corner to the left side of the window he used to sneak him; whatever horrors that were awaiting him, they were hidden in what it seemed a very intentional way by assorted junk, with boxes, crates, planks and gas tanks doing most of the work to obscure what Damian already knew he was going to find. Or the quantity.

It had been some time since he thought about his mother in terms of gratitude, but as he reached for his gas mask, he couldn't help but think about her; as with the majority of his skills and born talents, if he was able to stomach the odor of putrefaction with ease, it was all thanks to Talia. Regardless of how Damian felt about his mother's actions, she really made a work of art out of him... whether that art was of war or utter tragedy, it was all a matter of perspective in the end.

What was expecting him once he made his way through the clutter, was not exactly what he was imagining initially. Cornered against the walls were rectangular wooden crates, stacked one over the other, forming two piles, one consisting of four crates and the other one of three. Damian didn't need to make sure about the content of the boxes, since it was rather obvious, but he still approached the shorter pile, waving his hand in an attempt to chase away the flies while examining the lid before testing it, trying to push it with two fingers and noticing immediately it wasn't nailed. He stood on his toes and firmly grabbed the lid with his right hand and lifted it. 

Just as he assumed, there was a body there.

Like he had done countless of times before, Damian started to examine the scene with the same urgent precision of someone that knows the killer could be hiding somewhere in the same room as them. For the unaware, the wood shavings filling the crate and the industrial bubble wrap encasing the body would be seen as attempts to hide the terrible crime being committed there, but the grotesque mask covering the face of the victim, with its fiery artificial red hair and bloated features, told Damian that the killer wasn't trying to contain the messiness of rotting bodies... but to store dolls. Because in the eyes of Lazlo Valentin, that's what the people that fell into his hands were: just objects, imperfect and disposable.

Despite this ghastly discovery, Damian knew that he couldn't deviate from his original plan; there was even more urgency now, considering that police intervention was needed sooner than he initially expected. He had to find Valentin immediately.

He took off the mask covering his mouth and with renovated urgency, he retraced his steps with the intention of investigate the rest of the basement before venturing upstairs, however, he didn't need to go that far before bumping into the next evidence of Lazlo's involvement in this place: a couple of tables with a makeshift lab over them. Compared with anything Damian ever saw about the man, everything over the table was strangely placed in an orderly manner, even with things appropriately labeled, it seemed. With any luck there would be there something that could help them deal with Lazlo's drugs, which Damian knew were already in the market.

Considering the situation, the laboratory and whatever it was in the vials, they were the last thing in Damian's priorities, so he decided to ignore it and keep surveying, not that it took him long to come across the next sign that Valentin was using this place for his nightmarish experiments and not just as a dumping ground. He noticed first the coppery smell of blood, before finding the haunting sight of a solitary operation table, covered with a sheet that no doubt was once white. Damian inspected this new scene full of silent horrors, trying to determine how long was the last time Lazlo used this table and the instruments that were over the cart. He eyed the unsavory tools, focusing for a moment in a hammer that was in the middle of a drill and a screwdriver, and he couldn't help but wonder... if he used that same hammer to break Lazlo's fingers, would the set back with Grayson and Pennyworth be big enough to not be worth it? But before he could truly consider jeopardizing his standing, something caught his attention abruptly.

Just like the stench of death when he first started exploring, this other thing was as subtle. A small sound, almost unnoticeable.

Without hesitation, Damian decided to walk in the direction of whatever was there in here with him, but as he came closer and closer, the sound became clearer, enough for him to distinguish what it was. Crying.

Ever vigilant, knowing that the crying could be a lure if he had been discovered - even if he hadn't spot any cameras yet -, he kept his guard high while moving in the darkness. Not too far from where the operation table was located, there was what it seemed to be a storage room; Damian approached the heavy metal door and put his right ear against it, determining that what he was hearing definitely sounded like a child. 

So, this really was going to be one of those nights.

He examined the lock that kept the room closed and took the appropriate lockpicks from his belt, fidgeting with it and opening it in seconds. He left the lock carefully at one side of the door over the floor, trying to make as less noise as possible, but as soon as he lifted the handle of the slide bolt, the grating sound it made alerted whoever was inside, because the crying stopped immediately. With that plan out of the window, Damian didn't even bother to open the door with caution; although he stayed alert for the possibility of a confrontation, it was clear soon enough that the only thing in the room were three metal cages. And as one would expect from a abhorrent place like this, the cages were sufficiently big as to imprison people, not that the speculation was needed when one of them currently held a couple of captives.

Damian couldn't calculate how old they were from their positions, since they were cornered as far as they could go in the confines of the cage, facing backwards, but he at least could tell one was a kid, despite the fact that the older person was, presumably, trying to shield them in their arms, not that it was very effective. 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he enunciated firmly. “I'm here to help.”

He was hoping the young sound of his voice would be enough to instill some assurance in them, but when the only thing it did was to made them flinch, he lowered the hood from his head with one hand while he looked for his flashlight with the other, walking towards the cage.

“I'm working with Batman.” He finally added, not knowing what could be more comforting than that to a victim in this crime infested city.

And apparently he was right, because the older of the two finally turned to face him in the dark before Damian turned the flashlight, directing the low light to his side as to not blind them. There, in the cage, was a teenager, dressed in casual clothes and other that the haunted look on her face, she seemed relatively well given the circumstances, since at first glance she didn't seem physically harmed, but he couldn't be sure about the state of the kid, hidden in the girl's protective arms. 

Before kneeling in front of them, Damian made sure to do it at an angle that gave him perfect view of the door, in case Valentin - or anyone, really - decided to appear out of nowhere. He left the flashlight on the floor while he retrieved again his lockpicks, this time to work on the cage's lock.

“Is any of you injured?” He questioned, taking the lock in his hands.

It was as if a spell had been lifted, because the girl suddenly came to life, squinting eyes finally focusing on his face, not looking at him anymore as if he was a ghost or an hallucination.

“I, ah...” she began, voice weak before gasping, but after that, her voice became unusually steady. “I'm Merle Smith and this is my sister Roselin, we were taken from Langstone Lane on April Seventh, my sister is fine but I think my left foot it's broken or something, it hurts a lot when I try to move it, I don't know where we are or why this person, man, did this to us, we've had never seen him before.”

The lock clicked open. “That's was very informative.” Damian couldn't help but said, with a frown. 

“My mom is a Nine One One operator.” She answered and then the façade was broken. “Oh, you have to call my mom, please, please! Tell her we're okay!”

“I need to get you out of here first,” he stated, stepping away and opening the door of the cage. “How long has it been since you saw the man who did this?”

“I—I don't know, he took my phone, I don't know how long we've been here, I can't see the sky, there's no windows. Why are you asking? You didn't catch him?”

“I’m planning to but this is more important, can you walk? Climb?”

Merle gasped again, fear taking, if it was possible, more color from her already paled face. “I don't know, I don't think, I, I,” whatever she was going to say, she stopped, staring into nothingness for a moment. If Damian hadn't been paying attention to the door, he would've believed that Lazlo was right there. “Rose, Rose,” she called, releasing her sister from her embrace, gripping her firmly from the arms, forcing her to look at her. “Listen to me, Rose, you have to go with Robin, okay? Go with him and do what he says, I'll catch up later, okay?” Now that she wasn't hiding from the world, it was clear that Roselin couldn't be older than a kindergartener and just like one, she reacted with a wail, launching herself against her sister, clinging to her in the midst of a desperate refusal.

It had been years since anyone alive referred to Damian as Robin. It was a familiar name. Forgotten. A name that only Damian and the ghosts from his past called him, uttered in memories and hopeless daydreams. An era long gone.

And at the same time, it felt so fitting, so normal, so trivial, that Damian didn't bother to correct the misunderstanding, because it stood to reason, didn't it? R on his chest or not, a kid claiming allegiance to Batman, rescuing people from a killer in the middle of the night, who else would it be, if not Robin?

But Robin - The Robin he had been - would never ever consider what Damian was about to do.

“Both of you, stop it,” he said firmly and loud enough to be heard over the sisters' voices at the same time he activated the tracker that was in his belt, which effectively made available his location to the rest of the zanies that worked for his father's cause. “No one is staying behind, now try and be quiet, I need a moment.” And suppressing his usual sigh, he fidgeted with the lines of his comm before talking in the most neutral tone he could manage. “Oracle, do you hear me?” While he waited for an answer, he began to give the room a second glance, like he was expecting it to conjure a window or a hidden passage.

“Loud and clear, this better be important, I'm a little busy.” Came finally the answer just when Damian was about to try a second time.

“I'm at what I suspect is a serial killer's basement,” he started without preamble. “There's a body confirmed but the count may rise to seven, I don't know the whereabouts of the perpetrator but there's two captives here, sisters, a teenager and a kid, the teenager is injured and by her own estimation she may not be able to climb using my point of entrance, how should I proceed?” He finished saying, as brief and concise as he could.

Robin would've try to solve this little crisis on his own, just like the first time he faced Professor Pyg, regardless of that outcome.

No One, on the other hand, had rules to follow: when confronted with a genuinely precarious situation, he was to call Pennyworth immediately... or Gordon, if the first wasn't available.

On the other side, Barbara's answer was almost as immediate as his explanation. “I see work started early today,” she put it mildly, with that same dry humor everyone in this line of occupation adopted eventually. “Okay, here's what you're going to do,” she said after a brief pause. “Stay with the girls, hide if you can and try to avoid fighting, give me a second, I'll call you back.”

Well, that was as useful as he expected it, but at least Pennyworth couldn't complain now about Damian not following instructions.

When he went back to the cage, he got as far to open his mouth to say his next words but Merle was faster than him. “Was that Batman? Did you call him?” She asked eagerly, desperation in her words but full hope in her eyes.

“Of course,” he answered without missing a beat. “This is not a good place to be, we need to move.” Without waiting for an answer, Damian put his hand behind his back, detaching the extendable staff that he carried on the belt.

As much as he loathed using Tim's preferred weapon more often than not, it was out of necessity, because his sword was, at this point, more of a fashion statement than anything else, giving the fact that the enemies he was facing on the daily were just thieves, gang members and low-tier street drug dealers, so it was imperative to employ non-lethal tools. Maybe one of these days he'll have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like Deathstroke and finally put his sword to good use.

Damian expanded the staff and put it front of him, gesturing towards the teen. “Here, hold onto it.”

This seemed to be what finally convinced Merle to move, because she let go of Roselin, pushing her gently to encourage her to get out of the cage. Once Roselin was out, Merle followed suit, struggling to stand up even with Damian's help, taking deep breaths, but despite this, as soon as she was stable in one feet, supporting her weight with the staff, she was quickly to put a conciliatory hand over her sister's head, muttering reassurances and smiling at her like everything was right in the world; somehow, it reminded Damian of Richard. 

“Follow me,” he said, taking the flashlight from the floor, turning around to look directly at Roselin, extending his other hand, very obviously asking for hers. “And don't talk, we need to be as quiet as possible.” Roselin looked at her sister as if asking permission and with just one nod from Merle, she took Damian's hand with more force than what he was expecting.

After that, the silence was broken only by the constant hits the staff made against the concrete floor and the noise of lumbering steps; if it weren't for the fact that they were pressed for time, Damian would've exanimated Merle's injury, but staying in that room made them sitting ducks, although if, realistically, taking on Lazlo and his possible brainwashed victims shouldn't be a problem for Damian, more so since he came especially prepared for crowd control, but the presence of the sisters changed things and moving them to a safer position was the priority now.

Damian's intention was to lead them in the same direction he originally came from, because it was far away from the stairs and he was already familiar with that area. Sadly, fortune didn't favor him much these days, because even a plan as simple as that crumbled in an instant: over the noise of Merle's limping, he caught something else and stopped straightway, making a shushing sound that made Roselin squeeze his hand hard. His vacillation was minuscule because the next second, he turned and swiftly lifted the kid in his arms, covering her mouth with his left hand.

“Someone's coming,” he whispered. “We need to hide,” he pointed with his head the same operation table he passed before. “Under there.”

Damian started to run, so he didn't see the way Merle covered too her mouth with one of her hands, her eyes filled with sudden tears the moment she put her left foot on the floor, drowning as much as she could her cries of pain while she started to run, following the shaking light from the flashlight, which Damian left on the ground when he deposited Roselin under the table, not wasting a second, he turned back with the intention of helping Merle, just in time to catch her when she tripped with her own feet; with one hand he supported her weight, with the other he caught the staff inches before it hit the floor and using Merle's own momentum from the fall, he spun her to the side, making her reach the floor almost delicately. While she crawled the last stretch, Damian retracted the staff, slipped under the table, turning off the flashlight as soon as Merle made it and proceeded to arrange the cloth, trying to hide the fact that it had been disturbed. Doing all of this felt like an eternity, but in reality they hid just in time, because almost as soon as Damian was done fixing the sheet, the heavy sound of a door opening in the distance was heard and then, there was light.

Fortunately, as Damian estimated when he examined the table initially, the fabric was thick enough to shield their silhouettes, not that the illumination was that good from what he could discern. He paid close attention to the sound of steps that sounded like they were going down the stairs, determining there they were just three people, which was theoretically, very manageable.

In a better reality, Lazlo - because it was him, merrily singing, like he did in some of Damian's nightmares -, would be here to check on his cursed drugs or something similar. However, in this reality, his steps and the ones that accompanied him came closer to the operation table, not to pass it by on the way to the lab, but to take the same route Damian did previously, following Rose's crying. Hiding was, it seemed, a very temporary solution that was going to be useless as soon as Valentin saw the empty room.

Damian took a glance at the sisters, who were back in the same position he found them: Merle tightly hugging Roselin, trying to protect her from the horrors of the world in her arms, that were so small and delicate in comparison of the last arms that hugged Damian just some days ago.

Having made a decision, he carefully slid out of the table from the opposite side where Lazlo was, silently moving around the table, leaning against its corners, trying to stay hidden as much as possible until he finally had a clear vision of Pyg and the unfortunate men following him, clothed in purple dresses and red wigs, unwillingly functioning as what Valentin infamously called Dollotrons. With their back turned to Damian, he had the opportunity to attack at that moment, but he still waited to jump into action, like a feline considering the best moment to pounce; ignorant of this, Valentin had been talking to himself, just spouting a myriad of incoherent thoughts voiced out loud, happily moving through the room with the feather steps of someone who lacked any worries... but that stopped as soon as he came close enough to notice the missing lock and the slightly ajar open door. That was the moment Damian chose to make his move.

His presence was announced with a smoke bomb that appeared like it was magically conjured on the floor in the middle of three men; while Lazlo suffered through a coughing fit, the pig mask doing very little to protect him from the smoke, Damian was already running towards him, passing in between the Dollotrons and using the staff for support, he jumped to dropkick Pyg in the middle of the back, sending him stumbling forward, where he hit the ground after trying and falling to stay on his feet, perfectly landing inside the room. 

And before Lazlo even understood what was happening, Damian hurried to take the handle of the door, slamming it shut. “Tt. Idiot.” He exclaimed unceremoniously as soon as the slide bolt was back in place again.

Whatever unspeakable experiments the men had been subjected to under Lazlo's hand, whether it was the drugs or the operations made on them, the bomb didn't do enough to incapacitate them, but unlike the last time, when he was easily overpowered due to the sheer amount of Dollotrons he was fighting against, Damian found little trouble into subduing his opponents with almost no effort. Such simplicity was so unexpected, anticlimactic some would say, that he stood for a moment in silence after he finished restraining them, like he was expecting for new attackers to jump from the shadows out of nowhere, attracted by all the noise caused by the fight, but nobody else came. Maybe Lazlo was still in the process of amassing his compelled army, which could explain the dead bodies and just two lonely Dollotrons accompanying him.

The tension in his body was only broken when his commlink activated again, not with the voice he was expecting. “No One, report.”

“I was forced to engage, things are under control, the girls are fine, I also have reason to believe I imprisoned the one behind this. ETA?”

“Twelve minutes.”

“You should look out for henchmen in dresses when you get here, they may be more in the building. I think their boss was using a pig mask.”

“One of those nights, uh?”

The small amount of irony in Dick's terrible impression of Batman brought a wave of fleeting nostalgia that Damian promptly chased away. It seemed that, as much as he had changed with the years, he was still attuned to Grayson and the fool will never know it.

The Dynamic Duo that never were.

Later Damian would have the time mope around, but for now he still had a job to do, so he went to where Lazlo was making a ruckus, screaming and kicking the door; he stopped in front of it, flicking his wrist, making the staff to retract again and using one of its ends, he proceeded to repeatedly hit it against the door until Valentin went silent on the other side.

“Shut up,” he said as loud as he could, very close to yelling. “Aphrodite has forsaken you,” while saying this, he bent down to take the lock that was exactly where he left it. “You mock her.” He finalized, locking again the door as a final insult.

Damian's words were apparently stunning enough for Pyg to actually keep silent for a moment before resuming his racketing, but by that moment, he already made his way back to the operation table.

“Batman is almost here.” He announced as a way of alerting the sisters of his proximity before lifting the sheet.

Merle's startled expression took a few seconds to change, but when Damian's words settled in, she relaxed and started to gently shake her sister. “Rose, Batman's almost here,” she repeated, as if Roselin hadn't heard Damian's words. “It's okay now, it's okay, we're going home, shhh, shhh.” Merle started rock her sister, muttering one assurance after another.

Knowing there was little he could do, since he was terrible at offering comfort, Damian turned his back to them, trying to at least offer some semblance of space without leaving them unguarded. Colin definitely would be better at this if he were there.

Grayson took more than those twelve minutes to finally come to the basement using the same stairs Valentin did. To avoid unnecessary scares, Damian announced Batman's arrival and subsequent movements to the sisters right until Grayson was at his side and without saying anything to Damian, Dick moved the table out of the way and knelt down, offering the comforting words Damian couldn't while lifting both girls in his arms without problem. This seemed what it got Merle at last, because she started to cry, not with loud whimpers, but a torrent of tears and shaking shoulders.

“I'm taking them to the car,” Dick said, finally addressing Damian at the same time he started to walk towards the stairs. “The police and the EMTs should be here shortly, you're going to stay with them while I sort this out.”

“Shouldn't be better if I stay behind to make sure the pig doesn't escape?” He pointed to the door where Pyg could still be heard making noise in the background. “He can have more of his men just waiting.” Truth to be told, Damian wasn't really trying to argue his point, because he knew that Grayson was going to prioritize the girls, he just couldn't help but to voice the course of action that sounded more logical to him.

It came as a surprise then, when Dick stopped, the white slits of his mask narrowing while he looked directly at Damian with the same expression he used when he was analyzing evidence. It was, of course, just momentarily, because he quickly resumed his walking.

“Fine, wait for me and don't wander off.”

It goes without saying that Damian was taken by surprise, never expecting Grayson to accept so easily his suggestion; when Damian was his Robin, it took months for Dick to take his eyes out of him while patrolling, given all the madness that accompanied said activity more often than not. Of course Damian managed to go on his own way, especially in the day, because Grayson couldn't keep him under surveillance twenty-four seven, as he had better things to do as Batman. So this? This immediate trust in Damian's judgement in the middle of this kind of situation? He had to work so hard for it in the past! 

How liberating, finally having concrete proof that it was never about his age or his skills... the problem had always been just Damian himself. 

On the brighter side, seeing the extend in which this Grayson was willing to trust him was very informative, something that no doubt he was going to use in the future if the need ever presented.

His Machiavellian undertakings - as Pennyworth took to call them - where interrupted when Grayson's voice filled his ear through the comm again. “As soon as I'm there, I want you to get to the Batmobile fast, it's parked on the front. Knock twice on the window so the girls know it's you and call me after to let you in.”

“No need, you know I have access.”

“Robin changed the codes—”

“I know.”

“Let me finish, he changed them again before going with the Teen Titans.”

“I know, I have those.”

“Already?”

“I'm resourceful.”

“I'm starting to feel a little worried about exactly how resourceful you are.”

“It's too late for that.”

“You have too much free time, Agent A doesn't give you enough homework.”

“I'll make your life very miserable if you dare to share that with him.”

“I thought you were already trying that.” Damian would've been very offended at that statement, given he was on his best behavior, but even when he wasn't looking at him, he could still see the playful smile in Grayson's face. “Don't forget to call me when the first responders arrive, the girls are fine, Oracle is keeping an eye on them but I don't want anyone else snooping around the car.”

When Dick finally appeared again, Damian didn't bother to said anything else to him, having summarized the state of the room Valentin was in, so he directly ran to the stairs after exchanging a nod with Grayson. The building had the same layout as the one Damian inspected previously, so he didn't have problems navigating through it, he was, however, a bit surprised seeing more Dollotrons incapacitated on his path towards the exit, no doubt by Batman's hand. They weren't a lot, which supported his theory of Lazlo starting just recently with his horrendous experimentations, so in all likelihood he just went down with two of them and left the rest upstairs to keep guard.

Like Dick instructed, once he reached the car, he went directly to the driver's side, tapping on the window twice before letting himself in with the help of his pocket computer, jumping inside; despite the warning, the sisters flinched, which was perfectly normal response given the circumstances.

Merle hurried to shush her sister who was, of course, in her arms still. “It's fine, it's fine, it's just Robin, see?” From her position, Roselin moved her head slightly, just enough to let her right eye take a peek in Damian's direction before promptly getting comfortable again, hiding from view with the extra help of the foil blankets that Grayson clearly provided them. “Do you think the police is going to take long?” She said this time directed at him. “I really want to call my parents.”

Instead of dismissing the question like he would normally do in the past, Damian leaned forward and with the practiced movements of someone that has done this countless, he maneuvered the panel in the front, with the information appearing almost instantly in one of the screens. “At least twenty minutes more, there's a roadblock on the way of the nearest Police Station, the paramedics are going to be here first.”

Merle took a deep breath, her hand stroking Roselin's hair. “Can you call them? Like you called Batman.”

“We save the people, the police takes care of the rest.”

Merle frowned and for a second it looked like she was going to protest, but then she just slowly exhaled, leaning back against the seat. “Fair.”

All considered, the recent horrifying events were probably why Merle didn't have the will to argue against Damian's explanation, so at least he wasn't going to discuss the particularities of vigilante pseudo-rules with a traumatized teenager in the middle of the night... which he would, because that was how useless he was when it came to dealing with civilians, hence the reason Batman, Jon or anyone else present but him always took care of that part. Not like it seemed like he would've to worry about that in this case, because it was clear that Merle went back to pretend she was doing perfectly for the sake of her sister, chattering about nothing in an effort to fill the silence and not think too much about everything that just happened.

Damian recognized this babbling for what it was, but still, he couldn't stop himself from insert his opinion when something in her words caught his attention, probably because he was an idiot. “You should adopt.”

Merle stopped talking, a brief look of confusing in her face, like she wasn't expecting for Damian to talk again. “What?”

“If you want a dog, you should adopt one instead of buying it.” He clarified, like a fool, because odds were that Merle was just trying to cheer up Roselin with the prospect of a new pet. “If you're really considering it,” he continued, because apparently he couldn't just shut up. “Gotham Rescue Center is a good place, they treat their animals kindly.”

“That's cool,” she said, her tone ambiguous. “Do you like them?”

“The shelter or the animals?”

“Dogs.”

He frowned slightly, as always, trying to look disinterested with these kind of topics. “They're noble companions.”

Merle chuckled, like he just said a joke she found amusing. “I like German shepherds, but our place is too small. My dad wants a dachshund but my mom always says no.” And she shrugged, as much as she could with her arms full. 

“You should try to ask her again in a few days,” of course Damian wasn't trying to insinuate Merle should guilt trip her mother, but if the opportunity was there, well... surely her daughters deserved something for their ordeal. “If you think it'll help, next month the adoption fee in Chasing Friends is going to be half.”

“I don't know that one, where is it?”

There was a degree of absurdity in the conversation Damian and Merle submerged in, talking about street directions and appropriate dog breeds for small apartments, like Merle and her sister didn't went just through the worst experience of their short lives. But it worked, because time passed by faster and soon, sirens were heard on the distance, prompting Damian to call Dick, as he was instructed to do and in the blink of an eye, Grayson was there, helping carry the sisters over to the paramedics, in time for Commissioner Gordon to arrive at the scene in what was most likely his own personal vehicle, still no police cars in sight.

While Batman went to encounter Gordon, Damian observed in silence the sisters being settled in the back of the ambulance until the doors finally closed, just some moments after the police showed up. Now, standing without purpose on the brink of the frenzy he knew was coming, the only thing Damian could thought about doing was to back fall back into very old habits: he put his hood over his head and rushed to Grayson's side. Despite Merle's misperception of his identity, Damian wasn't trying to delude himself and believe his presence there had more meaning than a mere coincidence; so he purposely stayed out of the way, doing his best to pretend he was Grayson's shadow, not like it was that difficult to go unnoticed when not only Dick but also him were wearing black, even if Grayson's costume had a tint of blue in it, something easily ignored at night.

Once, Gordon and him had a brief disagreement about Damian's presence in crime cases: the Commissioner insinuated that his involvement could be reduced to Damian just “tagging along”. Naturally, he took offense at the time... and look at him now, doing exactly that, just following Grayson and Gordon, out of sight and quiet, like an afterthought.

And maybe that's how this night would've ended, with no one paying attention to him, until Grayson got tired and dismissed him or Damian found a good moment to leave when nobody was watching. But as much as he wanted to stay out of this, of not acting like there was value in his input, that he mattered, he couldn't keep silent when Dick and Gordon started to discuss Pyg's basement of horrors. Unlike all those times where Damian could only try and guide Grayson without giving away too much, this time it was perfectly reasonable for him to have answers, it was part of his own alibi, after all.

“He's not just another maniac like Zsasz.” He stated, voice firm and apathetic from his place behind Grayson. “I don't think killing was the motivation.” Batman turned, stepping away to let Gordon have a clear view of Damian, but he ignored the Commissioner and instead, he looked at Grayson. “Do you remember the drug ring I was investigating? Some weeks ago I found a drug I wasn't familiar with, I've been tracking it ever since.” Which wasn't a lie entirely, he did encounter Lazlo's drug, just not by accident but because he was actively looking for it. “That's why I originally came here.”

At the start of his partnership with Grayson, Damian did and said a lot of outrageous things, but Grayson always tried to admonish him on private, because it wasn't good for their image to argue in front of civilians, especially the police. That's how Damian became accustomed to the subtle tells in Grayson's face and posture that promised a lecture as soon as they jumped in the Batmobile.

Damian thought he was never going to see that look again on this Batman. “I expect a full report about this later.” That absolutely was code for “you're in trouble”.   

“This is my case, I saw no point on a report before I solved it.” He defended himself, crossing his arms. “I was expecting a drug lord, not a psychopathic serial killer.” Which was true in part, because he wasn't aware of Pyg losing lives at the start of his grisly experiments.

“That's Gotham for you, son,” said Gordon, turning to Dick, deliberately looking at his white eyes over the frame of his glasses. “I see your Robin lost his colors.”

“Commissioner, this is No One,” Grayson introduced at last, probably because that was the only course of action left. “He works with us.”

“Your sidekicks keep getting younger.” James' lips twitched slightly with displeasure, more noticeably thanks to his moustache. “It's a little late for a school night, don't you think?”

The indirect accusation was there, plain and simple.

In the past, after his father's disappearance, it had been easier to disregard Damian's size because both, Batman and Robin were different, losing a few inches in height with the upgrade. Now, however, with Drake still working as Robin, the contrast between him and Damian must be too striking to ignore if Gordon took some sort of offense towards his age.

“It's preposterous that you're entertaining the idea of judging me by the standards of a normal child, who do you think saved those girls you saw?” He refuted, his voice full of contempt. “You're the Commissioner, I thought you were supposed to be smart. If this is the best Gotham's Police has to offer, it's no wonder the city went to the dogs.”

Gordon's eyebrows threatened to disappear under his hair from how high he raised them, and with a weary look that a lot of people had directed at Damian before, he turned to Grayson again. “Where did you find this one? Gotham's School for Wayward Boys?”

“Don't worry, Commissioner, No One can handle himself just fine,” Grayson was very good at keeping a straight face, but Damian could see his amusement, which he supposed was better than Grayson being peeved at his lack of communication. “But if he ever comes to you for help, assist him like you would do for Robin.” Then he turned to look at Damian, stern. “You're done for the night, go back. No detours. I want that report at the ready.”

It was sort of funny, Dick thinking he had any kind of authority over him when Damian wasn't Robin. He must even thought that making that report was like an equivalent of forcing Damian to write lines, like Damian didn't have a whole fake investigation in the waiting, the same one he started to prepare when him and Colin stumbled upon Pyg's work in the streets for the first time. 

Grayson said it himself, Damian had too much free time.

Chapter Text

Just as Damian expected it, his latest night adventure came with a price.

Originally, when Alfred planned his upcoming trip to Scotland, he agreed to let Damian continue with his usual activities under Barbara's supervision, but it was clear he had been more displeased by Damian's actions than what he anticipated, since they had different opinions on what constituted “measly vigilante work”. Apparently, despite what Gotham's tabloids say, serial killers with brainwashed armies didn't qualify for run-of-the-mill news.

Instead of being annoyed for being grounded, Damian was honestly impressed it took this long for something like this to happen. An undisputable new record.

Given how significant it was for his plans to put Pyg out of commission before he perfected his methods with the Dollotrons, Damian gracefully accepted Pennyworth's sanction, since being confined to the penthouse until Alfred came back didn't mean he had to stop working on his other projects. And so, the second morning of Alfred's absence found him occupied on the kitchen, fixing himself something he could eat in his room, not because he disliked Pennyworth's meal prep, but because Damian was still in the middle of his campaign to learn how to decently cook, so having himself as the only judge of his efforts was less humiliating.

While busy with this task, Tim decided this was a good time to burdened him with his presence, appearing through one of the doors, looking as sleep deprived as usual, but at least awake enough to display his normal wariness about Damian daring to exists in his vicinity.

“Drake.” He said as a greeting, because he was the better mannered of the two.

“Plotting how to poison us?”

Given it was difficult to redirect Drake's antagonism to Alfred since Damian didn't want to bother the man with unnecessary long distance calls, he opted for the second best thing. “The meals Pennyworth left for you are untouched and if you have doubts, there's a camera here for a reason, as I've told you many times before.”

“You could've altered the feed.”

“Taking those measures to get rid of you it's too much effort for little reward.”

“Good to know you're waiting for Ra's to up the stakes.”

“Ah, yes, my grandfather, the living relic of ancient times that undoubtedly still wants to steal my body. You're so right, Drake, I'm eagerly at his beck and call knowing what are his plans for me, clearly I have room temperature IQ and I don't know what's better for my continued existence. Bravo, detective, you cracked the case.”

“Oh, god, shut up, how are you so annoying this early?”

“Some of us have brains that can perfectly function under any circumstance.”

“Whatever.” What a shame that Damian can't tell Drake that him and Todd had the exact same way of intoning that word when trying to be dismissive; seeing the horror in Tim's face would've been worth the trouble.

Possibly Drake was trying to make the most of Alfred's absence, to get out of his system all the antipathy he had been keeping to himself ever since Damian decided to follow Colin's advice, because as soon as he was back from his little trip to the refrigerator with one of the food containers that Alfred left, he went directly to where Damian was still trying his best attempt at cooking breakfast; he left the food over the counter and crossing his arms, rested his lower back against it, giving Damian a mocking look.

“Your argument about the food not being poisoned isn't very convincing when you're not eating the same as us.”

“This may come as a surprise to you,” he started, voice monotonous. “But knowing how to adequately cook is a basic life skill, one I'm trying to perfect.”

“We can't make you shut up about how good your training is, but you're learning this just now?”

“I can cook a fish in the middle of a frozen mountain, knowing how to spice it is a different skill altogether, not that you would anything about it, Drake, you're as bad as Grayson when it comes to cooking for yourself.”

Begrudgingly Tim had to admit that possibly Damian was right about his mind being sharper than his own in the mornings, but only because he was younger and wasn't putting in the same kind of effort that him and Dick were in the nights, so it was easier for Damian to have the energy to be this pedantic before the afternoon... but letting him have the last word would be like admitting defeat, so he tried to think of anything to make a decent comeback.

However Tim was drowsy enough to be unable to think something witty to use as a retort, so instead he went for the first thing that crossed his mind. “You sure brag a lot about being smart but you keep calling me the wrong name.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My name is Tim Wayne,” he said slowly, as if he was repeating himself. “You want me to be civil? Then use my name right.”

Damian actually stopped for a second from his attempt to arrange in his plate the benedict eggs he spent that morning making, if they could be called that, since they didn't contain any bacon or ham.

How nostalgic, old newcomer Damian would've been riled up about that declaration no doubt, but that statement stopped being true long before he even started his attempts to mess with time. A shame Drake refused to get with the program, if he did, he would've found better ways to infuriate Damian by now, instead of fighting with outdated techniques. Damian considered that the presentation of his breakfast was acceptable enough, so he took the plate and got down from the step stool he was in, deciding to come later to clean the things he used to cook, because a theatrical exit sounded much more appealing at the moment and with that intention, he stood in front of Drake, not bothering in the least to hide his amusement, smiling almost sardonically while slightly bowing his head.

“As you wish, Timothy.”

Because Damian didn't bother to look back before exiting the kitchen, he missed the disgruntled expression that crossed Tim's face, but even without that explicit proof of souring Drake's mood, Damian knew - because he was actually getting with the times - that one of the things that annoyed Tim the most was his refusal to react like Drake expecting him to, which he wasn't even doing purposely most of the time, because it wasn't his fault if he outgrow years ago the role that Drake arbitrarily was currently imposing on him.

Only when he was in his room, after the door was closed, Damian allowed himself to chuckle, entertained with his own antics. Just because he had some years of profound introspection on his shoulders, didn't mean he stopped enjoying getting on Tim's nerves, it was, after all, one of the few simple pleasures left for him in this world.

Now, in Damian's opinion, eating while he worked in his studies was an efficient way of optimizing time, but Pennyworth was too adamant about how each meal should be assigned its own time frame, but, since Alfred wasn't here to see Damian being as uncivilized as the rest of his family, he decided to keep with the rest of his schedule, plate in hand while revisiting school topics he already knew by heart. Just like always, he got bored instantly, but still keep dutifully going, because this was what Pennyworth came to expect of him and it would be very detriment if he started slacking off now, not after how far he had come; however, when he heard a buzz from his phone, he didn't think twice about abandoning his work.

Damian took it, not even glancing at the name of the sender, because he didn't need to check to correctly guess who was messaging him; only one person had been doing that constantly in the past days. He opened the messages and, not for the first time, the first thing he saw was a collage of pictures of mundane objects and scenery.

There was nothing special about the photos, but still, Damian looked at each one of them before sending his response.

I told you to stop using the phone in the middle of the day. You're going to get caught

Otherwise, good steady shoots

Fortune be willing, Damian wasn't going to regret later giving Colin a phone.

“Feeling one's age” was a phrase meant to indicate the passage of time and people growing old, but, in Damian's case, should he applied it to himself, whether figuratively or literally, both meanings would spark serious contemplation. What was he supposed to feel like after his mishaps with time? Surely not like a kid, never a kid, because growing up he never was treated like one.

In the League, being a child meant Damian was weaker, less experienced and fragile, always at a disadvantage, so all his efforts were not only because it was expected of him as Ra's al Ghul's grandson, but to compensate for the faults his age carried with it. Living in Gotham presented so many challenges because, unlike his grandfather and mother, who were always very clear about how they perceived Damian, his father and his strays were maddening when it came to his age: they had no problems in letting Damian risk his life daily, for him to see the worst humanity had to offer and were as harsh on him as they would be with their peers, but, at the same time, when it was convenient for them, they used his age against him: to dismiss him, to distrust him, to ridicule him, because at the end of the day, he was just a kid.

This dichotomy about his age was probably the reason why, when he landed the future, the whole experience had been about adaptation and not dissonance. Being suddenly taller, bigger and stronger sounded great of paper, not so much in practice when Damian was having problems with something as basic as his field of perception. Even with those newfound obstacles, he never felt like a teenager trapped in the body of an adult, the same way he didn't feel now like an adult trapped in the body of a kid, more so when the thing he considered the worst about being ten years old again, was how harder it was to regulate his emotions, a fact he was only aware because he experienced first-hand how it felt being older and less imprudent.

If Damian ever said he was feeling his age, he wouldn't really know what age that was supposed to be anymore, however, he held it to regards he never did before, most notoriously when he thought about Colin, who was a few months older than Damian, if one was being technical about it. When he first met Colin after their encounter with Zsasz, Damian didn't see any problems with the redhead being another vigilante in the city, albeit amateurish. He even thought he would make a good ally, which was the initial reason that prompted him to give Colin a motorcycle. 

Damian had been too much like his parents and guardians with that decision, by allowing a kid to be part of activities he shouldn't for his age, even encouraging him! It was miracle that Colin didn't meet his early end in one of those late escapades while Damian was busy doing other things, like becoming a prisoner in another planet, being sent to the Middle Ages or saving the Justice League, to name a few examples.  

While it was possible for him to put a definitive end to Colin's vigilante career, that would require going to extremes Damian preferred to avoid, not to mention that it would irremediably ruin his relationship with his friend, so the more sensible option was to do what Alfred was trying to attempt with Damian himself: guide and control Colin's activities. Fortunately for him, Colin was hundreds of times more easier to direct by virtue of actually being a ten year old, who was blinded by the technologic wonders Damian showed him and was eager to please, desperate to keep being part - even if it was in such a small instance - of the world of the real superheroes, which Damian showed he had ties to.

So, with Pennyworth grounding Damian, he had to make sure that Colin wasn't going to be looking for trouble in the streets when he was trying to keep good behaviour by staying in the penthouse. It was so, so maddening, but maybe this was how Grayson felt when Damian pulled that stunt with his faked stakeout, the difference was that Damian was a highly trained operative, while Colin was a kind-hearted bright-eyed kid with superpowers, which was a nightmare in comparison in a city like Gotham.

But kids were easier to bribe, so the first thing Damian offered was the reassurance that their usual “route” would be covered by Batgirl and, at the mention of such well-known name, Damian almost saw the stars in Colin's eyes, who, as always, was incapable of hiding his excitement with anything hero related. The second thing was more mundane: a cell phone, so Colin could communicate with Damian in a more casual manner.

Naturally, despite its looks, the phone wasn't a normal one, because he wanted to keep Gordon and Drake out of his business, hence the reason he provided Brown with a similar phone, of course, unlike the one he gave Stephanie, he made sure that Colin's was configured to be age appropriate; just because Colin lived in a hellhole of a city and knew of things kids his age shouldn't, it didn't mean Damian was going to leave him unsupervised with something as dangerous as a phone could be.

So far, his strategy seemed to be working, because Colin didn't complain about his temporary decommission and instead, was more busy messaging Damian every thought that crossed that orange head of his.

3

I promise I'm being

Careful

I really like the camera

It's so radical right

Me

The 80's called

They want radical back

Nerd

Just after he left his phone over the table again, the silence of his room was broken by an incessant buzzing, indicating multiple messages being received one after another, not even letting enough time in between for the buzz to finish appropriately.

And if Damian laughed at that to the point of closing his eyes, genuinely humoured, it was something only for him to know.  

There was something always happening in Gotham City. Day or night, the criminal activity never stopped... there were, however, little pockets of time permeated with the illusion of calmness. This night looked like one of them.

Of course not everything was in order, it would never be in this place, but at least currently there wasn't any serious activity that required the intervention of Batman and Robin, which was the reason why the Batmobile was patrolling the streets from the sky. It wasn't either like Dick didn't have anything better to occupy his mind with, but he was still waiting on the update about the condition of Professor Pyg's victims after being administered the antidote, not to mention waiting also for the family of the deceased victims to authorize or reject the petition of donating the bodies for science, of sorts, because there was still the problem of removing the doll masks from the surviving victims, so starting with the ones that didn't make it seemed like the most obvious strategy.

So many formalities... and Bruce would've bulldoze his way through each one of them.

Dick may be crazy enough to put on the mantle, but he wasn't delusional, there was no way he was fooling anyone; no matter how much bulk he could try to gain, the extra height in the soles of his boots or his best attempts to imitate Batman's voice, it was clear the person behind the cowl had changed. And it wasn't like he could just tell James that he could be trusted because he was, wait for it, the first Robin! Ta-da! Who else could be as reputable and knowledgeable in Batman's methods than the first Boy Wonder? Yeah, sure, let's fill the Commissioner in on the family drama.

Given the state of everything, the best was to play it safe, because even with Tim's presence as Robin, which gave Dick some credibility in front of James, it was too early to start pushing boundaries, so Dick was going to save that for when things inevitably went to hell, as they always do.

While these rare moments of peace were like a break for Dick, for Tim it was the perfect time to check on the penthouse, more specifically, on what Damian was doing there. Usually he relied on Alfred to keep an eye on Damian when he was in the bunker and on Barbara when he was in the computer, but with Alfred currently abroad and Damian being banned from patrolling, it was the perfect time for him to do something, Tim just wondered if he was stupid enough to try it, which was the reason why he started to check up the penthouse's video surveillance the moment Alfred was out of there.

Dick refrained - like he did since the first time it happened - from making a comment when he saw the feed from the penthouse's garden appear in one of the screens of the dashboard, because inherently there was nothing wrong with Tim keeping an eye on Damian, since it was the normal thing to do when leaving a kid alone at home, so instead, he directed his attention to the scene being displayed in the screen.

The outside lights were mild in their intensity, far from the bright spectacle Bruce used to show in his night parties, with most of them being out except the ones that illuminated the garden paths and the gazebo, which was the place where Damian was currently, seated in one of the chairs with his legs crossed on top of it, eyes fixed on the book he was reading. Next to him, over the table, was a glass and a jar filled with juice or maybe cold tea, but knowing him and the particular tastes he seemed to share with Alfred, it was most likely to be the second, which would make sense given that there was actually a three tier serving tray in the table too, filled with all sorts of pastries. Leave it to Damian to be ridiculously posh about everything, even midnight snacks. 

April's nights were usually pleasantly cool, perfect for a kid leisurely reading outside, looking unbothered by the world, so Dick couldn't help but speak out loud what was crossing his thoughts. “That's the life, eh?”

Dick's casual comment, however, made Tim frown. “Don't tell me you're buying this.”

“Buying what?”

“This,” and he waved his hand over the screen, forming a circle in the air. “He's obviously faking, do you really think he reads manga in his free time?”

“It's not weird, kids like comics.”

“Yes, exactly, kids.”

Yeah, no, Dick wasn't going to have this conversation with Tim again, so instead he tried a different angle. “Maybe he's interested from an artistic point of view.”

“Do you think he cares about art? Don't make me laugh.”

“He plays piano in the mornings?” He said, almost as if he was confused.

“I'm sure a lot of psychopaths do.” And as soon as he heard the long breath Dick took, he crossed his arms, defensive. “Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk, okay? But sometimes you act like you don't remember where Damian came from—”

“Names.” He chided instantly out of habit.

“—and I can understand why Agent A does it,” he continued, correcting himself on the fly. “You've seen the old photos, right? He looks a lot like B when he was that age.” He sighed, almost leaning his head against the window. “You don't have an excuse, you should know better.”

It seemed like, regardless of Dick's wishes, he was going to have this conversation again. “I could never forget about where he came from,” he stopped for a moment, looking through the window at the black sky, illuminated by the night lights of the city. “We've worked with victims of cults before,” he finally said, steady and soft. “You know how hard it is to break free when the programing goes too deep, they need help, not accusations.”

At the insinuation that Damian could ever be remotely associated with the word victim, Tim's body tensed, because he wasn't! Damian was cunning, manipulative, cruel and just bad, a supervillain in the making! And somewhere in the future, they would've to fight him too, just like the rest of his deranged family.

Of course the changes in Tim's body language didn't go unnoticed, so Dick reacted accordingly. “I understand where you're coming from, you think he's staying with us because he's acting under orders and I've considered that too, I'm not blind, but that's the thing, if he's still working for the League, how can we expect him to choose our side if we don't show him that there's something better here?”

Tim scoffed, turning to look directly at Dick. “You need to wake up, he's not going to leave the League for us, he's not a victim.”

“He's ten.”

“Yes and he's already a remorseless killer, imagine what he's going to be like when he's older.”

“I don't agree,” Dick's tone wasn't reproachful or hostile, no, on the contrary, it had the cold confidence of someone stating a fact. “What he did to you was wrong but let's be honest in this business a lot of our allies tried to kill us first, and that's not an excuse, I know,” he remarked before Tim could argue something. “But I don't think it's too late for him, I believe he's genuinely capable of empathy and that's a lot for someone raised like he was.”

If it weren't for the mask, Dick could've appreciated the look of complete bewilderment in Tim's eyes, mouth almost agape. “Are you serious?” His asked, voice high. “Not everybody can be helped! Especially when they don't want help and he doesn't, this is just a game for him, pretending he's denouncing Ra's and Talia and acting like he cares about saving people, but it's just that! An act!”

“You need to try and get to know him instead of always bickering with him, you have to understand that you're not right about everything all the time.”

Tim recoiled, pressing his back against the door and despite opening his mouth to say something, nothing came, because for a few seconds, all he could think of, was the sudden dropping pressure in his chest so similar to those times when he had fell without the security of a grappling gun. “But I am!” He refuted, agitated, hands closed in fists, like he was preparing for a fight. “I can't be wrong about this,” he repeated, like he was trying to prove something in front of a court. “I know that you don't believe me, I know no one does but I don't care, because you're going to see I wasn't just making crazy theories in my head, he's going to prove me right! I just need time, he needs time.”

Up until now, Dick had been just trying to get through Tim's animosity to remind him that, for all the things Damian was, he was still a kid that didn't choose to be born in the League of Assassins, nor did he selected Talia-fucking-al Ghul as his mother, because even in the League, that was its own kind of punishment. But at Tim's words, at the underlying distress in his voice, all thoughts about this being another futile discussion disappeared, instead, what he felt now was concern.   

“Are we still talking about Damian?” He asks, forgetting too about the rule of keeping out names in the field.

That question put a fast end to Tim's momentary lapse in judgment. Normally he wouldn't lose focus so easily, going so far as to express plainly his worries without even thinking, but ever since this nightmare began, it felt like that was everything he was doing now: losing things; a father figure, his new home, the trust of others, a purpose.

And, in the middle of that, there was Damian.

Damian, who was no better than a timed bomb, looming over Tim with the added threat of taking the last true connection he had to Bruce: the Robin name. Whatever misguided intent Dick had when he suggested passing the mantle to him, Tim knew that just because Damian rejected the idea, it didn't mean the possibility was off the table. Sadly, Dick's assessment of Damian was too biased, his judgement too impaired by trying to salvage a lost cause; that's why he couldn't accept that he was the one mistaken here, not Tim.

Tim wasn't wrong, his instincts weren't faulty, he wasn't in denial, being obstinate or refusing to move on, it was the rest of the world who couldn't see the things he did.

“This is pointless,” he said briskly, completely turning to the other side, refusing to look at Dick. “Just forget it.”

“Look,” he started, pausing in a moment of hesitation before braving the topic. “If this is about B—”

“It's not!” He all but screamed, becoming more tense by the second. “Drop it.”

“No, I think we need to talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about, leave it.”

“We can't keep putting it off—”

“Just shut up.”

“I get it, alright? Death never—”

“Stop it.”

“—gets easier and—”

“Don't.”

“—you're grieving—”

“I told you to leave it, Nightwing!” In the confines of the Batmobile, Tim's scream felt like a thunder, but his voice after that was more like a plea. “Enough.”

Fights with Bruce used to be so simple; just Dick shouting against a wall, no middle ground, conciliation or resolution, only anger and too much left unsaid.

When he decided to step in and become Batman, Dick didn't want to reprise those days with Tim by just reversing the roles, that's why he had been trying to actually communicate even if it was uncomfortable, frustrating or painful... but so far, it hadn't been exactly working, maybe because in some very specific, very unfortunate ways, Tim was a lot like Bruce.

The ensuing awkwardness after Tim's outburst didn't last, because mercifully, Dick was saved thanks to some very kind jewellery robbers and the police chase they engaged in.

And then, everything went back to the status quo, like it always did. For better or worse, that was just how things were with anyone working close to Bruce: there could be hurtful arguments, unresolved fights and horrific events that would go unaddressed and in the end, everybody would act like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like honesty was unnecessary and feelings just a personal problem. An easy short-term solution, but it was evident that the cost in the long run was unsustainable.

Despite pretending that last night's conversation with Tim didn't happened, Dick couldn't just forget about it, there was so much they needed to talk about, but he knew if he tried to push again so soon, Tim was going to lash out harder, which left him with a lot to say and no Alfred in sight to consult about. These thoughts still lingered in the back of his mind the next afternoon while he was going through the motions of his day-to-day, even after hours of being cooped up in front of the Batcomputer, hence the reason he decided to take a break and go to the kitchen to finally eat something.

As soon as he set foot into the penthouse, the sugary smell of baked goods inundated his nose, which wasn't a rare occurrence since Damian seemed to like that activity, but usually it wasn't as overwhelming. The mystery was quickly solved when Dick finally made it to the kitchen and saw the counters full of baking trays, with most of them filled with flour-based confectionery.

“I missed the memo that said you were opening a bakery.” He said as a greeting.

Damian, who was in the middle of taking a tray out of the oven, didn't even spared him a glance. “Baking is something I do for mental enrichment purposes only.”

Fortunately, Damian wasn't looking at Dick, so he was able to friendly cover his mouth to hide his silent laughter. There was something strangely funny about Damian talking about humans - himself included - the same way one would do for dogs, which surely was a positive sign given that he seemed to like animals.

“So, you needed triple extra enrichment today or...?”

“I'm planning to welcome Pennyworth back with customary British treats but I need to perfect them first, I won't accept his criticisms this time.”

Dick eyed the tray that was the closest to him, deciding that it was fine if he took one of the cookies, since there were so many of them. “Guess we're eating cookies for the next three weeks then.” And he took a bite, carefully chewing.

“They're biscuits.”

“They look like cookies to me.” And, after another bite, he added. “Taste like one too.”

“That's because you're an uncultured swine.”

That made Dick pause for a moment, not because he felt insulted, but precisely for the lack of offense. If Damian had said something like that in the first days after he arrived to the Manor, Dick would've think he was trying to be as rude as possible, but by now, he knew this was just Damian being Damian, which meant he wasn't trying at all, that was just how he was. That knowledge made it clear he wasn't always malicious when he was being rude and, even if it'd be nice if he could tone it down when talking to others - like the Commissioner, for example - in all honesty, the kid deserved to be a little bit of a menace given the circumstances.

While Dick was distracted thinking about the difference between cookies and biscuits and impolite little princes, Damian had been measuring their interaction since he appeared at the door, saving him the trouble of looking later for Grayson. “Are you still in contact with your hooligan friends?” He asked, taking off the oven mitts slowly.

“My hooligan friends?” Dick asked, trying not to sound too amused, because while Damian indeed deserved the freedom to be his discourteous self, he shouldn't be encouraged.

“The speedster, the tamaranean, the witch and all of the rest of your colorful associates.”

At the mention of those friends, that were nothing like the casual civilian friendships that Dick thought Damian was referring to, he lost some of his relaxed attitude. “Why are you asking?” And he tried really hard to not sound suspicious.

“My pursuit for perfection has left me with more biscuits than we can reasonably consume,” he explained with his very well practiced disinterest. “And I don't have a friend I can share this amount with,” which wasn't a lie, giving these many snacks to Colin would be very reckless. “So your old companions are the next best thing, we have enough to pack a dozen boxes.”

In an instant, Dick forgot about any wariness, latching into a very specific part of Damian's words.

The first time he mentioned his lack of friends, presumably because they were dead, Dick didn't pay a lot of mind to the implications. Knowing just the basics about Damian - assassin, arrogant, smartass -, Dick thought he wouldn't regard the term “friend” like most would do, so he assumed Damian didn't have a sentimental attachment to those people. But now, after getting glimpses of what Damian seemed to be under all that bravado, grandiosity and aloofness, Dick was sure that whoever those people were, Damian felt for them deeply if he was willing to casually refer to them as friends out loud, no ifs or buts.

“You know Superman has two sons, right?” He asked, not letting his real thoughts slip in his expression. “The youngest is a few ye—”

He stopped mid-sentence because in a blink, Damian was in front of him, using - of all things - a round cookie cutter that had a heart in the middle, pointing it at him like he was holding a batarang instead.

“Finish that thought and you'll have this shape permanently marked on you.”

Dick raised both of his hands, surrendering. “I was just saying.”

“Tt.” And as fast as he had jumped at his side, Damian went back to the step stool where he was previously standing. “I don't need friends, I happen to greatly enjoy my solitude, you, on the other hand, thrive with social interaction.” Still keeping with the appearances, he resumed moving the biscuits from the tray to the nearest cooling rack in the counter. “We had this discussion before, just because you're Batman now doesn't mean you need to isolate yourself or neglect your relationships, Gotham can afford a few hours without you on a regular basis, so go and spend time with those fools you call friends, they're important for you, aren't they? If you want to keep a peak performance, you should take care about your emotional needs too.”

Tim had more than enough valid reasons to think the worst of Damian, but this right here was who Dick was choosing to believe in: the kid that acted like he was the responsible adult in charge and used logic, boredom and practicality as a means to hide how thoughtful he could be deep down.

“How did you get this wise?” He asked, half-jokingly, trying to not show just how true he thought those words were.

“Time is an unforgiving teacher.” He answered, too serious and offhandedly, but then, he smiled that cheeky little smile that Dick had come to know so well. “Worry not, there's no shame in accepting my superiority, one day you might catch up.”

Now, Dick had been such a patient man to the point of deserving a reward, but everybody had their limits, he was just human after all. However, Damian was in luck, because he had been looking at him the moment Dick's eyes landed on one of the many bowls that contained the different fillings for the biscuits, more precisely, the one with the strawberry jam and, as if he could read his mind, he jumped to action a second before Dick did.

Alfred would be absolutely appalled if could see the subsequent chaos that unfolded in the holy land of his kitchen.

“Get a hold of yourself, Grayson!”

And if Damian's tone clearly sounded more jolly than infuriated, if was something only for Dick to know.

Chapter Text

Not giving Kyle the means necessary to communicate with Damian had been a very deliberate decision on his part. Despite their amicable interactions, she was, in theory and practice, a criminal and he lacked the rapport necessary to justify the interest in keeping contact with her. This, obviously, imposed the same limitations on Selina, but he never thought that would become a problem for her, since she really didn't have reasons to get in touch with him.

Just like it had been happening more than he would like to, he was wrong once again.

For who knew why, Kyle contacted Pennyworth asking if Damian could come to see her to have a chat with him. While such a request was highly unexpected, it was also unlikely to be a trap, because it wouldn't make sense for her to involve Alfred in her plans if her intentions were nefarious, since that would put a target on her back for Batman to follow.

While still suspicious, he decided to answer her summons; if he could deal with Red Hood without prior notice in a shady warehouse, he could manage with Catwoman in her home.

When he arrived at the time indicated, just a little past midnight, the lights were on and the windows were open, which meant she was expecting him. Despite everything looking innocuous enough, he entered her home with the same caution he used when he ventured inside Todd's temporary domain all those nights ago.

Part of him was disappointed when, instead of being welcomed by an ambush in Selina's living room, she found her on the couch, out of costume and barefoot, with a mug in one hand and a phone in the other, which meant this really was, for some unfathomable reason, just an unexciting social visit.

“What do you want from me?” He asked gruffly, before Selina could say anything.

“Hello there,” she turned off her phone's screen to leave it on the table. “How are you doing on this beautiful night?”

Damian narrowed his eyes slightly. “Refrain from attempting small talk and go directly to the point.”

“There's no need to rush, the animals of the city can wait a little for you. Do you want a cup of hot cocoa? This time I also got white chocolate, if you want to try it.”

At this Damian frowned, his stance shifting from annoyed to inquisitive. “You're stalling” he declared, lightly tilting his head to the left. “You're also trying to placate me with a poor bribe, so whatever you want to tell me is negative.”

“Would it kill any of you to not analyze everything and just go with the flow?”

“We're acquaintances at best,” Damian continued, his tone not too dissimilar from the one he used when working on a case. “For you to ask to see me in person for this... you either have bad news about the cats we rescued or my mother is threating you.”

Selina was glad she wasn't drinking from her mug at the moment, because the risk of spitting her tea when she heard the last part was very real. “Is there an agreement between all of you to always jump to the worst conclusion?” But then she softly sighed. “I admit you're not exactly wrong.” She left the mug next to her phone on the table. “Fine, I guess there's no point in delaying this but first I want you to know this isn't personal at all.”

Damian arched a brow, indifferent, contemplating if this was really the part where she betrayed him, which he hoped it wasn't because his time was too valuable to waste it on ridiculous things like being kidnapped.

“You can't come to see me anymore, I'm going to move out soon.” She finally said, giving the impression she had been practicing this.

“Don't flatter yourself, I don't come to this place to see you,” he answered, crossing his arms. “You're leaving Gotham, then? Good.”

“No, I'm going somewhere else in the city, the opposite of where this apartment is, actually.”

“I don't know what Agent A told you but there's no place that's off limits for me, I can go wherever I want.”

“It's not like you can't come to see me,” she hesitated for a second, expression suddenly apologetic. “It's that I prefer if you didn't.”

From the beginning Damian knew that their animal-saving partnership would be short-lived, so this really didn't take him by surprise; he was aware that despite his best efforts, he was considered his mother's son first and his father's second, so Kyle was perfectly justified in distancing herself from him.

“I see.” He said after a second, nodding slightly. “I understand, you're severing ties with me, it's a smart move on your part.”

“That's definitely not what is happening here, we can still talk and hang out, just not in the new place.”

“Save your breath, woman, you're not the first one to forsake me and you won't be the last.”

“Forsa—oh for goodness sake,” she inhaled deeply before making direct eye contact with him. “Alright, here's the deal,” she resolved to say, sounding almost tired. “I'm moving with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, that's why it isn't a good idea for you to just casually break in whenever you want if those two are going to be around.”

Damian would actually prefer for Kyle to denounce him instead of this. “Are you stupid?” He asked earnestly.

“Now, now, that's not very nice.”

“I'm not going to coddle you when you're proposing such a moronic...” And he stopped, deliberately.

There was a lot of information he was still missing from his early day's as Grayson's Robin, due to his lack of care about his father's mission, but he did remember Selina's coalition with Quinzel and Isley. He didn't pay attention back then, unable to see them as something more than scum that Grayson was too inept to put out of the streets, but by revisiting those memories it was obvious that Richard made the very conscious decision of letting them operate, instead of jailing them at the first chance he got.

Whatever had been Grayson's reasoning in those days, Damian was going to trust it now.

And just like it happened when he met Brown again, a new world of possibilities opened in his mind with this new set of circumstances, another little piece appearing on his war table, ready for him to move in his campaign. One more gamble.

“I think we need to discuss this matter at length.”

“Sorry to say dear but there's not much to discuss left, the purchase of my new place is already closed.”

“I've decided not to object to your questionable decisions, our conversation won't be about that.” He clarified, starting to walk away from the living room without any warning.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen,” he answered with a dismissive gesture with his right hand, back turned on Selina. “I'll try the chocolate you mentioned.” And he stopped, keeping still for a moment. “Say, Kyle,” he said, dragging the words while he turned around with a smile that couldn't be considered anything else but devious. “How good of a wingman would you consider yourself to be?”

For a few seconds Selina just looked at him like he had switched to a language she didn't know. “Uh... excuse me, what?”

Pennyworth's uncanny efficiency had been once or twice the subject of Damian's contemplations in some of his moments of boredom. With how much Alfred was able to do, it wasn't out of consideration the possibility that maybe he wasn't really a human; it could be that in all truth he was some kind of meta or even a cosmic god, who decided to dedicate his efforts to one of the most challenging families out there. And displaying that incredible if puzzling competence of his, after coming back from Scotland, Alfred caught up with his affairs in less than a week, so he didn't even need to disrupt his next visit to Wayne Manor; just because everyone was now in the penthouse, it didn't mean the mansion was forgotten, so he made routinely trips to dust off things and make sure everything was in order.

Damian, of course, took the opportunity to go with him under different excuses: he was visiting his grandparents' graves, he wanted to make sure all the security systems were working in order, he needed to unwind away from the city and his most preferred one: he was there to keep an eye on Pennyworth, making sure he didn't find more trouble he could deal with.

In the past, Damian took for granted everything Alfred did for him, for everyone. That's why despite those moments of weakness when his heart felt heavy with the weight of his losses, he would never regret where his decisions had taken him despite his failures, because it granted him the opportunity of fixing some of his most deep regrets: now, whenever he had the opportunity, he didn't waste any chance of spending time with Pennyworth, even when the only thing he was doing were mind-numbing menial tasks.

Today's visit to the manor fell under that category, being as uneventful as usual.

Typically after going to the mansion, Pennyworth would drive them back directly to the penthouse, however, this was one of those particular days when he apparently had to run some errands around the city, which left Damian as his unenthusiastic companion.

When Damian decided that he wanted to explore the normal childhood experiences that were refused to him, he reluctantly accepted that he needed to consider all of them, not only the ones that sounded the least bothersome, so something as tedious as it was to wait in the car thoroughly bored while Pennyworth was busy with his errands, should be akin to a childhood ritual, since a lot of kids went through it at some point sooner or later. In a way, it wasn't all that different from those times when his father left him behind on patrol; his only consolation with Alfred was that Damian at least could distract himself with his phone, just like he was doing at the moment, being in the middle of a discussion with Grayson about the intrinsic differences between biscuits and cookies, since apparently his biscuits were mostly a hit with his simpleminded friends, to the point where Grayson asked for another batch to give again to some of them.

Pennyworth came back when Damian was negotiating with Dick what would be an appropriate payment for his skills with the oven, so he didn't really pay much attention when Alfred entered the car or the things he was carrying it, he just looked at him momentarily from the corner of his eye before focusing on the screen again.

“Master Damian,” he said after he closed the door. “May I have your attention, please?”

Damian frowned and lowered his phone, turning his gaze towards Pennyworth. “What can I help you with?” He asked back, using the same tone as him.

Alfred just raised a brow and from somewhere in front of the passenger's seat he procured a box. “This is for you.”

Almost on instinct, before actually seeing what was being offered to him, Damian extended his hands to receive it, only because it was Pennyworth the one handing him something, but once he saw the picture in the box, he frowned even more and scoffed.

“What's the meaning of this?” He asked, making a motion with his hands to give the box back.

“You kept your promise and stayed in the penthouse while I wasn't in the country,” he answered, not moving in the slightest to accept the box. “A reward was in order.”

“I'm not a kid!” He sneered with his fingers pressing against the cardboard with such force that the tips turned white. “I don't need to be trained like a dog with useless toys.”

As always, Alfred remained impassive like Damian wasn't very hostilely glaring at him. “I wouldn't presume to do that, but I thought it would be an appropriate reason to give you this. Regardless of how you see yourself, you need more age-appropriate outlets, Damian.”

It was probably the use of his name without any honorifics, something Alfred rarely did, what gave Damian the pause to think more clearly about this. He wasn't offended about Pennyworth giving him a handheld gaming console out of the blue, it would be stupid to deny that he always liked video games after being introduced to the concept; they even were helpful in the future, allowing to relax in those scarce moments when he could afford to be completely distracted. He wasn't annoyed either about Alfred treating him like the child he was in the man's eyes, that was the whole reason Damian didn't make a fuss every time Pennyworth dragged him around the city for errands. So, that left only thing for his adverse reaction: the simple act of being gifted something from Alfred himself.

Pennyworth's first and only gift to him - in the literal sense of the word -, had been Alfred the Cat.

It wasn't like he was expecting this fact to be the same now, because he planned to be the one to go looking for his old feline companion when the date was right, since at this point in time he didn't exist yet... but oddly, there was something about getting a gift from Pennyworth that brought back old and complex feelings.

Nevertheless, Damian had no problems in quickly adapting, so he relaxed his grip on the box and placed it over his lap. “Your advice will be considered. Thank you for your well-meaning gift.”

Alfred didn't answered immediately, giving him a long calculating look, which made Damian question if he failed to sound sincere, but, to his subsequent bewilderment, from somewhere in the front seat, Alfred took out another box, identical to the one in Damian's hands. Before he could question if Pennyworth was attempting some sort of joke, Alfred spoke first.

“The shop assistant mentioned that the game included with this device is best enjoyed with friends,” he started to explain, his tone and face inexpressive in that exact way that Damian was always to imitate from him. “I'm sure Young Master Colin would be able to hide this as competently as he does his uniform.”

Even after hearing such well-reasoned justification, Damian didn't move to accept the second box, looking at it like it contained something nefarious inside. His mind wandered, trying to comprehend Pennyworth's sudden actions, that while not entirely out of character, seemed suspicious just going by the fact that he brought Colin into this little scheme of his.

Until this point, Alfred had been more of the opinion that Damian should try his best to interfere the least possible with Colin's daily life, since Colin already risked getting caught every time he went out in the night. It was strange for him to backtrack like this, which meant something made him rethink his position. As far as Damian was aware, he didn't do anything that could warrant this turnaround, but it took him only a couple of seconds to recapitulate the past days, before landing directly on that day when Dick disrupted him while he was practicing his baking.

At such obvious answer, Damian glared half-heartedly again but finally accepted the second box. “You're a sly man, Pennyworth.”

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to, I am but a humble servant.”

Damian cleared his throat just to put emphasis in his next words. “You're under a misconception, I have no need for friendships. Colin is first and foremost, a colleague.”

Pennyworth, as expected, gave him one of those unimpressed looks that he used to send so frequently in his father's direction. “Of course, Master Damian, how preposterous of me, assuming two children of the same age would be anything else but work associates.”

“You'll do good to remember that one day it's me the one who will be signing your paychecks.”

“I say this from the bottom of my heart,” he made a slightest pause. “I cannot wait for that day to come, sir.”

It would be easy to disregard Pennyworth's words as his usual deadpan sarcasm, but Damian knew his voice well: from being a distant childhood memory of the past to a relearned melody in the present. Even when his delivery was so composed, Alfred could always express himself when he wished to do, one just needed to know what to look for, so Damian had little trouble to recognize the fondness in his tone buried under Alfred's professional façade.  

Ugh, Pennyworth was just the worst, utilizing such low tactics on him. Still, Damian tried valiantly to show dissatisfaction by crossing his arms, making sure to be as noisily as possible when he hit his back against the rear seat.

Clearly, this called for retaliation.

It was quite the irony that Stephanie's reaction to the Grave had been more akin to a child's than Colin's, the actual kid.

As soon as the doors of the elevator opened and the lights went on, Brown didn't even properly set foot inside before she gasped with utter shock.

“No freaking way!” She exclaimed, almost jumping now. “This place is legit legit! I thought this was like a tree house or something, what the hell!”

Damian ignored her animated shouts and made his way directly to the computer. “Gravekeeper, on.”

At his command, all the monitors flared to life, which prompted another gasp from Brown. “Holy Cow! You weren't joking about the grave thing, I can't believe you chose such an edgy name, wait, no, actually I can believe it.”  

“You're an adult,” he said monotonously, dragging the chair in front of the main screen. “You can swear.”

“No, what if Penny-One hears?”

“He's not always listening,” the moment he was finally seated in front of the computer, he started to type. “And he goes by Agent A now, we're trying to standardize that name over the others.” 

“Sorry for not knowing what rules you guys have in your private bat-club,” she said, already wandering, head moving from side to side. “How did you even got this place?”

“It comes with the territory.”

“What territory is that? Being Batman's son?”

“Of sorts.”

“Well, you're as cryptic as him so congrats.”

While he was busy, Stephanie had been examining everything with the eyes of a kid looking at shop windows on Christmas' week, but she refrained from touching anything, at least until her eyes fell on the small area where he kept all beverages and snacks.

As Abuse, Colin could eat accordingly to his bulk, so it made sense for those snacks to be proportional to such possible amount of consumption, which wasn't all that different from what Jon could eat in he was on the mood for it. Of course, without that context, one could assume that Damian just had a lavish pantry in his hideout - mostly full of junk food, if he was being honest about it - for no other good reason than just because he could, just like Brown seemed to be thinking by the way she reacted.

“There's no way you have three boxes of Ilva bars!” She pointed out accusingly with her finger at the chocolate bars, like she had just found out proof of a crime in plain sight. “That's sooo greedy!”

Damian rolled his eyes despite the fact that Stephanie couldn't see him. “Feel free to take as much as you want, just don't gorge yourself right now, you're in the middle of a case.”

“That's more reason to eat something.”

“So you can throw up later?”

“So I don't kick ass with an empty stomach.”

“I strongly advise against it.”

“I strongly going to ignore you.”

Brown would never know how fortunate she was to be dealing with a more tolerant Damian; there's no doubt that before he would at least throw a very mean insult at her for being so... her. Instead, he kept quiet and continued with his task.

Soon enough Stephanie joined him again, apparently more interested in the chocolate she got her hands on than exploring the rest of the Grave. “These things taste so good,” she expressed, closing her eyes like it could help her to enjoy it better. “It's so unfair, one bar cost like half my weekly bus money.”

Damian frowned a little, but didn't stop nor did he turned to her. “Is the money I set up for your meal plan not enough? Do you need an allowance?”

This made Brown stop her chewing, perking up. “Can you do that?” She asked like she was really considering it but instantly she shook her head. “Wait, no! The money for the diet is fine but I refuse to accept an allowance from a kid, I still have pride, I mean how old are you, anyway?”

“Mentally I'm way older than you, not that's something difficult to achieve.”

“On a second thought, I do want an allowance.”

Before Damian could answer with an appropriate mocking remark, the information that appeared next on the screen made him stop. “You're in luck, Blundergirl, I think this is your man right here.”

From her position behind the chair, Stephanie leaned in. “That's him? Looks as lame as I thought he would be.”

Damian sent the information necessary to both him and Brown and then, without warning, he moved the chair to stand up, making Stephanie take a few steps back. “Finish eating, we're going.”

Without waiting for her, Damian started to walk away. “What do you mean we? As in you and me?”

“Your deduction skills surely rival Robin's,” he wrinkled his nose with displeasure at saying the name. “To make things clear, this is an excellent opportunity for an on field evaluation. Follow me.”

“Evaluation? Wait, no no no, I never agreed to that!” She yelled, rushing behind him. “I just wanted you to help me find the guy, not give me surprise tests.”

“It's not a test, it's an evaluation, they're different.”

“Tell that to my professors.”

Despite complaining, Brown followed him, so she was either not that opposed to his involvement or was just resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to get rid of him. In any case, her protesting suddenly died when they stopped in front of the Grave's Armory and the same look of astonishment she had when entering the hideout first went back on her face.

“How are you affording this? I don't understand,” to her credit, she did looked out of words, so she wasn't exaggerating. “I know Agent A or whatever is helping you, but how come Nightwing doesn't know about any of this?”

“Two things,” he raised a finger, starting to count. “Gotham keeps him very preoccupied and—” he raised a second finger. “He sees me as a bratty kid he's letting play vigilante, so he doesn't pay close attention to me,” with his points made he went back to unlocking the armory. “He lets me be because he thinks that's the easier way to keep me out of the way.”

“That sounds kinda sad.”

“I have no use for pity.” When the doors opened, he made a gesture with his hands, like he was presenting a course in a restaurant. “Since you're here, refill your tools and take anything else you think appropriate,” he indicated, proceeding to do exactly that, since he was missing a few things after last night's patrol. “I'll set properly your access to the Grave later, you better use it wisely and don't make me regret it.”

Rather than immediately start to get herself ready, Stephanie looked at the weapons and tools displayed in front of her, humming contemplatively. “You know, when you told me you wanted to train me and stuff, I thought you were just trying to show to my face how better than me you were,” she sighed, long and deep. “Which let's be honest, you are, professional assassin and all that,” she turned to look at him and for some reason, she smiled then, like she said something good instead of conceding their differences in skill. “But you were being honest, right? You really just want to help.”

Damian tutted with disapproval, crossing his arms. “You're making it sound like I'm altruistic,” he answered, tone bored. “Far from it, I have my own reasons for doing this... but yes, Batgirl, if keeping you alive means I have to help you, I'm going to do it but don't forget, this is for my benefit, not yours.”

From the beginning, in spite her suspicions and Tim's warnings, Stephanie decided to give Damian the benefit of the doubt; there had to be something extraordinary about him for Alfred to not just vouch for Damian, but to go the extremes of becoming his accomplice, because he wasn't just driving Damian around and babysitting him, he was keeping what Damian was doing from Barbara, Dick and Tim. Alfred would never do something to put them in harm's way, so it meant that whatever Damian was up to, Alfred thought it was worthy of being supported.

Maybe she was being a fool, maybe Damian was just that good of an actor, but if someone knew about second chances, it was her.

“I think the truth is that deep down you're a good kid,” she said it very confidently, even if she wasn't entirely sure she was right, but that never stopped her before when it came to believing in something. “You just never had the chance to be it until now.”

Damian hated these people so much, they were always trying to see the good in him when there was none. It was probably the reason why he was willing to go to the ends of the earth for them.

“Enough dillydallying, get ready.”

And after giving her a measuring look, a small smile started to appear on his lips, just before he just unceremoniously snatched the chocolate bar that Stephanie had been mindlessly holding still, jumping backwards and out of her reach.

“Hey! That was mine!” She shrieked instantly.

“Key word being 'was'.”

To prove his point, Damian sank one of his upper fangs on the chocolate, breaking a piece that he proceeded to eat without any regard for Stephanie's outraged expression.

“I take it all back! You're evil evil!”

Ah, Brown screaming at him with indignation... good to see some things going back to normal.

Chapter Text

The fourth warehouse at the west in Bell Lane was burning, setting alight the night sky in The Cauldron. This was, unsurprisingly, not an uncommon sight in Gotham.

From his position on the roof in one of the nearest buildings, Damian eyes were fixed in the scene in front of him, but he wasn't looking at the flames, but the smoke. His expression was partly hidden by the shadows, not like it was necessary, because his face was blank and stayed that way even when Brown landed at his side, her movements swift, looking precise and skilled for a moment, before the illusion was broken a second later when she moved her arms very ungracefully to put the cape behind her, which was a clear sign she hadn't gotten used to the suit yet; in other circumstances, he would find this unacceptable, but given the fact that he was working on a replacement more appropriate for her, he was going to let this pass, besides, he had other things that were more pressing at the present moment.

“Congratulations,” he said monotonously. “Those guns won't be going to the criminals of the city or anywhere else, for that matter.”

“I'm sorry, okay? I swear I tried.”

In another life, Damian would have absolutely berated her for this.

While Brown had been unable to diffuse the explosive mechanism in the warehouse she was in, Damian swiftly dealt with the second one installed on the adjacent warehouse, with enough time to try and rush to Stephanie's side, even if he knew he wouldn't make it in time from his calculations. Unsurprisingly, midway she told him to get away as far as possible and that she was retreating. Then the warehouse just blew up, like any other another typical night in Gotham.

In this life, however, Damian was going to be both, the kind of teacher he wasn't allowed to have and the kind of mentor he failed to be for Jon.

“This was my oversight, I should've looked deeper into the background of your previous training.”

This was inexcusable, because Damian kept making this same mistake over and over again: wrongly judging the people surrounding him based on the old knowledge he had of them.

The Stephanie he remembers being Batgirl wasn't very impressive and not all competent; to this day still, he doesn't look back too fondly at the memory of that one time when she literally froze him. Despite this, she managed to do the things she was supposed to do: not skillfully, efficiently or painlessly, but at the end of the day she emerged victorious even if not unscathed. It was so obvious now, that any kind of training his father may have given her, had been too short to be the reason of her dubious success, it was more likely that Gordon's constant babysitting was the responsible for Brown's average performance and, that whatever she learnt with Barbara, Brown carried it with her after she went back to her old alias. What Damian needed to do now was to compensate for Gordon's twenty four seven assistance, but in such way that it wouldn't require for him to become Stephanie's permanent wrangler.

One more task to his endless collection of seemingly impossible responsibilities.

“You need to go.”

His tone, so apathetic and resolute, made Stephanie react in an instant, frantic. “I know I messed up but you can't kick me out of my own case!”

“I'm tapped to Batman's comms,” at this she winced a little, her mind starting to race with the implication. “Today has been a quiet night, so there's a high possibility he's going to show up.” As if supporting his words, police sirens began to be heard somewhere in the distance. “Even if he doesn't come, I need to make sure this doesn't catch his attention.”

“There's no way we can salvage this, it isn't like you can make the fire disappear.” She stated giving him a long look that turned disbelieving. “You can't do that, right?”

“While I appreciate your confidence in my capabilities, I can't do something of the sort yet.” 

“I'm going to ignore the yet part because that freaks me out a little, so how are you gonna hide this from Batman then?”

“I won't.”

“Buddy, you're losing me here.”

“Tt, isn't obvious?” He crossed his arms, nonchalant. “I'm going to take the blame for this.”

For a moment Brown stood there, floundering for words before throwing her arms to the air, exasperated. “You can't do that!”

“Do you have a better idea to keep Batman and Robin from discovering you caused this?”

Stephanie deflated in an instant under the weight of Damian's words, all fight leaving her body. The cowl didn't do a lot to conceal her emotions, but then again Brown has never been the type to hide under walls of detachment, not like all of them did to some degree, regardless if they were wearing a literal mask or not.

“I don't. I'm sorry.” Unlike her previous apology that made her sound more frustrated than repentant, this time her voice barely raised over the noises in their surroundings.

This side of Brown was still perplexing. Seeing her so deferent towards him felt unnatural, because she had never been anything else but foolishly self-assured in front of him, and even when that confidence was shaken, her boisterous personality wasn't.

It never occurred to him until now, that there could be something more about this than just Stephanie not being used yet to the Batgirl role; maybe her willingness to show vulnerability in his presence was a result of Damian not being as callous as he used to be. Possibly in the past, whether she did intentionally or not, she chose bravado and optimism to counter his supercilious attitude.

“Don't look so pathetic,” he said with a sigh, shaking is right hand with a dismissing gesture. “As your guide your mistakes are mine, so this is as much as my fault as it is yours, I'm just taking responsibility.”

This was worse than what Damian originally thought, because even if Stephanie refused to be more stone-faced in front of her allies, which occasionally was a necessity, there was no excuse for her to look like she was about to burst into tears, even if Damian was the only one here.

While she was fast to move, Damian was faster and out of pure instinct he moved out of her reach, so she was unable to hug him like she was apparently attempting to do, which only made her look even more miserable.

“Get it together, Batgirl!” He yelled with something close to panic raising in his voice, because he could deal with a lot of emotions directed at him, but people needing some sort of comfort always rendered him useless. “Feeling sorry for yourself is a waste of time, the road to improvement is full of failures.”

“If you're trying to be all zen with me it's not going to work, also it doesn't matter, I still fucked up.” She sighed and brought one of her hands to her head, just resting it there. “I can't believe I'm making a kid clean up my own mess.”

Damian's first impulse was to correct Brown and remind her that he didn't take very kindly to be treated like a mere kid, but he stopped himself on time, instead focusing on thinking about what would be best to say in this situation, because he wasn't even sure if his assumptions about Stephanie showing him this side of her were correct in the first place, but on the other hand, that was the only thing he had to work with.

This right here was why Damian hated so much everything that had to do with his feelings or the feelings of the simpletons he was trying to help, it was so damn exhausting.

“You said it earlier, I'm better than you and the sooner you truly accept that fact, the better, because you're bound to keep making mistakes and you need to come to terms with that. You're not like us,” he took the hood of his cape with both hands, placing it over his head. “You shouldn't be like us. I don't know why you chose this thankless life, but I know you're not motivated by vengeance and grief doesn't rule you... and I think that's the reason the former Batgirl passed the mantle onto you,” he turned his back on her, just enough to hide his face from her view and crossed his arms again. “That's also why I believe you're going to succeed despite how much is going to cost you, so don't make us look like fools for placing our faith in you.” He resisted the urge to grind his teeth, because while he had no problems telling Grayson things of the sort, being this... relatively honest with Stephanie was terribly awkward. “Show me that you can learn, that's all I need from you.”

Damian waited in silence for Stephanie's to reply but when she didn't after a few moments, he frowned, already trying to think about an appropriate follow up, since it seemed like his words failed to make a difference, not that it was entirely surprising, given that he knew full well how lacking his attempts to bring any kind of solace to others were.

“Aw, Damian.”

And just like that he flinched, leaping around to point an accusatory finger at her. “Names, you idiot!”

Maybe he hadn't given Brown enough credit, because she clearly used this disruption to outwit him and before he could react on time, he found himself captured in her arms. While his response wasn't as bad as that one time when Grayson also hugged unexpectedly, Damian was unable to relax in her embrace, being at a loss about what to do, so he just stood there like a statue.

This didn't discourage Stephanie, who just hugged him a little tighter. “Thank you.”

Brown's actions, so identical to Colin's, just made Damian even more conflicted about how to act and worst, how to feel about all of this.

So, naturally, reverting to the default was just the predictable conclusion. “Enough of this, unhand me before I stab you.”

Damian had once again the reminder of how far he had fallen when, instead of taking his words as an appropriate warning, Stephanie just laughed, like so many did at him nowadays. “Stabbing me goes against the idea of keeping me alive.”

“You think I'm an amateur?” He clicked his tongue, more displeased than annoyed and with a swift move, he broke free from Stephanie's hold, internally congratulating himself for not elbowing her like part of him was itching to do. “I know dozens of ways to make you bleed that won't kill you but you'll wish that they did.”

For a moment it seemed like Brown remembered who she was so merrily dealing with, because she raised her hands in surrender. “I'm sure Agent A wouldn't like that.”

“He would understand that my hand was forced.”

And then the illusion was shattered as soon as Stephanie smiled too happily for someone being threatened, which in turn made Damian scowl because there was a time when his threats were actually taken seriously.

“We've wasted too much time on this nonsense, you need to leave now.”

To his continued humiliation, Stephanie stood firmly on her feet before making a mocking salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Brown wasn't the only one that messed up here. Damian made an unforgivable mistake at some point in his interactions with Stephanie for her to think this degree of camaraderie was acceptable, which meant that now she was under the impression that he could be considered as some sort of friendly presence in equal standing instead of a respected mentor. It was going to be Jon all over again, wasn't it?

Wonderful! Just... wonderful.

In his original stay at the penthouse, Damian spent most of the time in his room or the bunker, finding little interest in what the rest of the facilities had to offer, so he entirely ignored the first floor below the penthouse that was full of frivolities his father installed purely to show off alongside his public persona. It was such a shame then, that the Damian of the past missed the opportunity of making good use of the home cinema that was right under his feet; playing Sword Walkers with Richard in there surely would've been a cherished memory.

Alas, there was only regrets for the Damian of the present.

At least those regrets now could function to some extent as a bucket list, which was why he decided to kick-start his mandatory leisure time on that day with something he postponed for far too long: watching movies. He wasn't expecting for his personal screening to be interrupted on the very first day however, because he wasn't even halfway the movie when Grayson decided to appear unannounced, making Damian frown as soon as he saw him approaching from the corner of his eye, his right hand going automatically to take a hold of his phone, to check if he somehow missed a call or a message from Dick and that's why he decided to come personally to where Damian was.

As expected, there was not a single notification and he greatly doubted Grayson decided to spontaneously join him so soon after just waking up, so he took the remote and waited until Dick reached his side to pause the movie, so he could offer him his undivided attention, because maybe Grayson was there with unpleasant news.

“Sorry for the interruption, Alfred told me you were here,” he said slightly absent-mindedly, his eyes fixed on the frozen black and white frame on the screen. “Are you watching The Grapes of Wrath?”

“Evidently.”

“That's not the kind of movie I was expecting you would like.”

“It's not but Pennyworth has requested that I engage more in recreational activities, so I thought it was an apt opportunity to start with a list of movie recommendations a friend gave me.” He explained casually, like he always did when he was talking about the lost fragments of his past.

Dick had a very good reason for seeking Damian and for once he wasn't trying to delay the conversation, but he had been taken aback a little when he entered the room and the scene on the screen that welcomed him threw him directly into memory lane, to the time when he still considered the mansion a home and being Bruce's Robin the best thing to ever happen to him. How many days he spent going through Bruce's old movie collection? It felt like a distant dream now.

Fortunately for his own peace of mind, Damian's explanation forcefully dragged him back to the present, because there it was, finally another mention of those elusive friends Damian brought up just once.

“That's neat,” he said, doing his best to not sound as eager as he was at this opening. “What's their name? Did you meet them on the League?”

“That information is irrelevant,” he answered without missing a beat, shaking his hand in a dismissive gesture. “She's gone.”

Which, as it usually was with the things he said, it wasn't a lie. The version of Carrie Kelley that once tutored Damian was no more, just like every person that looked at him with something else other than contempt.

Like he always did when Damian said something that sounded like a personal tragedy treated like a nuisance, Dick refrained from reacting in any way that betrayed what he was thinking. “What about your other friends? Are they—” and in a split second he rethought his question, as to not sound so direct about it. “—still around?”

“In a way, yes.” He put his left elbow over the chair's armrest, just to be able to support his cheek against his fist. “As long as I carry the weight of their memories with me, a part of them will remain here.”

Damian assumed that Dick's answer to this little show of obscured sincerity - that was more about all the people he lost to time, not just friends -, would merit some sort of sappy response from him, but when he failed to answer, he turned to look at him again. 

If Damian didn't know Grayson like he did, he could've mistaken the expression of his face for something contemplative, but even if he were to spend a century away from Grayson, he would always be able to easily read him as if he never departed from him; so Damian moved, leaning towards Dick and promptly, with the same precision he used while fighting, he flicked his forehead with enough force to make Dick wince. 

“Stop it.” He firmly ordered, choosing to ignore the sudden heartening feeling that came with the clear proof of how far Grayson trust in him had come, to the point of allowing Damian to hit him in the first place. “Don't disrespect what I've endured to be here today by pitying me.”

Dick took a breath - seemingly to speak - but closed his mouth a moment later, choosing to rub his forehead instead, like Damian's scolding hit actually hurt, but in reality he was just trying to come up with something to say without looking too obvious about it.

“It's not that,” he said slowly, with the same tone he used to adopt when he was trying to reason with him in those early days when Damian needed a lot of mentoring. “There's nothing wrong with accepting sympathy from others, Damian, it doesn't make you weak or less worthy.”

Damian arched both brows, giving Dick a puzzled look. “I never said it did.” He answered slowly too, giving his next words the same pace and intonation that Dick used just moments before. “I understand I'm not infallible and I know there will be moments where I'm going to be entirely pitiful and pathetic, but this isn't one of them.” He crossed his arms, giving Grayson an admonishing look. “If you're so eager to share pointless sentimentality, go look for Drake, I'm sure he'll be exultant.”

Hearing Tim's name reminded Dick why he was here in the first place before getting side-tracked, which admittedly was something that happened frequently when Damian was involved, because talking with him could either turn to be a light-hearted fun interaction or become a gut-wrenching raw exchange, which Damian would then brush off like it was just some small inconvenience.

One day he was going to find the way to navigate around Damian's nonchalance about his past, but right now, he needed to focus if he wanted to successfully pull off the plan he had in mind.

“Now that you mention him, that's why I'm here actually,” he said, acting in a perfectly casual manner, like he wasn't giving the same level of performance he would use in an undercover mission. “I want you to join us tonight. Things around the world have been calm for now, but any minute now the Justice League could need Batman's help and I have to make sure you and Tim can handle the city while I'm gone.”

There, a flawless explanation that not only conveyed Dick's intentions perfectly in a few words, but made clear that Damian was considered a part of the team, assured him that his skills were taken seriously and more importantly, demonstrated that he was being given the same credentials as Tim.

Dick had carefully planned this and he was prepared for all possible responses Damian could have about it: from acceptance to reluctance, to refusing and even making unreasonable demands; not matter what it was, Dick was ready this time for whatever Damian was going to throw his way.

And finally, after a prolonged silence, came his answer. “You're an idiot, Grayson.”

Well, Damian wasn't being more prickly than usual, so that that seemed like promising start. “Okay, is there any reason why?”

“You're so obtuse thinking this lousy attempt to make Drake and I get along is going to work,” and for the first time since the conversation started, Damian let true emotion colour his words. “If you force him to spend time with me, it's going to backfire. From his point of view it'll look like you're favoring me and the only thing you'll get from this is him being more resentful towards me... but if what you really want is to set me up for failure, then by all means include me in your patrols.”

Despite Damian's statement, Dick wasn't an idiot. He knew very well Tim was going to be mad about this proposal, but he hoped that after the initial pushback, Tim was going relent enough to accept there was a need for them to be prepared for Dick's absence; he wasn't expecting that after this everything would be perfect between Tim and Damian, but progress had to start somewhere.

Of course he was just deluding himself, because hearing Damian shatter his plan with arguments that deep down Dick had been trying to ignore, was like being thrown a glass of water in the face.

So, Dick did the only thing that came to his mind: he covered his face with both hands, looking like he had been hit by an unexpected wave of despair.

“Fuck.” While he usually didn't cuss, especially in Damian's presence, it felt like the only appropriate response right now. “I am really that transparent?”

At this, Damian looked as unimpressed as he did when he witnessed Selina's poor attempt at getting drunk, because this seemed less like anguish and more like self-pity, which was ironic given their conversation about the topic.

And just with Kyle, Damian decided that it was on him to soothe the doubts of these simpletons. “It's not that you're lacking, I just made a point of studying you as a preventive measure. If I didn't know better, I would've believe that your intentions were truly as you present them to be.”

For a change Damian wasn't lying by omission or telling half-truths, because in the past he fell for a similar trick from Grayson when Drake came back from his ill-advised trip around the world.

If Damian was being honest with himself, for the briefest of moments it seemed like working alongside Drake could be possible, that there was a place where Batman could function with two Robins in his shadow... but that was before Damian discovered his own name in Drake's secret hit list. Looking back, that moment was when his relationship with Drake became unsalvageable, because he understood that it didn't matter how much effort he put in, Tim would always see him as nothing more than a dormant threat.

Of course Damian had been too juvenile back then, too easily hurt to see how sound Drake's decision was at the time.

Whatever crisis was twirling inside Grayson's head, it seemed to stop for a moment when he lowered his hands, turning around to give Damian a confused look. “What preventive measure requires studying me?” He asked, like that was the only part he heard.

“It's not just you, Drake and Pennyworth too.” He answered with a shrug. “There's no short amount of villains that can imitate others, like Clayface, I need to be able to recognize when something's off.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Any other time Dick would've laughed at how ridiculous their lives were sometimes, but instead, he brought his hands to his hair, furiously mussing it up for a moment before letting himself fall against the backrest, all liveliness abandoning his body.

“I wasn't lying, I really need to know I can leave in an emergency,” he continued, voice openly weary, deciding that it was useless to keep pretending. “And I'm worried about you two being alone in the city. Things can get out of hand very quickly in Gotham and when you're in the middle of it, you really need to trust others with your life.” He stopped for a second, interlacing his fingers over his lap and looking up at the ceiling, trying to figure out his next words while. “One moment of doubt and everything goes to hell.” He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “I can't have any of you hesitating at the worst time just because there's too much bad blood in between.”

In the silence that fell upon them, Damian tried to think of an adequate answer, something that wasn't just vacuous reassurances. Something genuine.  

So he turned to the opposite side from Dick, to where it was the food cart that he filled with snacks for his movie watching, looking among them for the box of Grayson's favourite brand of jelly beans that he decided to add to the bunch, not because he especially liked them, but because he was sentimental like that.

He took the box and without looking, he threw it in Dick's direction, with the only warning being a short “catch”, while he focused on getting a bag of mini chocolate eggs for himself, one of the many remnants he still had from the Easter Hunt. He opened the bag and threw one of the eggs in the air as high as he could, perfectly catching it with his mouth at the last second, not losing a second before crushing it with his molars on the right side, only then he turned to Grayson again, who was looking at a loss for words, with the jelly bean box resting unopened in one of his hands.

Damian will forever keep this to himself, but he had come to found a lot of amusement in managing to make Grayson dumbstruck. With how annoyingly chatty his Richard used to be - always with a comment to make even in the most inopportune of times -, it felt nice to be able to left one version of him speechless.

“I told Drake this once,” he began carelessly, making a pause to properly swallow any residue of chocolate. “The only thing standing between me and my mother is all the people working under the Batman prerogative. I'm too young and powerless to go against the League of Assassins on my own, so it's absolutely on my best interest that all of you are alive and functional, even Drake,” he took another egg, a yellow one, but he didn't eat it, instead he held it between his fingers in front of him. “Maybe especially him.” He turned the egg around, still acting as if he was searching for something in it. “I recognize he's immensely valuable to you and Pennyworth and I know how disruptive it would be for any of you if something happened to him. In short, his well-being is tied to my own self-preservation.”

Damian could use a pure emotional approach, to pretend he was an assassin on his way to rehabilitation. To be vulnerable and try to humanize himself in Grayson's eyes; to appeal to Dick's naïve need to believe in others and convince him that Damian could be trusted because he was eager to show he could be useful to their cause. That what he wanted the most was to prove he was his father's son.

...but that was not who he was. Not anymore.

“Now, Drake?” He continued wrinkling his nose. “He's just stupid.” He declared at the same time he threw the chocolate into his mouth, daring to smile sardonically at Grayson's blank stare when he didn't elaborate any further for a moment. “He can insult me, distrust everything I do and say and make plans to unmask me as a traitor. But—” He said with emphasis, making a pause to make a point of looking directly at Grayson's eyes. “He's not going to let me fall without offering me a hand first.” His smile became less sharp, his expression softening into something almost wistful. “It nauseates me to admit it, but that's why he's always been better than me.” He shrugged, without any trace of bitterness in his words. “Your worries are unfounded, I know I can put my life in Drake's hands because he's going to do what he thinks is the right thing to do, even if it conflicts with his personal feelings. And if it ever comes to that, I'll prove him that no matter how much he loathes me, he can do the same with me.” And unexpectedly he let out a small but honest laugh. “If only because I know it's going to infuriate him to no end to be wrong about me.”

Damian had gotten so much better at dealing with the occasional actions of this Grayson that mirrored Richard's, because it was an inevitability: in this universe or the other, Dick Grayson would always be himself.

This didn't mean he was completely unaffected by these little facsimiles of the past, so he couldn't help the tightness in his chest upon seeing Grayson's response to his speech, because he gave him a look that perfectly imitated the one Damian received the first time he dared to hug Richard. It was a mix of surprise - the kind that was warm and welcoming - and pride, like Damian finally figured out a case Dick laid out especially for him.

At being confronted with such an earnest sight, Damian wished he could just get up and leave, but since that wasn't an option, he did the next best thing and took the remote, resuming the movie and feeling as ridiculous as he did that day in the museum, when he tried to escape his own foolishness in front of Grayson by putting his attention on hieroglyphics.

“Would be alright if I hug you?”

Damian grinded his teeth like he just heard a grating noise. Sadly, he couldn't pretend he didn't hear Grayson's voice, because the movie's sound volume had been low from the start, given his sensitive hearing.  

“No, definitely would not be.”

What was wrong with these people? Damian knew he had fallen from grace long ago, that by design his current self wasn't as unapproachable as he once was, but had he really become so harmless in the eyes of others for them to entertain the idea of hugging him whenever they feel like it? How appalling.

“Worth a shot.” Dick answered, voice suddenly too blithe for someone that was having a crisis just a moment ago. “But seriously Damian, that was...” He stopped for a moment, thinking more carefully about his next words. “I know you don't exactly hate Tim even if you did try to kill him, I understand the League reasoning on that, which I'm glad now you see it's a bit psychotic by the way. The problem is that you two argue all the time for the pettiest reasons, so I was sure you didn't even like him. I guess I'm just surprised you think so highly of him despite everything.”

“Tt! I don't hold him on high regard, I'm acknowledging reality, it's different.” He said without bothering to hide his disgruntlement at this fact, not being aware that his expression in that moment was very close to a pout. “Just because Drake likes to be a nuisance doesn't mean I don't see him for who he really is.”

“That's good,” he said it as if Damian had just agreed with him, the last traces of tension leaving his body, allowing him to finally relax on the chair. “Good.” He repeated, more for himself than Damian.

Damian pretended to focus on the movie and for the next moments, neither of them said anything, but whatever Grayson was thinking about, surely wasn't as grim as his previous worries because he opened the jelly bean box and started to eat them, however it was obvious that there was still something bothering going by the look on his face. Damian decided not to press him about it and instead just waited until Dick decided to share what was on his mind, which he did soon enough.

“Don't get me wrong,” he began, tone still light. “I'm happy you know you can trust Tim and also want him alive, like that's great actually, but... we're going to be in this for the long haul, so it would be nice if you two could also get along better.”

“You're being overly optimistic, that's not going to happen. I do believe in the future he'll come to accept my presence at the very least, just not right now. He needs to sort himself up first.” He feigned interest in the inside of the chocolate bag, like he was looking for an egg in particular. “Have patience, time puts everything in its place.”

“Damn,” unlike his previous swearing, this time Dick sounded too jovial for his cussing to held any negative connotation. “You really are better than me at this. Please don't tell Alfred, that would disappoint him.”

“I'm sure you've already disappointed him in other ways, one more can't make it worse.”

To his confusion, Dick laughed like he just heard a joke and not an insult, bright eyes crinkling with mirth, but instead of clarifying what he found so amusing about a such a common remark coming from him, what he said next only served to feed Damian's perpetual turmoil. 

“I know I'm intruding, but would mind if I stay for the rest of the movie?”

“Why? Don't you have better things to do?”

“I did, but someone made me see my plan for today was a little dumb so now I have some free time. Don't worry, is fine if you don't want me here, I understand.”

This was bad.

Grayson's tone badly concealed he was trying to evoke the same feelings of a puppy abandoned in the rain, something that his Richard didn't contemplate doing at the start, because he knew Damian held very little appreciation for him at the beginning. The fact that this Grayson was doing this now, meant he was sure Damian had some partiality towards him, at least enough for this bad attempt at emotional manipulation to work.

Curse all these perceptive buffoons that called themselves detectives.

“You're a pest.” He said with all the disgust he could muster, which sadly wasn't a lot.

Grayson's sing-songy answer didn't help either. “That doesn't sound like a no.”

Damian was blaming all of this on Pennyworth.

That man needed to answer for his crimes.