Chapter Text
Damian wasn’t used to getting a good night's sleep.
No, let’s rephrase that. Damian wasn’t used to sleeping so deep into his rem cycle that he couldn’t notice when somebody sneaked into his room in the middle of the night. He was trained to prevent his consciousness from falling into a deep state of dreaming during sleep, for the sole purpose of being ready for any type of threat.
It had been a simple training method compared to the others, although perhaps the most brutal one. Wait until he finally collapsed on the bed from exhaustion after hours of relentless training and send in one of the younger assassin trainees into his chambers with a shaking grip on their blade.
Although, at the time, since Damian was too busy trying to protect himself with a half a mind, he hadn’t noticed that the assassins were as much terrified as he had been in those moments. How could they not be, when they were strictly instructed to go after a sleeping child in his own bed? It was as much of a training for them as it was for Damian.
It didn’t take long for him to learn how to stay vigilant even during his sleep. It was a horrible state of being at first, sure. Constantly feeling the drag of sleep in his bones and being expected to perform as precise and perfect as yet another assassin. Damian stopped feeling rested the day he reached six years old.
And the ‘habit’ continued even after being sent to live with his father. Even though he knew, realistically, no one would barge into his room at night with a blade clutched to their hands, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Realistically, Damian was safe. Consequently, Damian never felt safe.
His sleeping habits changed after his first death at the hands of his own clone. A tragic way to die, sure. But what is even more tragic was the unavoidable trauma it brought upon him. Because for the first time in years, Damian started to dream. Not good things, of course. Never good things.
Mostly of Hell. Sometimes he watched as his family was brutally murdered right in front of him. Sometimes it was Slade, and him being forced to live with the mercenary pretending to be his ‘son’. And oftentimes, it was blurred memories of his childhood that had been buried deep in his subconscious. Damian was aware that there were tiny little details lost when it came to his memory, particularly during his time in the League. It used to terrify him. But now, all he wanted to do was forget them.
“Good morning Sunshine~ Slept well?” Rose’s annoyingly cheerful voice filled his ear as he struggled to open his eyes.
“It’s– it’s four in the morning you fucking lunati–”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, listen.” She ripped his pillow under his head, making him flop down as disgraceful as a newborn puppy and using it to prop herself up. “Jaybird was texting me about the– what was it again, a reunion? And at first I told him to, like, fuck off but–”
“I don’t care.”
“–he kept finding my contact info every time I blocked the bastard. Something, something about annoying me until I manage to convince you to visit home for a few days–”
Damian cut her rambling off with a sharp tone. “Bullshit, they’re planning some type of fucked-up intervention. Which I have no intention of playing into.” He then turned the other way and curled into himself. “You just couldn’t do all this at a reasonable hour, could you?” He grumbled and tiredly closed his eyes.
A scoff came from behind. “Thought maybe you would be more lenient at the ass crack of dawn. It was all strategy, you see.” The bed creaked as the older woman hauled herself off.
“Take that strategy and shove it up your father’s ass, Wilson.” He murmured, already halfway into the dream land. A quiet and amused laugh came from the door.
“Do whatever you think is best, Dames.” Oh, and we were just talking about his lack of sleep, weren’t we? Well here was his cause number one.
Another thing about Damian was that he was good at remaining unbothered at things. No matter how stressful or traumatic a situation he’d be under, he’d find a way to squish the fear under his feet, as if it was nothing but a worthless little ant. It had saved him countless times.
After all, if he got traumatized every time he got hit or shot or stabbed or killed, he couldn’t play the role of the cheerful little bird standing besides The Batman. If he flinched and ran away from every loud explosion, how was he supposed to save the innocent?
Things changed after Alfred died. When he in fact couldn’t save the innocent.
Actually, the word ‘change’ would be an understatement. Damian didn’t feel like himself anymore.
The kid who went to sleep at three a.m after a long session of patrolling and woke up at eight, feeling– not refreshed, but fine was now a teenager who did nothing but sleep half of the day away in his secure apartment inside his magically concealed little island.
Yet, Damian still did not feel rested. No matter how much he slept or took naps during the day, the weight of nothing and everything crushed him under like a weighted blanket.
Damian hated those things. Dick had told him to try it out after a very tough night of patrol and Damian quickly realized that the blanket was actually heavy and limited his movement. He threw it away after that, never to be seen again.
The island itself was quite the opposite of suffocating. He sparred with fellow runaways on the quiet beach, sometimes going running around the forest. It did nothing to help, he just couldn’t ‘wake up’. Sometimes he felt the exhaustion on his bones so deep that he couldn’t even drag himself out of the bed. It was Alfred’s fault. It must be when Damian had been perfectly fine before Bane snapped his fragile neck right in front of his eyes.
Nothing helped him. Not even dying.
Damian felt the lull of sleep put him under its cover again. Sleeping, he found out, was great. Waking up however, was not.
He woke up again at ten a.m sitting up on his soft bed and looking around dazedly. There wasn’t much to do here after all. He didn’t need to go out patrolling, the whole island consisted of assassins and murderers and trained professionals. But also, there was this silent agreement to get along and not cause trouble between the inhabitants. Everyone was here for a reason after all. They all had been running away from something.
Perhaps Damian could go out and sit on the beach, watching the waves crush down the shore. He could go swimming too. Maybe play some stupid ball game if the others were also up to it. He could go visit the little village situated at the other end of the island. Go visit the tiny shops and restaurants for breakfast.
Or he could lay back down and do nothing. That would work too.
“Good morning Damian, slept well?” Connor’s quiet but optimistic voice filled the small room as the young man barged in with a sunny smile. Did everyone here lack basic manners? What happened to knocking?
He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the man with a dead gaze. Connor’s smile wavered awkwardly, and Damian could see that the man was here because he wanted something. He could already guess what it was, with his phone clutched in his palms.
“Here’s the thing…” Connor started, fiddling with the device as he tried to find the right words. Damian grunted tiredly and fell back to the bed.
“Let me guess, Hawke. One of my stupid brothers contacted you to tell me that I should visit Gotham for a family reunion. You said you’d try, but what you didn’t take into consideration is that they won’t stop bothering and texting you until you succeed. Which won’t happen since I’ve already made it clear that I won’t be returning to that place.”
“Oh, wow I–”
“And also, knock before barging into my room like an uncivilized idiot. Thank you. Goodbye.” He then pulled the covers on top of him, waiting for Connor to give up and leave. Yet, the young man didn’t move, instead staring at his (not) sleeping form in, what felt like, contemplation.
“Fine.”
Damian huffed in victory.
“But only if you manage to beat me in hand to hand.”
“Not happening. Fuck off.” Was he crazy? Damian was quite proud of his martial arts skills. Yet he wasn’t above admitting that the elder was quite a few leagues ahead of him when it came to fighting.
“Then I’ll keep bothering you until you say yes.” This man…
“Are you a fucking child? I said leave me alone.”
He ignored Damian’s taunts and jumped on the bed, just like Rose had done a few hours ago. Had they formed some sort of alliance to prevent him from getting a good rest?
“It’s such a nice day out and you’re still sleeping, huh?”
“I have a knife under my pillow. It’s about to be in your neck.”
Connor ignored him with a wistful sigh. “I was thinking of flying to Greece for a change, but it’s not so different from here. Maybe I’ll go for the sight-seeing, who knows…”
“I’m reaching behind my pillow now.” And, no, it wasn’t for show. He actually was reaching behind his pillow.
“Such a stubborn little guy. I’ll give you three chances to beat me. You can even try it while I’m sleeping. But you have until tomorrow morning before I knock you out and put you on the ship. How does that sound?” He asked with a cheerful smile.
Damian didn’t answer, instead he strained every single exhausted muscle in his body to taut, before lunging at the man next to him. Connor gave a surprised squeak of laughter before wrapping his hand around Damian’s, which carried a curved blade.
Damian wasn’t aiming to use that knife to draw blood from the man under him though. Instead as they struggled and messed up his bed, Damian pulled out a smaller knife tucked under his pyjama bottoms. He wasn’t trying to kill the man of course. Just hurt him enough to make up for annoying him.
Connor immediately zeroed on the second knife before grabbing his other arm too and throwing both of them out of the bed. “Damn! You sleep with knife straps, too?” The elder groaned.
They stumbled on the floor, Damian losing his balance, which gave the other a chance to switch their places and pin him to the floor. He struggled for a few seconds, one arm pinned between his side and Connor’s leg, the other pressed onto his chest.
They both panted tiredly, before Connor gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and lifted off of him. “I won’t count that one since you pulled out a knife. See you later on, birdy~” He sang annoyingly and left through the window before Damian could throw another knife at his blond head.
Damian laid there, sweat dripping down his cheek. He knew that Connor had meant it when he promised him three chances of beating him. That he’d let the topic of his family go, if Damian somehow managed to beat him. And maybe on a very good day, he might’ve had a tiny chance of taking him on. But consequently, Damian was having the worst few months of his entire life, and he wasn’t sure whether he could even pick himself up from the warm wooden floors beneath him.
Damian bit his lips and tried pulling himself up, only a sharp pain on his back forcing him back down. He sighed and touched the aching knobs of his, now, metal spine. At skin level, it didn’t feel any different from a regular bone. But Damian could almost sense the cold metal biting against the inner parts of his skin.
When he had first got the spine replacement surgery after Flamingo decided to empty his entire ammo on Damian’s back, he felt alien in his own skin. Just as this moment, the horrifying tingling sensation at his back made him nauseous and ready to rip the metal out of himself. He couldn’t do that of course. Not without killing himself.
His mother secretly placing a remote control device at the metal bone didn’t make it any better. It made him shudder thinking about it now, but the idea of Deathstroke being able to control his body as he wished still made him want to tear his hair out.
He was thankful to be alive, to be able to walk. But anyone would admit that the circumstances had always been shitty for him.
With a few calming breaths, Damian steeled himself from the pain and used the edge of the bed and a leg of the chair next to him to haul himself up. His teeth bit into his lips even harder, no doubt leaving bloody indents behind.
It never got bad like this in the past. Even while he was recovering. But these past few months, the biting pain and the tingling sensation on his legs got so much worse that he could barely hold himself up, let alone walk.
Damian wasn’t sure whether it was his body catching up to all the trauma it had endured after finally getting to rest or that this was some type of foreshadowing for something even more horrible.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time until he could stand steadily on two legs. He made his way out of the little apartment, with a pair of shorts and a tank top. The temperature was always pretty hot on the island, which kind of reminded Damian of his childhood.
Well, the better parts of it at least.
There, sitting on one of the benches, chatting and admiring the ocean was Mara and Rose. It had surprised Damian, how close the two seemed to have gotten over just a couple of weeks. But, although they may not have shared similar stories, he could see these bits of familiarity between his cousin and new friend.
“Wilson. Mara. I need you to help me kill Hawke and find a place to bury his body.” Huh, maybe he could somehow pitch Mara against Connor, and he wouldn’t even need to give her an excuse. Knowing his cousin, that little asshole would do it just for the fun of it.
“What’s up your ass, this morning?” The question came out of his said cousin with a confused smile.
The cup of the tea Rose was drinking from froze right before touching her lips. A look of realization behind her eyes. Damian didn’t give her time to finish the cloud of thoughts forming in her head.
“This isn’t a joke, Mara. If something does not happen to Connor today, then I might need to go and kill myself. Which would be a lot more bothersome than I’d like it to be. So.” Well, now that he thought about it, he could, potentially, fake his death. Not a bad idea.
“Oh, wait. Did they contact him too? Is that what this is?”
Mara looked between them in confusion, clearly aware that she was missing something. “The fuck are you two talking about?”
“Nothing important. Now, about that plan–”
“Little Birdie’s family calling him back to the nest, is what it is. But I wasn’t expecting them to reach out to Connor, too. How did they even–”
Jason had reached out to Rose, his brothers no doubt already knew about her participation at the death match. But that didn’t mean it was the same case for Connor. No one was supposed to know of his presence here, after all.
Well, except for one and only one person Damian could think of.
“Fucking Drake!” Damian cursed. “Not even a bullet to the neck could prevent him from being an annoying, pretencious, fucking asshole!”
“Ah, such brotherly love!”
“Genuinely, what is going on? Why are the Bats calling you back? I thought you all hated each other or something?” A look of confusion reflected on Mara’s face. Damian would have taken pity and explained his situation to her, if only he wasn’t so busy getting pissed off at the imaginary brother in his head.
As attested to a while ago, he wasn’t in the best condition to beat a phenomenal fighter like Connor. But he also really didn’t want to give up so easily. Although, it might make things easier, just go back for a day and slink off again in the middle of the night without anyone noticing.
Damian didn’t have anything to go back to in Gotham, after all. Alfred was dead.
“Hey, how about we all come with? As support, y’know?” Rose perked up suddenly. Damian and Mara both gave her equal deadpan looks.
“Oh yeah, sure. Since we’re on the topic, might as well ask Respawn and Nika to tag along. Y’know, for support? I’m sure my family would be thrilled that I’ve made such lovely friends.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he replied with a half-manic smile. Mara snorted and turned back to his warm cup of tea while Rose lifted an eyebrow with a shrug.
“Okay, good luck with Connor then. Not sure there is much else I could do to help right now–” Before letting Damian open his mouth. “And no, I will not help you plan Connor’s murder. What’s up with that, anyways?”
Damian gave a tired sigh and turned back to leave. “It’s–whatever. I just might drag both of us down a cliff and end both of our misery.”
Mara loudly slurped her tea. “Yeah, sure. But don’t actually kill yourself, I don’t want to revive you in the pit again and deal with an actually psychotic Damian.”
“Thanks for your deeply woven concern, dear cousin.”
“And thank you Rose for your assistance!” The silver haired assassin called out tauntingly. Damian scoffed at her as he walked away.
“You didn’t even do shit, Wilson.” He didn’t bother listening to her reply before dark thoughts yet again clouded his mind.
There really wasn’t a solution to his problem right now. Or at least one he could think of. Like a stick with shit on both ends. And Damian was struggling to not launch himself off of its side.
He was on his way back to his apartment before he changed his mind and made his way into the forest. It was an entirely different atmosphere here than it was on the shore. First of all, it was silent. It lacked the slow chatter of the people along with the waves crashing on the shore.
Only the occasional sound of birds chirping and the trills of crickets. It smelled different too. A more earthy and fresh smell. Back in the League there wasn’t much green around him, living in a desert. Only when he was sent out on international missions did he get to touch earth. Gotham wasn’t much better either, the harsh climate and the dirty streets made it almost impossible for any trees to grow. Only in botanical gardens or a few occasional olive trees in the garden of Wayne Manor.
Although, even back then he regrettably hadn’t paid much attention to the trees or the perfectly trimmed bushes. He preferred hanging out in the rose garden. Not particularly for the flowers, but for the sake of hanging out with the old butler. He’d pretend that it was some kind of nuisance to him, but Alfred must’ve seen through him, as he often did.
You could never make Damian do something he didn’t want to.
He slowly trekked around the wild vines and bushes, looking around but not actually seeing something. He thought of his younger self, how he would’ve hated himself for even considering ‘hanging out’ with the butler. But Damian had soon come to the realization that he and Alfred had possessed quite the bit of similarities.
Alfred hadn’t been an assassin like he (was?) had been. He had been a spy though, someone who went on countless international missions for his country. With a snort, he thought about what would have happened if a young assassin Damian al Ghul and a spy Alfred came across each other on a mission. It wasn’t a realistic thought, not when Alfred had left the British Intelligence decades before Damian was even born. But he still entertained the thought, his hands sliding up and down on an old bark of a tree as he rested.
If Alfred’s mission had been to eliminate Damian, would the man have gone through with it? Or would he refuse to hurt a child and instead find another way to complete his mission? Another hypothetical.
Damian knew much about Alfred Pennyworth, yet at the same time nothing at all. He remembered asking the butler about his earlier life as a spy, about his missions. But from all the cryptic replies he had gotten, Damian had gathered that Alfred didn’t like to talk about his previous life.
Maybe he carried the same guilt of too many people’s blood on his hands, just as Damian was. He let out an airy laugh. Yet another similarity he carried with the older man. Too bad he was only realizing it now.
With a heave he got up from where he was resting and continued his hike. Not bothering to even acknowledge the biting pain on his back slowly burning him from inside out.
Whenever people questioned his relations to Alfred, Damian always answered with the same word. Grandfather. Yet, the word always sat on his tongue like the heavy weight of a lie. Because no matter what, he could never admit that he saw the old butler as not just a grandfather, but also– a father figure.
It was shameful to admit. Not when he had a living, breathing and - occasionally - caring father back in Gotham.
Another painful memory of his life back in Gotham pierced his mind. Back when he had - embarrassingly - given Alfred a gift for Mother’s Day, because he couldn’t bring himself to give him one on Father’s Day. Yet the man had been very happy and grateful for his gift anyways. A nice and expensive bowtie. He had worn it for years until his death.
It had been laying, crumpled, on the floor the night he had died. His stomach churned at the thought.
Damian stopped, finally having to reach the location he was aiming for, and sat down heavily.
He dug his fingers, painfully, in the dirt as images of a crumpled neck slumping down with a loud snap flashed before his eyes. His heart beat against his chest painfully. Damian took calming breaths and laid down on the cold dirt. His legs dangling from the ledge. The same place Connor had thrown him off during the tournament. A dirty move, but one Damian appreciated. Because it meant that Connor had seen him as an actual threat, instead of the sniveling and arrogant child that most others labeled him as.
“Well, this is awkward.”
Damian didn’t bother opening his eyes, already having sensed the young man following him around.
“Says the man that has been following me around for the last half an hour.” He replied steadily. Damian lifted his hand to place it down on his own chest, feeling his heart rate slow down.
“Don’t make it sound so creepy, kiddo.”
“What do you want, Hakwe? Here to throw me off the mountain again? I fear there won’t be anyone saving me this time around. Goliath has gone back with my sister.”
Connor sighed and Damian heard the young man lay down on the ground next to him. They didn’t speak for a while, just breathing in the scent of the green. He realized, after a few minutes, that Connor was giving him time to calm down, likely witnessing his small panic moments ago. Damian couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about it. Not with the amount of defeat - and a death - he had willingly suffered in the hands of the young man.
“I’m guessing by ‘sister’ you don’t mean Cass or Steph?” He asked after a while. Damian snorted half heartedly at the question.
“You would guess correctly.” He didn’t elaborate, feeling amused at the elder’s curiosity.
“And I would be guessing correctly that you aren’t willing to talk about your sister with me, won’t I?”
“She is Nobody.” Damian answered instead. Knowing that the joke would fly over Connor’s head.
“I see…” Another disappointed sigh. Almost as if Damian was some type of puzzle he wanted to solve. He couldn’t understand why.
“Now, don’t tell me you’re gathering intel on me for Drake, are you? No wait– actually, just tell him to fuck off and focus on learning how to dodge a bullet next time he gets shot at. A more important thing to focus on, if you ask me.”
Connor sputtered for a moment, “How did you–” and then with a sigh, “Never mind. Of course you figured it out… What were you talking about with the girls?”
“Your death. More specifically, a plan on where to bury your body. You know the saying, curiosity killed the cat and all.” As Damian finished talking, he felt the familiar buzzing sensation in his legs. As if thousands of ants were crawling under his skin. He quickly schooled his expression, not willing to have Connor witness his little ‘issue’. It was getting harder and harder to focus on their conversation.
“Would you believe me if I said that all I’m trying to do is help you?” Connor asked with a knowing smile. “I know, ‘it’s none of my business’ and you think I’m some type of evil jerk for having you fight against me. But maybe… It’s because I care?”
Damian scoffed loudly and finally opened his eyes. The tall trees were covering the sun rays just right. “We’ve known each other for no more than a few months, Hawke. And we’ve tried killing each other countless times in that few months span. So, no. Let’s not do this.”
Another moment of silence. A bird started singing, red and brown dotting its feathers. It was a robin.
“You say that, knowing it's Tim that reached out to me? Knowing that despite years of fighting and saying awful things to each other, he was the one that begged me to convince you to come back? That he missed you?”
“I see you two gossip about me and his failing relationship often. What you don’t take into consideration is that I’ve known him better than you ever will.” The ants under his skin disappeared along with the feeling of any sensation. Damian pressed down on his thigh, feeling nothing.
“What does that supposed to–”
“Here, I’ll make it simple for you. My dear brother wrote to you, not for the brotherly love he felt for me, but because he is most likely being pestered about a reunion the exact same way as me.”
“But–”
“He doesn’t do or care for these types of things, you see. He’s a workaholic, just like our father. And the sooner everyone agrees, the sooner he can fuck off to god knows where with his little team. The same with the others. So do me a favor and forget the idea that this little reunion will end up with nothing but chaos.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Pardon?” Damian turned his head sideways, watching as Connor sat up with a quiet grunt. The other turned to look at him with a certain gaze.
“You are wrong. About Tim’s intentions. About thinking that them calling you back is because of anything but reconciliation. And I know this because if I hadn’t relented and held out for you, then your family would already be here.” He had a stubborn gaze in his eyes. Damian looked at him in confusion, not sure if he’s understanding it right.
“What are you talking about?”
The elder pressed his lips together in a line and turned his head forwards to stare at the long drop in front of them.
“Connor.” Damian warned, his hands fisting together.
“At first, he asked me to tell him the location of the island, so they could come and get you. It would be the fastest way, and they wouldn’t leave until they succeeded. But I refused, told them that you wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.”
Damian sighed in contemplation. Now that sounded like his family. Leave no time for rejection and jump into action. The new information changed things, however. Was there more to this get together than Damian had initially thought? Why would they become so hellbent on getting him back to Gotham? Something didn’t feel right.
“Well thanks for not selling me out and instead bargain with a death match.” He gritted out with a tired expression. He couldn’t move his legs.
“It’s not a death– you know what? Forget about that. Just think about it, okay? The ship will leave tomorrow and not again until a month later. So just– consider. Not for me but for yourself.” Connor told him, a stern look on his face as he got up, slowly making his way back down the mountain.
Damian should ask him to wait. Tell him that something was wrong with his back and that he couldn’t feel his legs. He should have asked him to alert their other friends, to help him find out the cause of his flare ups.
He didn’t. Because the moment he opened his mouth, no word could come out of it. His tongue, heavy and dry as a cotton. He couldn’t ask for help, because that was not what Damian al Ghul did.
It wasn’t what Robin did, either.
So he laid there silently. Hoping that what he was experiencing was just a temporary set back for once in his miserable life. He laid there for almost an hour, and with nothing else to do, he thought about his decision to refuse going back.
It was the most sensible one, the one that saved him the trouble of having to try and rebuild a broken connection. Damian was fine with that. He wouldn’t say that he and his family had a ‘bad’ relationship, per se. Of course they cared about him in their own way. And so did he.
But they were better off caring for each other from a distance. Damian was better off alone. He understood that now. After years of unlearning what had been taught to him as a child to become a part of a team had made him more miserable than any other challenge ever presented to him.
Well, not entirely.
His first few months as Robin had been nothing short of thrilling. But that was probably due to Dick being his Batman and having Alfred’s utmost attention on him. Being Robin to his father was an absolute one-eighty. And despite his almost a year worth of experience, he somehow couldn’t stop making mistakes. Couldn’t stop hitting too hard. Couldn’t stop being so heartless.
No, he hadn’t enjoyed being Robin for a long time. And most likely, neither had his father.
Timothy was always the best when it came to understanding Robin. When it came to understanding Batman.
Damian was too much like his mother for his father to be proud of, and too much like his father for his mother to like him. How funny.
Maybe he should visit them one last time before cutting contact for good.
One last chance. Not for himself. Not for his brothers and sisters, and certainly not for his father. But for Alfred. It was funny how often Damian found himself doing the things he wouldn’t even normally entertain for one old - now, dead - man.
Damian didn't let his ‘friends’ know when he departed the next day. He just packed a duffel bag with all of his belongings - his clothes, weapons and most importantly, Dick’s birthday gift for him - and silently claimed a seat at the very back of the ship.
It was quite empty, just a few shadows here and there. Nothing that put him on edge enough for him to forgo sleep. Something he seemed to do a lot for the past few weeks. His back was better, almost suspiciously so. The past night had been rough as every single sleeping position he twisted into bit at his skin. He had gotten, perhaps, three hours maximum of sleep. Yet the moment he groggily woke up, all of his previous suffering had seemingly seeped out of his exhausted bones.
That’s why he took the chance to use his bag as a pillow and splay on the uncomfortable, wooden seats.
Damian thought about what Connor could have written back to Tim after his departure from the island. Did Connor think he was running away again, sending a warning text to his brother about tracking him down. Or had he already known Damian would end up at the ship one way or another? Either way, it irritated him. He hated when people meddled in with business they couldn’t even begin to imagine.
No one could truly grasp his situation with his family other than him. Not even his siblings. Not even Grayson.
Now that Damian was thinking about it, It was funny that it was him of all people to not join in on the scavenger hunt. Jason had, Tim had, but not Dick. But again, he had understood Damian’s need to get away from the responsibility. Dick had helped Damian get away from their family months ago when they had caught up to him in the port at some point. With a childish game of tag, they thought all of - well, everything - could’ve just gone back to what it was years ago.
His days as Robin were the worst and the best years of his entire life.
Finally meeting his father, Pennyworth, Grayson, Bat-Cow, Brown, Titus, Alfred the Cat, Jonathan, Robin, Fortress of Attitude, patrol, Thomas, Maya.
People he– loved. His pets. His safe spaces.
Never meeting up to his father’s standards (always a disappointment), his mother murdering him, hell, Deathstroke, getting paralyzed by Flamingo, Grayson losing his memories (forgetting him), Grayson ‘dying’, Pennyworth dying (he should’ve listened to Bane’s warning).
Damian hated Robin for all the things it did to him. But–
But, But, But… He never seemed to be able to stay away for his own good.
He closed his eyes, hoping - somehow - that the ship would crash into an iceberg and sink. Just like that stupid movie Brown had forced him to watch.
The Gotham air was filthy and disgusting as ever. Damian should’ve bought a surgical mask to cover his airways. Was it possible to smell the cancer in the air? If so, Damian definitely felt it.
He hadn’t really made a plan for once he stepped foot into the city. He trusted his family to locate him once he entered it. But it would take time, at least a few days. So meanwhile, he decided to rent out a hotel room. The cheap ones with unidentified stains and - undoubtedly - bed bugs. Not that he couldn’t afford or find a way into an expensive hotel room. But that would make it a whole lot easier for them to find him, and Damian was everything but easy.
Or, perhaps, he had gotten too cocky with his skills. Perhaps Connor had indeed alerted his brother. Perhaps Damian underestimated Oracle’s prowess when it came to her CCTV. Perhaps he was at the right place at the wrong time. Perhaps none of this was a coincidence and his family had been monitoring him closer than he had imagined.
Who was he kidding? Nothing was coincidental when it came to the Bats.
Jason stood barely a few meters away from him, on top of the casino rooftop Damian had climbed in hopes of getting a better view of the city.
He wasn’t wearing his Red Hood fit, which was a bit surprising. Just a faded out brown leather jacket on top of a dark shirt and grey commando pants. His face, though? It was carrying the all too familiar smirk that Damian had come to despise.
“Well, how surprising. Did you guys draw hats to figure out who’d be the victim to welcome me back to Gotham? Or– don’t tell me you’ve volunteered, Todd.” Damian sneered and dropped his duffel bag on the cold stone floor. He didn’t expect to get dragged back without at least a little bit of rough housing with the older man.
The smirk got bigger and bigger until the taller man threw his head back for a hyena-like cackle. It sent chills down Damian’s spine, although he expertly hid it. Him and Jason never had the best relationship, often fighting and trying to kill each other rather than getting along.
“It’s good to see you haven’t lost your spike, you little shit. It was getting so boring over here.” He faked a sad look. “You truly never notice you’ve missed someone until they are gone, ya’know?”
“Can’t say the same, I’m afraid. Give me a few more years and ask me again.” He discreetly reached for his waistband, a knife securely fitted over his waist. Jason caught the little movement, even despite the dark. He lifted an eyebrow, questioning, yet he didn’t reach back for his own weapon. Unusual, as the elder had always been more than ready for a fight.
“Scared I’ll use this opportunity to get my little revenge after what you pulled on me back a few months ago? Hm, Baby Bat?” He taunted, his gaze growing slightly more manic.
“You mean when I tased you, Todd? Of course not, why would you even do such a thing?” He tilted his head and feigned a shocked voice. His hands finally wrapped around the hilt of the blade, ready to pull it out.
He could feel the familiar thrum of a fight begging to break as both of them inched closer to each other. Yet, Jason still refused to pull out a weapon, making Damian feel a lot more unsettled.
Like a shark, sensing the smell of blood, Jason’s turquoise eyes glimmered with a venomous green. A similar color to his own, especially after the events of the Lazarus Tournament. “Itching for a fight now, are you? Not today, I’m afraid. I have very strict orders from our dear brothers to get you in one piece.” He then paused, tilting his head dramatically, “But maybe another day. It could be our version of brotherly bonding. How fun!” He grinned with fake cheer.
“Since when have you started taking orders from anyone?” Damian threw the knife up in the air before catching it, mostly for the dramatics.
“Let’s just say…” Jason tilted his head consideringly. “We came into an agreement, as we all have one thing we want in common.”
“Which is?”
Jason smiled. Big and knowing. “Come and find out.”
Damian scoffed and picked up his duffle. “You could’ve just sent in a location to my– associates, while you were wasting time hounding them to convince me to come back. Just a thought.”
Jason, without even looking back, started making his way to their meeting place. The only thing Damian knew was that it wasn’t the way to the Manor.
“‘Associates’” Jason mocked. “Would it kill you to just say friends, Lil’ Bat?”
“We aren’t close like that.” That was a lie. Damian really cared for the team - the family - he had made in that little island. But he wouldn’t reveal that weakness to other people like that. Especially to Jason Todd.
“That so?” Jason jumped over from one building to another’s railway, Damian trailing behind from a distance.
There were a few minutes of silence between them, which Damian was very grateful for. He found it quite awkward to just– not fight with the elder man. His and Jason’s relationship - if you could even say there was one - was the worst out of all his family. Even with Tim - whom he had fought and insulted countless times - they could tolerate each other’s presence. And on rare days, even enjoy it. Perhaps it was due to being forced to live together for five years that they had come to understand each other.
Jason was a different case.
They never lived together. They never truly worked together on an investigation. They just fought and fought and fought and never once apologized. Damian cut him up with his knives, Jason shot him.
And now, the result of that, was a relationship that never was actually formed.
“Where were you?” Jason’s question pulled him out of his thoughts. He stared at the man’s back and the way his boots thumped on the concrete as they carried its owner's weight.
“None of your business.” The answer came naturally.
“Don’t be like that.” Jason said with a smile on his voice. It made Damian want to bristle with anger.
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Timmy said you were on some kind of island. The old man said nothing at all. Which is weird considering how over-protective he is when it comes to you.”
Damian snorted, amusement climbing up his chest as to how foolish Jason was being. “Father isn’t ‘over-protective’ towards me, he just doesn’t want his homicidal son to go out on a murdering spree when he’s not looking.” He said sarcastically. “Can’t say I blame him, though. I do have the record.”
Jason slowed down a little and turned his head back to look at him. “Oh? And what does that mean? Did you go on a murder spree, Baby Bat? Can’t imagine you just went on a relaxing little trip to the Bahamas.”
Damian hummed and looked at the city below him, thrumming with crime and dirt and excitement. “I’d say ‘wait and find out’ but, honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever tell you, Todd.”
Jason shook his head with an amused smile. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Damian. I’ll still find out. One way or another.” He muttered under his breath, yet Damian still heard him.
“Are you threatening me, Junkie?” Damian glared at the man. Jason threw his head back with a loud laugh. Damian realized right then how much he didn’t like hearing that sound.
“‘Junkie’, hah, that’s a good one. I can already see how much more fun it’ll be with you back.” Damian wasn’t planning on staying for long, but he kept his mouth shut at that information.
“Is that why you’re so adamant on me coming back, Todd? Because you were bored?” He tsk-ed. “If you want entertainment, then I’d suggest going on a little killing spree yourself. It really soothes the mind.”
Jason snorted with one last glance back to him and announced, “We’re here.”
Damian observed the tall brick building which they were standing on the side of. Jason didn’t lead them inside through the front door, instead going through one of the open windows up a few floors.
They made their way through the dark hallway. It looked to be some kind of abandoned apartment. It wasn’t too dirty, but mostly empty. At last, they stood in front of a closed door and Damian watched as Jason opened the door with a key. He wasn’t sure why his siblings had chosen this place instead of the clocktower, or even the Bat-Cave. But he didn’t have time to ponder before chatter filled his ear. Female and male voices. It seemed that this reunion would be a lot more crowded than he had previously assumed. Damian sighed.
“We’re here!” Jason yelled, “And I didn’t even try to kill him once!”
“Wait really?” Timothy.
“Pay up, losers!” Stephanie.
“Ugh, why did I even bet against you?” Duke.
“Everyone shut up!” Richard. “What did we just talk about?”
“We can hear you, you dumb bitches!” For the first time ever, Damian shared the same sentiment with Jason. He was already regretting coming here.
“Hey now– stop it, Duke– let’s all settle down, folks. We got esteemed guests.” Esteemed my ass, Stephanie.
The living room - or whatever it was - came into full view as he trailed after the taller man. It was brightly lit with a soft yellow light, not at all overstimulating. From what Damian could observe, it was the only room decorated with furniture. A big table, a nice rug, fairy lights and a big couch. The room looked warm. Like a home.
He shouldn’t have come here.
The first person to come to view was Cassandra. In her usual black sports fit and leaning against a wall which looked directly at the door. Like a silent guardian, protecting her family. Her hair had changed, perhaps being the only difference Damian could find in her appearance. Her usual bob was now cut even shorter to a pixie. It suit her.
Duke and Stephanie were next, not-so-discreetly shoving at each other from where they were standing next to the table. Damian didn’t find anything different in their appearance apart from Duke’s longer hair braided into locks. It gave him a more mature air.
Tim was sitting on the couch with his back to the entrance, his arms lazily spreading on the back rest. But Dick was turned towards them with a visibly nervous smile. His visible uncomfortableness made amusement simmer in Damian’s chest.
Tim still hadn’t spared a glance back as he opened his annoying mouth, “Had a nice, safe trip back, Dames? Y’know, we had quite the hard time– tracking you down, I mean. It was all thanks to Cass that we’ve managed to find Connor’s phone signal. Whatever little island you were hiding in had a horrible connection.” He sighed with a fake exhaustion.
Not even thirty seconds in, and Damian already wanted to murder someone. And of course it was Drake. “Now that you’ve reminded me, I should thank you for that, shouldn’t I, Timothy? Would a bullet to the neck do?” Tim Drake wasn’t the only asshole in their fucked up family.
That made the elder man finally turn his head towards him. Damian met his grey-blue eyes with an innocent smile. The one Tim hated the most. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your humor, brat.”
“Nice to see you haven’t lost your head– Oh wait, I shouldn’t talk so early.” Damian looked at the scarring that was already healed on Tim’s neck.
There was a brief second of silence between them, before Jason finally walked away towards the kitchen with a sigh and Dick stood up and moved to stand right in front of Damian, blocking his two younger brothers’ view of each other.
“I’m glad you two clearly missed each other so much, but let’s tone down the fighting. Just for today. Please?” The eldest said as he gave pointed glances between them. Tim shrugged and turned back to his phone, which caused all of Dick’s attention to turn onto him.
Damian watched with tired eyes as his eldest brother walked towards him with his arms held out. He didn’t move an inch, even when those arms wrapped around him tightly. “‘Missed you.” Dick whispered into his hair. His voice filled with a type of warmth Damian never remembered hearing before. Alarm bells rang in his head. Something wasn’t right.
But he refused to say it back, to respond to the hug. Just one day, he would grant them before he disappeared back again. This time for a long time.
“Okay but, how long could I - hypothetically - get away with hugging you?” Stephanie’s usual loud and boisterous voice called out from the back, just as Dick parted away from him.
Damian pointedly avoided Dick’s gaze as he turned back to the young woman. “Three seconds before you lose a spleen.”
Stephanie shrugged with a thoughtful pout, “Well, Timmy boy can live without one. Why can’t I?”
“Well, the spleen would be for starters. Five seconds in, one of your kidneys would be gone. Ten seconds in, you’d need a feeding tube. But by all means, take your chance, Brown.” Damian opened his arms with a deadpan look, which the elder woman jumped in with a careless smile.
Damian let his hands fall down to his sides as Stephanie tried to squeeze the life out of him, before letting him go with a loud smacked kiss on his cheek.
He lifted his hand to his cheek with a scandalized look. “Did you just–”
“Oh my god, someone please tell me they filmed that!” Jason laughed with a ridiculously happy look.
“I’m going to kill everyone here–” Damian started before Duke cut him off.
“Ey, What ‘I do?”
“I will kill everyone here besides Thomas.”
“Aw, love you too little bro.”
“Never mind. You’re dead too.”
Before the argument could get any bigger, Dick cut in, “Okay, how about pizza?” Damian didn’t answer, just mindlessly wiped away at his cheek and plopped down on a single couch, which happened to be right in front of where Tim was sitting.
Damian ignored his brother, watching as the others gathered around the other side of the room to prepare plates and drinks. Well, tried, would be the better term. As Tim was noticeably trying to get his attention while it was just the two of them. “Hey, come here. I need to ask you something.”
“No.”
“Dude.”
“Go bother someone else. I’m not patient enough to deal with you today.” Actually, when was he ever?
Tim snorted at that. “This is you as ‘patient’? Could’ve fooled me, brat.”
“If you have questions, you can ask them. From where you’re sitting.” Damian made a point by draping one of his legs on the arm and making himself comfortable.
Tim leaned forward with a barely there smile and a weird look on his face. His tongue poked his cheek as he squinted at Damian, The latter lifting a single eyebrow in question. “You sure the rest of our dear family wants to hear about this–” he then made finger quotes, “‘Lazarus Island’”
Damian bit the insides of his cheek, mentally cursing at himself at how easily he got riled up when Timothy fucking Drake ever opened up his useless mouth. The glare he sent towards the older man might’ve pulverized him on the spot if Damian was Superman.
Tim leaned back on the couch, imitating Damian’s fake confidence, and lifted his hands up in surrender. “Now, now. I was just curious, no need to get your panties in a twist.”
“I’m about to twist your neck–”
Tim threw his head back and groaned dramatically. It was not loud enough for their family to hear over the chatter, yet they would be here any time soon. And curious. Very curious.
“Come on Damian.” He patted the spot next to him. “Look, maybe if we pretend to play nice tonight, I might help you when you inevitably end up pissing off Hood later on and get him all murderous again.” He then shrugged with a smirk. “Not that a little ragebaiting here and there would hurt.”
Damian had no idea what this ‘ragebaiting’ meant, but he knew for sure that when it came to Jason Todd, pissing him off wouldn’t not end up with someone hurt. Speaking from experience.
But the thing was, Tim Drake didn’t have much that he cared for. His team, his family, his work as a vigilante, his new boyfriend and crime cases made up much of his interests. Damian rarely ended up on that list, not that Tim himself made it up to Damian’s own list. So him being so adamant on finding out what exactly happened during Damian’s little get away to the Lazarus Island was kind of out of character for him, to say the least.
So with a defeated sigh, he got up to make his way to sit next to his brother, only a sharp pain on his lower back emerging again and making him falter for a second. He gathered himself within the second - as how a trained ex-assassin did - but he also saw the miniscule twitch in Tim’s eyes. Because of course he noticed.
Damian made sure to put in at least half a meter distance between himself and Tim on the couch, ignoring the searing pain slowly climbing up to his neck. “Whatever you’re looking for on that island, I assure you I would be of no help to you.”
Tim’s lips curved into a small smile. “Oh, I doubt that.” A single raised eyebrow was the only reply he got from Damian before he continued. “How about we start from the beginning, hm? How did you find out about the place?”
“I see you’ve called me here for an interrogation, then. How predictable.” Damian crossed his arms and stared forward uninterestedly.
“Humor me.”
“The owner of that island was an acquaintance of the al Ghul’s.” Tim opened his mouth for a follow-up, but Damian already guessed what he was about to ask. “Yes, that person is not alive right now.”
“Did you kill them?” Tim asked with no remorse in his eyes. As if he already expected the answer. Damian tutted.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Okay…” The elder thought for a moment. “What was happening in there– You were there, Rose was there, even Connor. And I bet even more people joined. So what were you all doing there?”
Damian felt his own grin making up to his face. Tim was very good at masking his emotions, but the five years he had spent with the man made it easy for him to figure his brother out.
One thing to know about Tim Drake was that he hated not knowing things. And especially the ones regarding their family. And right now Damian had easily strolled back to Gotham just as he had left almost a year ago, with a big fucking question mark on top of his head.
And no one knew what had happened to him at that time. Not even his father.
“I’m curious as to know what you think may have happened.”
Tim sighed at the blatant show of disregardance. “Some sort of mission? Since the other two people we know were there with you, also knew how to fight.”
Oh and how wrong he was. “This was very entertaining to listen to. But I can’t bear to listen to your stupidity any longer”
“Wait–”
“I’ll tell you this one last thing about Lazarus Island and nothing else. It was a tournament. Not a secret mission. Not a team up. And certainly not a secret base. Do whatever you will with that information.”
“By tournament, you mean–”
“Shh. What did I just say, Timothy? Look, our siblings are joining us. So, I suggest you keep your mouth shut for the rest of the night.”
And right on time, the rest of the family sat down on the couches, each having plates with pizza slices on their hands. Duke graciously offered him one of the two plates he was carrying while Cassandra did the same for Tim.
“So. What were you two whispering about? Should we be scared?” Dick laughed, his amusement carrying hints of apprehension despite the question.
Damian didn’t answer, instead turned towards Tim, daring him to answer. The latter caught his eye for a second before flashing a relaxed smile to the rest of the group. “Damian was ‘asking’ about the bullet wound on my neck.” He laughed and touched his neck, although he sounded irritated more than anything. “And by asking, I mean making fun of my dodging skills.”
“Your non-existent ones, you mean?” Damian added and bit off a piece from his veggie pizza. “Someone forgot that Robin’s bright and colorful uniform is meant for drawing attention to yourself, not away from it. Although I do regret leaving just a little bit.” He added.
“Aw, feel bad for your big bro, Dami?” Jason cooed teasingly.
“Oh no, I meant that I wanted to watch it happen. Can’t believe I missed it.”
Tim kicked his thigh in retaliation. Damian barely felt it. He wondered, nervously, whether it was because Tim was going easy on him or because he was losing feeling in his legs again. He hoped it was the former. He didn’t know what exactly had been happening to him (why was his spine malfunctioning), but revealing his little issue to the family was a sure way to put a stop to his escape plans from Gotham tomorrow.
“You two never change…” Stephanie sighed with a knowing smile. “Babs won’t regret missing out that much I guess.”
“Where is Gordon?” Damian asked and pointedly looked around. He had noticed her lack of presence when he entered the apartment, but he had assumed she was busy. Not that he would blame her for coming up with an excuse not to entertain this shitshow.
“Well almost all of Gotham’s vigilantes are taking an off day, so someone had to make sure things weren’t getting messed up too badly.” Dick joked, but then added with a quieter voice, “Also, her back’s been bothering her lately. We didn’t want to tire her out.”
Damian nodded absentmindedly while his stomach twisted anxiously. His own situation sounded a bit too similar to what Barbara had been dealing with for years.
Was this a sign that his spine was failing him? His mother had informed him that the metal they had used would make sure he would never suffer a spinal issue for the rest of his life, but had that been a lie? The same way she hid a remote inside Damian’s body and handed it to Slade Wilson?
“Anyways, not like this’ll be our last meeting. We can visit her later, right Dames?” Dick smiled at him. Damian avoided the older man’s gaze. Yes, Richard. This will be our last meeting. At least for a while.
Damian cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I think you should start off by explaining why you’ve been harassing all those people just to get me back in Gotham. And let me just warn you that nothing less than a newfound terminal illness within the family will prevent me from walking out of the door right at this moment.”
Everyone glanced between themselves awkwardly, which, truly, told Damian everything he needed to know. How disappointing. He thought. Damian was safe to assume that the reason was solely because his father didn’t want him running around where he couldn't see. Especially not after Talia had taken over the League after Ra’s death. Did they think he would go running back to his mother?
Well, that would be a reason enough, even for Dick who had been the only person in the family to let him go on his own. Dick who was selfless enough to go against everyone and everything in this entire world just to make sure Damian would be happy. But perhaps more than wanting to see him happy, Dick hated Talia for killing him.
Which meant there was absolutely no one standing in between Damian and the rest of his family.
At that moment, Damian wished Alfred had been alive more than ever.
“Our family has been fucked up for far too long, brat. And it is for a lack of trying. It’s time we work this shit out, once and for all.”
Damian turned a surprised look towards Jason, the last person he imagined would say such a thing. “Hello? Have you been replaced by another Jason from an alternate universe? What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Jason lifted a brow at his cursing but didn’t comment on that. Instead, Duke chimed in. “Yeah, well… Things have been weird ever since you left. Believe it or not, we just want to try. With you here.”
Damian laughed at the naive look on Duke’s face. “So, what I’m hearing is– you guys couldn’t get used to the peace and quiet of me being gone and decided to call me back so that we can fight some more and try to kill each other. How fun. I’ll pass though, have a good night. Let’s never do this again.”
Damian got up and jumped over the couch. He ignored the shouting of his name from the back and made his way towards the door, only to get blocked by Cassandra herself. Is that how it is? Damian thought before promptly turning around and jumping out of the conveniently left open window.
Well, the good news was that Damian’s legs hadn’t gone numb again (yet).
The bad news was that he now had an entire hoard of highly trained men and women chasing after him in the middle of the night.
With his duffle bag left inside the apartment, he only had access to three of his knives, one small but practical grappling hook and a plain hoodie to keep him warm.
Damian was not having fun.
He squated behind an electricity vault to catch his breath. It had been a while since he moved around this much. He had lost sight of his family members just three minutes ago, but he doubted, with the help of Oracle, he could stay hidden for long. He needed to get out of Gotham. Fast.
He got up from his crouch and looked down at the streets below him. They were dark, barely lit by the broken street lights. Which meant a good spot to get lost in. He braced a foot and dangled the other down. Right as he was about to jump, the sound of a cape beating against the icy air distracted him.
For a second, his blood froze at the thought that his father had found him. But as he turned around to look behind him, the sight of red and blue caught his eye.
With a relieved sigh, Damian looked up at the flying form of one Jonathan Kent. Occasionally known as Superboy. Sometimes known as Damian’s best friend.
“Hey Rob! Nice to see ya’ all out in here. You wouldn’t happen to want a ride back home now, would you?” Jon asked with a mischievous grin. The same one he wore after incessantly annoying Damian during their missions to other planets and fucking everything up because they couldn’t stop arguing.
“How about one outside of Gotham?” Damian rebutted instead. He slowly walked towards the - now older than him - boy as Jon floated down until his feet touched the ground.
The last time Damian talked to him was a few months ago when he had sneaked into Metropolis to help him - and his boyfriend - with a mission. The seventeen year old looked as jolly as ever.
“Let me guess, my lovely family sent you after me to convince me to come back to Gotham and live with them, pretending to be a perfect little family.”
Jon whistled in surprise. “Uh, actually, I flew here because I realized your heartbeat sounded a lot closer than it usually was. But, um, family issues, huh?” He laughed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.
Damian sighed and rolled his eyes. “You could say that.” He then turned around to look down at the city. “The more accurate description would be my family having this idiotic idea in their heads that we could be anything but dysfunctional.”
“Well,” Jon started and came to stand next to him on the ledge. “Not that I could even begin to imagine the issues between you and your family, but what’s wrong with just– giving them a chance?”
“I have given it a chance, Jon!” Damian growled. “I’ve given it a second, third, fourth chance. How many more should I give, hm? It doesn’t work– we don’t work! I love them, truly, but it’s better from a distance.”
“Is that what you believe, or what you want to believe?” Jon crossed his arms, looking too much like his father.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Jon. Back then, the only thing keeping our relationship from falling apart was Pennyworth. But he’s– he’s gone now. So, there’s nothing tying me back to this place.” And not just for him but between everyone. Alfred Pennyworth was the heart of this family. But now that he was dead, no one could fill in the role he played within their family.
Jon caught his arm and pulled him closer to himself from the edge of the building. “No one?” He asked with a firm tone. “Not even, Dick?”
Damian scoffed, putting on a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Grayson can’t even manage to spend more than three days in the same house as father. Which is considerably more than most of the family. Why do you think he went to Blüdhaven in the first place?” He didn’t give Jon a chance to answer. “That’s right, because he didn’t want to be near father and his overbearing tendencies.”
Jon tilted his head questioningly, his eyes lit up with a knowing look. “Is that what it’s about, D?”
“Huh?”
“It’s not about your siblings at all, is it? You just don’t want to go back to living with Bruce again.”
Damian ripped his arm away, putting on a few steps between him and his best friend. Then with a smile, “Clever boy. I see those two years in that volcano finally brought some sense into you.”
And yes, perhaps he was trying to make Jon angry at him. Enough to let him get away. But instead of anger, all Damian saw was understanding in those bright blue eyes. “You know, I get it. I truly do. The relationship you’ve been building up with your father, suddenly collapsing. Having to start over again. But it’s not too late Damian. It never is.”
“I don’t need your pity.” Damian spit the word out like venom. Only, Jon shook his head. A tired smile on his lips.
“I don’t pity you, Damian. I feel compassion for you. In a way you could not begin to imagine.”
Damian bit his lips, a heavy feeling settling in his throat. He watched with an equally heavy heart as Jon gently took off with one last encouraging nod.
He could’ve set off right then and there. It was the perfect opportunity to save himself for good. But he stayed put, almost stubbornly, as the mechanical sound of a grappling hook echoed closer.
Tim landed with a soft thud. No heavy gear or protection, just his oversized brown hoodie that most likely belonged to his boyfriend. He tucked the grappling hook to his waist and made his way over to Damian with a non-existent hurry. “You’re a tough bird to catch, Dames. Y’know, Babs said to me once– that I could never find you if you didn’t want to be found. So I guess this means you’re giving us a chance.”
“Where’s father?”
“Home.” He answered with a small but knowing smile. “The others were insisting on meeting you at the Manor with Bruce there, but I told them it was a horrible idea. That you’d run off the moment you saw him. It was a cruel move in my opinion– surprising how they didn’t catch onto it sooner.”
“You think you know me so well, don’t you Timothy?” Damian took a step closer to his brother, but at the same time, subconsciously listening for any other signs of a bat.
“I do know you– quite well, actually. You will come back home and not because we’ll forcibly drag you back. But because you started to consider it.”
“I am considering chopping off your head right now.” Damian smiled, his hand trailing down to his waist and gripping a knife. He wasn’t actually, of course. But he did not like the direction this conversation was going.
“You considering to do something equals to you being already halfway down to doing it. That’s why you won’t chop off my head– that’s why you know how pointless this conversation actually is. Stop fighting whatever demons you have inside your head and move along, yeah?”
Oh, Tim had no idea what kinds of demons he had inside of his head.
But he was right. As right as always. And Damian hated him so much for that.
“You know nothing will change right?” He asked him instead. “No matter how much any of you - even Todd - plays at being a perfect family, it will end up as the same old story.”
Tim turned around and unhurriedly started walking back, fully expecting– knowing that Damian would follow along. “Nope, that’s where you’re wrong, Baby Bat. Back then, none of us were actually trying. Simply tolerating each other’s existence to not cause a fight to break out. You and I know it the best, don’t we?”
With a frustrated groan, Damian started trailing along his older brother. “I hate that stupid fucking nickname.”
Tim snorted and silently gazed back at him with a curious expression. “Since when did you start cursing so much? What happened to ‘dog-witted-imbeciles’?”
“Unfortunately, I realized you weren’t any smarter than a dog.”
“Can a dog track you down halfway across the world through a phone signal?”
“Well, not every living being can be good at everything. A dog may not be able to hack a phone but it can be less of an annoying fuck.”
Tim threw his head back in a laugh, kind of similar to Jason’s crazy hyena-like one. But surprisingly, Damian didn’t hate it as much. He then lightly punched him on the shoulder. “I forgot how funny you were, but in a fucked up way.”
Damian had no idea what Tim meant by that, which was often the case between them. “It’s one of my charms.” He replied with a fake smile.
It was a shocking realization that for the first time in years - or ever, really - that Damian was having a decent, normal conversation with Tim without trying to kill each other. Was this the progress they had been talking about in that apartment?
“So, what’s wrong with you? I saw you wince in pain earlier.” No way in bloody hell, Timothy.
“Are we going to the Manor now?” Damian quickly changed the topic. It was an obvious attempt, but he didn’t know how to dodge that topic quite yet. He just hoped Tim wouldn’t tattle on him to Bruce.
“And you’re just going to ignore my question. Of course.” Tim tsked, irritated.
“I guessed it was father’s turn to speak to me now. And by ‘speak’ I mean lecture me about how reckless I was for running away and that Pennyworth would be very saddened by my actions if he could see me right now. Blah blah blah– Which will then probably end up with me punching him in the face - again - and telling him to fuck off.”
Tim faltered for a second, an awkward and unsure look on his face. “Okay, let’s not– Firstly, stop pissing yourself off with a scenario you imagined. Second, he’s not gonna lecture you. He missed you– stop looking at me like that!”
“‘He missed me’ you say?” Damian drawled with a disbelieving tone. “Either you’re lying to me to make me feel better - which is doing quite the opposite actually - or you’re delusional.”
“You really think Bruce hates you, don’t you?” Tim let out a shocked laugh. It did nothing but help prove how delusional he was being.
“Father doesn’t hate me. He just doesn’t like me. Which I have no grievance about because the feeling is quite mutual.” Damian said breezily. Although it surprised him how Tim didn’t seem to think the same way.
“Oh, and did he say that to you?” Tim snorted.
“You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you, Timothy.” Damian replied.
Tim stumbled and turned towards him with wide eyes. “No way– he did not.” Damian only laughed at his flabbergasted expression.
“Okay, that’s kinda fucked up.” The elder continued. Damian sighed, not feeling sad about his unpleasant past memories with his father, but because how seemingly clueless his siblings were when it came to Damian’s relationship with Bruce.
“It would be, if I actually cared about it. But as it stands, I don’t care much when it comes to my father.”
As it stood, Damian did care when it came to his father. So much that his hands started shaking and his breath came out in short gasps. Tim didn’t notice, Damian wouldn’t let him see that kind of breakdown which came over to him more often than not ever since Alfred passed.
Not passed. Not gone. Dead. Alfred was dead and he would forever remain dead. And Damian would never get to see him, hear him, touch him again, for he was never destined for Heaven. No matter how many lives he saved, Damian would end up nowhere but in the deep alcoves of Hell. He had accepted that fact when he was ten.
Two brothers stood side by side at the entrance of the Wayne Manor. Like two protagonists of a coming-of-age-story. Tim looked at him with an encouraging smile, one that was rarely ever pointed towards Damian, and opened the door.
Just mere seconds before, Damian had expected a dark and gloomy atmosphere inside. Now that Alfred wasn’t there to keep the house alive, who would? Certainly not his father who lived inside the cave more than he did inside the Manor for the past couple of months. And definitely not his siblings who had all moved out to their own apartments or houses.
But Damian, as he usually ended up being, was wrong.
The entrance hall, instead of its dark and haunted gloom, was softly lit by small lamps. Giving it a welcoming atmosphere from Gotham’s endless night. Damian waited for Tim to take the first step inside, like some kind of little kid taking the hands of his older brother. If Tim noticed his trepidation, he didn’t comment on it, instead he stepped inside wordlessly.
Damian trailed along, looking around the house as if he had never seen it before. As if he hadn’t lived there for the past, almost, six years.
“He said he’d be waiting in the second floor living room.” Tim said. There was no need to explain who he was. His father– their father had known that Damian would end up crawling back to where it all started.
The Wayne Manor. The place where Damian spent the best and the worst years of his life.
As they arrived in front of the giant marble staircase, Damian was aware that he would have to go up alone and he hated that fact.
He hated that it was Tim and not Dick here with him right now. To hold his hand and tell him - stupidly, naively - that everything would be okay, that all he needed to do was just talk with his father for the first time after almost a year.
None of Damian’s talks with Bruce ever ended up on a nice note. The last one ended up with him punching his father in the face and ripping out the Robin symbol off his uniform.
“Look, I know you two are rarely on good terms with each other. But just for today. Try. ‘Kay?” Tim gave a friendly pat on his shoulder and started walking away.
“And what if it just ends up as the usual? Then what?” Damian called without turning to look back. He heard a quiet chuckle from behind him.
“Why so pessimistic, man? Maybe you two will end up with a better relationship than you ever imagined having. Have some hope.”
“If I had hope, then I would’ve ended up being a Super, not a Bat.” He muttered stubbornly and stomped his way up the stairs. It was so very quiet, but not in a creepy way. In a way that actually felt peaceful.
His father rarely invited outsiders in the Manor. But when he did, the first floor was reserved for the guests. It had a different architectural design than the rest of the floors. For once, it looked fancier with marble floors, statues, vases and millions of dollars worth of paintings. Perhaps, one of the few things Damian enjoyed looking at.
Therefore, their family rarely ‘hung out’ on the first floor. It felt - not strange - but unwelcome. The second floor was where everything got livelier. Where everyone hung around, where it was warmer, where the floors were soft and wooden.
Damian wondered why hadn’t his father chosen to do this confrontation in his office– or better yet, the cave. But perhaps he wanted Damian to feel more comfortable in his presence. At least that’s what he thought.
“Tell me, Father. What would you have done if I ended up running away again? Would you send your hoard of children after me or would you have simply forgotten about me?”
Damian looked at the man standing in front of the fireplace. He had a mug in his hands. Either coffee or tea. Most likely coffee, as his father was very incompetent in the art of making a simple cup of tea.
Bruce didn’t turn back to him, or played along with his taunts. Instead with a calm voice, “I was considering making you some tea for the cold, but then I remembered how specific you were with your drinks. You would’ve probably chucked the mug towards the wall. You always hated my tea. So hot chocolate it is, I thought.” He nodded his head towards the coffee table with a dark brown mug sitting on it.
Damian took one look at it and considered throwing it at the nearest wall anyways. But he had made a promise. He’d try. For Jon. For Dick. For Tim.
“You used to think that hot chocolate was made with water instead of milk too. What does that say about your record for making the worst drinks in existence?” Damian said and sat on the couch. He didn’t touch the mug, instead put one leg on the small table. As a final act of rebellion, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh.
His father simply laughed and finally turned around. Damian refused to open his eyes. To look at his father’s, now older than ever, eyes under the dim light from the fire. But the truth was that he didn’t want his father to see his eyes too. His green eyes that had gotten even a lighter, a more toxic color after dying two times in the span of a few days. His siblings hadn’t noticed of course. Not when they hadn’t been around Damian as much as Bruce was for all those years.
“I think we can all learn from our past mistakes, son.” That made Damian laugh. A smart reply suiting The Batman.
“How sweet of you two compare your shitty kitchen skills to our equally shitty relationship, Father. I commend you. Truly.”
The couch dipped as Bruce sat down next to him. Closer than Damian would’ve liked. But he stayed silent as his father sighed and put down his mug on the table with a quiet click.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For being absent. For not being there for you when all you wanted was for me to be there.”
“Y’know what’s funny?” Damian finally opened his eyes, glaring at the ceiling. A migraine was making its way towards his temple. “For all those years, I watched you– helped you send those villains to prison. I watched, over and over again, as they escaped from confinement to do more evil. Never satiated. Not an ounce of humanity left in their eyes.”
Damian closed his eyes back again and imagined their faces. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Father, since you’re also being honest with me. I never understood your no-killing role. At least not when it came to them. All those people they’ve killed– all those lives you could’ve protected by simply letting them suffer the same way they made those innocents suffer. But no.”
He then turned to look at his father with a furious gaze. “You had to help them. You had to give them a second– third– fourth chance. Hoping, naively, that one day they’d learn to be better.”
Bruce sighed. “If that’s how you truly feel, then wouldn’t it apply to you as well? Are you saying that I should…” He didn’t finish his sentence, a haunted look glossing over his face. Likely remembering Damian’s death. “I just can’t. I won’t.”
“So you put me in the same standards as them? As Joker– as Scarecrow– as Penguin? I did horrible things, Father. I will never refuse that. But the difference is that I had to. What could a six year old do when a room full of professional assassins tells him to kill a person, or else? I was a kid, which you’ve always seemed to forget, and they are thinking, functioning adults.”
A gentle hand came down to his shoulder. Damian didn’t flinch, but instead shifted further away from Bruce on the couch. The hand fell away and he refused to look at the hurt look on his father’s face.
“You are right, son. I– It’s been my biggest regret that I never treated you as a kid. Because honestly? I thought it would be best to treat you as a peer, so that it would come easier when I needed to right your wrongs at first. I thought you’d prefer to be treated that way too. And I was wrong, Damian. I was so wrong.”
Damian scoffed. “I’m glad you can finally see your past mistakes, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make.”
“Tell me, then.”
“You continue to give them endless chances. You–” His throat constricted impossibly, making him choke on his own words. Damian bit his tongue, trying to pull himself together. “Yet, when it came down to me and my past mistakes, it’s like– it’s like some sort of– fuck!”
“Hey, it’s okay– How about we–”
“No, just– shut up. Please. Let me talk.” Bruce nodded silently, looking like he desperately wanted to reach out. But Damian wouldn’t let him, and he knew that.
When he finally composed himself, he started again. “When it comes to me, you never see another chance. All you see is the people I’ve killed. And it’s not because you hate me, but because you hate yourself. Because you couldn’t save me from that place– from the monster they’ve groomed me into becoming. And it haunts you. It haunts you that you’ll never get to undo all the damage done to me. You have such high standards for yourself that the thought of your own flesh and blood defying that– that is the reason you could barely be around me without feeling sick. Even my mother–”
“Damian–”
“She killed me. I was dead for eight months and even then, no matter how much you two fight and pretend to hate each other, you look at her with a softness that you never once directed at me. That’s what’s bothering me, Father. That’s my point.”
“If you’re implying that I see you as lesser than all those criminals– lesser to Talia, then believe me when I say this, son, I don’t. I don’t and I never did.”
Damian laughed at that, the way Bruce said those words and believed them? Maybe he was even stupider than Damian had thought. “You think I believe that bullshit?”
Bruce kept relenting though, “You should. Because let me tell you the truth, Damian. You are right, in that I hate myself for not saving you from the League sooner. I hate how much they abused and tortured you in the guise of ‘training’. I hate the fact that you never got to experience childhood and never will. And yes, I can see now how differently I treated you compared to your siblings. But, believe me when I say this, it was because I was scared of hurting you.”
“What are you talking about?” Damian asked confusedly.
“You came here, a child forced to do the most horrible of things by every adult around you. You didn’t know how to accept affection without thinking it was some kind of ploy to get your guard down. You flinched every time we touched you– thought we would hit you. And I– I didn’t want to become like them. To force you into this vigilante business where nothing but more darkness and pain awaited you. Honestly, Damian? I didn’t know what to do with you for a long time. But what I knew was that I didn’t want to infect you with my own darkness.”
“You think whatever ‘darkness’ you have inside of you is any worse than what I possess, Father?”
Bruce reached out once more, but this time, Damian didn’t move away. He placed a gentle hand on top of his head, gently caressing his hair. Damian gulped at the unfamiliar feeling. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but more awkward. “I see that now.” His father whispered, a broken little thing, and his hand gently lowered to caress his cheek.
Damian twitched, not at all used to that type of affection. His father then gently, but firmly, grasped his jaw and turned Damian’s head towards him. He didn’t have time to ask before his father spoke again. Another whisper.
“What happened to your eyes, baby?”
Damian’s face shuttered and all he could see was green, green, green.
He blinked once and he was back at the tournament. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen, Nika, ripped his heart out with wide eyes and a cheery grin.
He blinked again, Connor’s calloused hands wrapping around him. One around his neck, the other around his head and then crack!
Damian ripped away his father’s hand around his jaw and stumbled up with a shaky breath. His mother was standing just a few meters away from him under the heavy rain. A vial filled with the essence of the Lazarus Pit in his hands. Alfred’s grave behind him.
“Damian, calm down! It’s okay, I’m here– it’s me–”
Respawn, his brother, rips away his mask. The only thing remaining is a broken snow haired boy that looked too much like Damian and Slade Wilson. An accusatory look, so full of hate. Forced to become an organ donor for every time Damian lost his own. A child that suffered more than Damian ever had.
“I need to– go. I need to leave. Now.” Damian managed to gasp out as he stumbled towards the exit. A hand caught his arm before he could make it to the door, firmly tugging him backwards.
He lashed out without thinking. Because of course he did. That’s how it always ended between him and Bruce, wasn’t it? With a fight. His knife slashed away, just inches away from his father’s chest.
Bruce caught his hand, now holding both of his arms. Damian never intended to hurt him. He just needed a distraction– a small one, so that he could get away and never come back.
Damian kicked at Bruce’s thigh. The sound of impact echoing around the room. But the man didn’t pull back, he didn’t even flinch. Before Damian could try again, his father twisted the knife away. He watched in panic as the sharp metal cluttered down their feet before Bruce kicked it away towards the other side of the room.
Damian pulled back again, the hands around his wrist similar to metal cuffs. Bruce used the momentum to let one of his wrists go before spinning him around and wrapping his arms around Damian in a restrictive hold. With both of his arms trapped between himself and his father’s arms, he threw his head back, aiming for a head-butt. But due to his father’s towering height, it landed on his chest instead.
“Stop. Stop. Damian. You’re safe. You’re safe, okay, sweetheart?”
Damian hissed as if he had been burned. “Stop talking to me like that!”
“Everything will be okay, are you listening to me, Damian? I’m here and everything will be okay. Repeat after me.”
Damian kicked at his father’s knees instead. “Let me go!”
Green, green, green. His vision swam with the toxic color. His grandfather sitting before a camp fire. No more Demon’s Head. Only Ra’s. Giving Damian a smile and telling him to sit down. As if the past decade of him causing nothing but pain towards him never happened.
They had asked Damian to come home so they could be a family again, too. His mother and his grandfather.
His home had been Alfred Pennyworth. And that man was dead.
“He’s dead!” Finally a tear fell down his cheek. Only one which Damian allowed before straining every single muscle in his body to escape the hold of the man with empty promises. But like that of a broken doll, his back heated up in searing pain, like a spasm but a thousand times worse.
With a muffled groan of pain, Damian bit his tongue and closed his eyes, finally slumping back bonelessly. Bruce did not release his hold on him for a few more seconds. Damian felt suffocated between the arms around him and the pain in his spine coming and going in waves. He clenched and let go of his hands in the same pattern. It did absolutely nothing to help.
For the first time in years, Damian felt sick.
“Damian, I need you to listen to me, son. This is important.” Bruce spoke softly in his ear.
“Mhm.” His legs tingled, but they still managed to hold his weight. But not much longer. Damian had stayed for far too long.
“Are you hurt anywhere? I don’t care if it’s a small bruise or a papercut. I need you to tell me, right now.”
“I’m tired.” Damian mumbled.
At his answer, Bruce sighed and finally unwrapped his arms from the tight bear-hug, (Grayson used to do that too) guiding Damian to sit on the couch while he himself took a seat on the coffee table in front of him. Damian was clenching his jaw so hard that he feared he’d break something. Sitting did not feel good.
“Look at me, Damian.” His demand was too gentle for a boy like him. Yet he complied, lifting his unfocused eyes up to his father’s. The green was slowly bleeding out as he could see the dark blue in Bruce’s eyes.
“Where does it hurt?”
‘Pain is only a motive, boy. Not an obstacle. Rest assured, I will make sure you’ll learn it. I’ll break every single bone in your body if I have to.’
Damian straightened his back sharply, pain slowly buzzing into the background. He blinked the spots away from his wet eyes and put on a mask of indifference. “Nothing hurts.”
The glare Bruce’s eyes squinted into told him that he could see right through Damian’s bullshit answer. “Damian.” He spoke again, firmer this time.
“Nothing hurts.” He repeated like the good little brainwashed soldier that he was. How disappointing it was that no matter how much he tried to let go, he always fell back to the same patterns. Damian would never forget about that place– would never heal.
“Don’t lie to me. I saw it.”
“You must’ve seen wrong, then.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Please.”
“I don’t want to be here anymore. This was a mistake.”
“Don’t say that.” His father pleaded.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
“You don’t get a say in that.” Damian clenched his teeth. Fury, in its purest form, sizzled under his skin like a cancer.
“I do, I’m your father and I’m the person who’s responsible for you.”
“Must be tough.” Damian snorted. Yet not an ounce of amusement was present in his eyes. “I feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t be. I want to take care of you.” Bruce then added, “If you let me.”
“I won’t. I’m not. I’m going now.”
“You can’t, though. Can you?” His father changed tactics. Damian furrowed his brows at that.
“What.”
“You can’t leave because you can’t get up.” Fuck him.
“Fuck you.”
“It’s your back, am I right?”
“Fuck. You.”
“I’ll let that slide for now. Because there are more important matters at hand. But no more cursing at me. I never cursed at you, have I?” Bruce asked with a tilt of his head, but his eyes continued to trace a path throughout his body for any visible mark of an injury.
“I hate you.”
“That’s fine. Let me see your back.”
“Touch me and your hand gets chopped off.” Damian growled.
“No more threats either, please. I just want to see what’s wrong.”
“I don’t consent to you touching or looking at me.”
Bruce sighed tiredly. A hand massaging his temples. Now, he looked like the man Damian remembered. Always tired and stressed because of his presence. “You are tired, yes? I’ll take you to your room so you can sleep and we can talk about this in the morning, how about that?”
“Yes, I am tired. No, we will never talk about this again. Thank you.”
Bruce didn’t answer, instead he got up and looked down at him in contemplation. Probably whether Damian could stand to walk right now or not. “I can walk, Father.”
“Are you saying that because it’s the truth or you just don’t want me to carry you?”
With a smile, Damian answered. “Yes.”
Bruce sighed for the umpteenth time and held out a hand as support instead. The green was now gone. His back hurt like a bitch. He was exhausted. Something was horribly wrong with his back and he had no idea what.
So after a few more seconds of contemplation, looking between his father’s face and the hand held out to him, he reached out and took his hand. Lifting himself up hurt so much that another droplet of tear forcefully escaped his eyelids.
Damian saw his father look at him with a shatteringly sad expression. A look he rarely ever saw before. He realized, at that moment, how much he hated it.