Chapter Text
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This chapter takes place right after the previous
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The low rumble of the Batmobile echoed through the cave’s tunnels, the wheels gliding smoothly over the designated path into the cave’s garage.
The two vigilants rolled to a stop, the engine shutting off without a noise. Robin seized the opportunity to leap out of his seat and onto the platform. Batman followed suit at a much slower pace than the boy, clearly not in such a rush.
Damian just made his way up the stairs and on to the main floor, his eyes quickly assessing who else was down there.
Obviously, Drake was seated in front of the large monitors, doing who knows what. Cain and Brown were chatting away as they exited their designated changing room, probably on their way into the manor for a late night snack. Robin wouldn’t be joining them, he had better things to attend to… Like reporting in yet another body found with the same puncture wounds to the inner arm.
This has been going on for years, and it had started to bother the boy that no one was doing anything about it. You would think someone as paranoid as Batman would have dealt with whoever was doing this sooner.
Yet again, back then Batman didn't have the same technologies as he did now.
Damain didn't spare Drake a glance as he walked past him and pushed open the door for the lockers. He pulled off his suit and mask, placing them neatly into the hamper before turning towards the showers. He wouldn't be a germ like Todd, he bathes after every patrol before moving onto other activities. It made his nose wrinkle just at the thought of the man's unhygienic tendencies.
Once finished he puts on some comfortable clothes and walks out of the lockers, Drake, as always, is still at the computer and Father is standing behind him. Damian ignored them, just grabbing his laptop off of a table nearby and moving towards the back of the cave to get to work.
He sat down with a breath through his nose, logging into his account and opening the files. This marked body number 1025 with a puncture wound on the inside of their arms.
Damian’s not upset that the bodies were documented, he was upset that no one went after the person behind it. Maybe he's paranoid, maybe the others in this manor weren’t paranoid enough. His fingers clicked across the keyboard as he pulled up a map of Gotham inside an editing tool. After selecting the color red, he started to painstakingly mark down where every body had been found. A lot of the first 100 were located just outside of Park Row, if only he was allowed to look around that area.
He could look around that area… He just couldn’t get caught.
The first few bodies will most likely have the most clues towards who was doing this, but those bodies are long gone.
It's clear whoever was doing this is old, these bodies have been showing up for nearly 3 - 4 decades. Unless someone has taken over, the person should be in their late 60’s to early 70’s.
But that doesn't make sense, a person that old would have been caught by now, there is no logical way an elder could have out ran HIM! A trained assassin turned vigilante.
Older men and women can't even go up stairs before tiering! Alfred, of course, is the rare exception. If the person who did this was able to escape him, then he needs to scrap the old person profiling and start looking into the youth.
Damian didn't even realize what time it was until Bruce was walking over towards him in sleep attire and gently closed his laptop. He noticed how his father did it like he was stretching his hand towards a snapping dog. Good, maybe he would bite. But tonight he wouldn’t, he knew it was late, and he knew Father was just here to tell him to retreat to his bedroom.
“Damian, you're 2 hours late for bed.” Bruce’s voice lacked its batman growl, so Damian just tutted and picked up his laptop. “I know, father. I was working."
“You know that's not an excuse, you can return to it after patrol tomorrow, I promise.”
“Tst.. Fine, I'll see you tomorrow after school.”
Bruce stood with a soft sigh as Damian turned sharply and made his way towards the elevator. Dami stared down at the cover of his laptop as the elevator brought him upstairs, stepping out from behind the clock without even glancing up.
It was really late, maybe 3am? If that's so, he’ll only be getting an hour's sleep tonight if he's lucky. That's a problem for his family to face, he didn't care. If anything, it taught them to leave him alone when he’s tired. Every time, it seemed, when he wanted to actually rest, the other people in this manor wanted him to do something.
Whatever… Once inside his room he placed his laptop on his desk, swiftly changing into his own pajamas. A simple pair of cat print pants, courtesy of Richard, and a black shirt.
He rolled into bed, staring at the wall beside it before finally lulling to sleep.
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BEEP BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP!
Damian rolled over, clicking off the alarm clock with a grumble. His eyes pulled open to peer at the time displayed: 4am.
With a heavy sigh he lifted himself out of bed, rubbing at his face for an attempt to wake himself further before heading out. As usual, when he opened his bedroom door, there stood Alfred, holding a soft coat and some warm boots picked out just for him. Damian took the articles and was swift to put them on, merely nodding a small thank you.
The two worked together outside to feed his many animals. Though, if you were to ask him, he would say he didn't have enough.
The cows needed fresh water and feed, Jerry the turkey got some seeds, along with the Geese and Chickens who were let out too.
Alfred and Damian worked together to get the small farm ready before Damian had to go back inside. Damian walked over towards the door of the barn, leaning the shovel and pitchfork he used against the wall. His head turned towards the older man when his name was called.
“Young master Damian, it's currently 5am. If you wish, I will feed the other animals so you can get more rest.” The butler offered helpfully.
While Damian liked to deal with his animals himself, today he couldn't help but feel exhausted. Maybe he could request some tea when he wakes… No, he’s not weak like Drake, he can wake himself up without the influence of caffeine.
“Yes, that would be appreciated, Alfred.” Damian said with a steady voice.
He turned towards the barn doors, opening them and leaving towards the manor in the distance.
He would let Ace and Titus out of their kennels when he gets inside, to make Alfred’s work easier. Damian trained those dogs himself, or at least, trained Titus and kept up with Ace’s.
Either way, he knew with confidence that they would both sit patiently at their bowls until Alfred came with their food.
Damian could feel his face tingle as the warm air of the manor hit him. He didn't even realise how cold it was getting in the mornings.
He removed his coat and boots at the door, rubbing his hands together as he started to stalk down the halls towards the dog's room. It was right beside his own, for obvious reasons. If he wasn't allowed to keep them with himself during the night, this was the next best thing.
When he opened the door and turned on the lights, the two dogs were already awake and sitting in their kennels. He smiled fondly as he opened the doors and let them out, enjoying Titus’s kisses and Ace’s full body leans.
He gave them both all the attention he could before pointing towards their bowls. The two best dogs in the world quickly moved towards their food bowls and sat down. Damian gave the command ‘stay’ before leaving the room and entering his own.
He kept his bedroom door cracked open when he walked inside, why? Because upon his bed’s pillows was Alfred the Cat.
He knew that the second Alfred walked past the room the cat would be scampering off to follow. But, in the meantime, Damain cleaned off his school uniform before setting it neatly on his dresser.
He’ll put it on after he takes a quick 2 hour powernap. It was.. 6:20am, so he really only had an hour and 40 minutes. But that's better than nothing.
He laid back down in his bed, Alfred the Cat doing a little ‘mrrp’ before shuffling and laying his small head across Damian’s forehead. The rest of the feline's body wrapped around Damian's head, Alfred the Cat’s back legs stretching onto his upper chest.
Quickly enough, the sweet cats purring lulled him back into a peaceful sleep.
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BRRRRRRR BRRRRR
Damian slowly opens his eyes, rubbing at his face with his hands as sleep leaves him behind. He could feel his phone buzzing on his nightstand, It must be 8 in the morning then.
When he got out of bed, he silently noted that Alfred the Cat had long abandoned him for some well deserved breakfast. Along with a nice lounge in the sunroom partly converted to a cat room.
Damian stretched for a moment longer than what was needed, just wanting to enjoy the peace and quiet he had when alone in his room before facing the noisy hell they called school.
Not to mention the thorns in his side known as Drake, Thomas, Brown, and the rest of the low life school children, respectively.
Either way, Father insisted he goes to high school, so he shall. He quickly puts on his school uniform, fixes his hair in the mirror to make himself presentable for the public, then leaves for breakfast.
Like always, Alfred has his breakfast ready in the breakfast nook. He sits down and eats in silence, surely Drake and Thomas would be down eventually. Cain is probably already sitting in the entrance, waiting for the rest of them to arrive.
By the time he finished his food and was walking out towards the entrance, Drake and Thomas finally disgraced the manor with their sluggish presence.
He watched with a disapproving glare as the two bumbling buffoons walked into the nook and sat down, Alfred already plating their breakfasts and Drake’s disgusting coffee.
He scoffed as he simply turned on his heels and entered the main entrance. His shoes were easy to find beside the door, so was Cain, standing there silently in the corner. He had a respect for the girl, they were similar in many ways.
More than he would like to admit at times…
He did not speak his greeting, and neither did Cain. They both just shared a knowing glance between each other just as the two other boys disturbed the peace.
“Why do I even do this? I'm the greatest detective to ever live, I don't need school.”
Great, Drake was at it again with his daily complaints. If the boy wasn't careful Damian might tear out his tongue for this unruly whining. He's lucky that type of impulsivity was behind him.
“You know just as much as I do how important a GED will be in the future. Master Bruce only wants you to graduate high school, to take further education is up to your discretion."
Drake whined as he chugged down the rest of his drink, tossing it lazily into the small trash bin beside the shoe rack. Thomas shook his head as he patted Drakes back in comfort. “If it was up to me, I’d be out of this school sooner than I already am.”
“At least you get half days! I'm stuck from the first bell to the last!”
Right, Thomas only stays in school for half the day. His ploy of going to technical training had fooled the school enough to allow it. It is just the fact that this ‘technical training’ was doing daylight vigilantism. Either way, at least he was mature enough to keep his complaints to himself.
After a few more strained sentences of woe, the collection of students were ushered into the car and hurried on their way to school.
---Small Time Skip---
Damian steps out of the crowded lunchroom and into an equally as crowded hallway. He had already been in this insufferable school for the past 4 hours and he wishes he could have left after the first. Alas, he will remain.
Now, as he turns the first corner he sees, he enters into the art hall of Gotham Academy.
A stark contrast to the rest of the school's emotionless grey walls, the art hall has wall-to-wall decorations and color. Glass cases hold some of the more fragile art pieces such as glass work and ceramics.
He walked past a few classrooms before stopping in front of a room labeled advanced studio art. Of course he was allowed into such a prestigious class, only a handful of students were allowed in each year. Not to mention they were purposefully selected by their teacher, Professor Owen, based on skill alone.
Damian took his seat on one of the many long wooden tables in the room, a perfectly calculated middle seat inside the classroom. He reached into his bag and pulled out his sketchbook and pencil kit.
“Everyone please hold your horses and take a look at the front for instructions.” Professor Owen spoke, he didn’t need to raise his voice like other teachers did to catch the attention of his students. The perks of teaching advanced classes no doubt.
“I know I usually allow you all to go off and make whatever you wish for projects, but this one is quite special to me. This will be a major assignment that will take most of this semester to complete, so pay attention.” He continued after a brief moment of silence.
“You must find an artist online, or in person, and do research on them, their art style, and the meaning behind their pieces. Once you have gathered all your information you will then condense it into a paragraph or two, at the least, before starting the next step in the assignment.”
As Professor Owen explained the processes behind the class's newest project, Damian’s mind began to wander.
He quite enjoyed the idea behind this project, in fact, he already had a person in mind when it came to researching a specific artist to reference. In the online art community, there is only one infamously anonymous person that he truly appreciated.
The Painted Lady.
The artist’s name isn't known, he doesn't even have an alias online. The only thing Damien knows definitively, is that the artist is Japanese. Evident by the fact he only ever posts with titles and captions in traditional Japanese text rather than a modern version of the language.
All that is really known about the artist is that he uses male pronouns with the few times he has referred to himself online. The only paintings he ever posts online is of the same black haired, pale skinned woman wearing a variety of purple kimonos and floral accents. She was always in the same general pose, sitting as if she was waiting for her portrait to be taken. Though with how intricate the details of the paintings were, it might as well have been a photograph.
All except for her facial features.
There were vague shadows or highlights hinting at defining shapes. He never added details to the eyes, mouth, or facial structure. You could make out where they should be, or what general shape the nose could have been. But as you scroll through his account the lady’s face grew less and less detailed the newer the posts became.
The artist never discloses her name, never spoke about her outside of the paintings.
A lot of people in the art community theorized it was an old man who lost his wife, but as he aged, he would forget her face. Yet, just like all things on the internet, some crazy theories popped up.
For example, some people started spreading a rumor that the artist was a crazy cereal killer and every time he killed someone he would re-paint his first victim. That he's killed so many people he's forgetting what his first victim looked like.
Of course, Damien doesn't believe any of this, though he can be inclined to believe the sad old man theory.
Damien scrolls through his phone, looking for trends in the artist’s style and the way he would caption his pieces online. In carefully perfected handwriting he jots down his notes of the art in his notebook, making small groups and categories from his theories and ideas to basic observations.
Suddenly, an idea strikes him. Maybe… maybe he should try and look into this artist in a more… in-depth level. Of course, anything personal he finds won’t be added to the project. He wasn’t a monster; he respected the man's privacy to some extent.
There was a worm itching at the back of his mind telling him he needed to know more, a need to understand and dig deep into everything that there was about their work… When, where, what, why and how was circling constantly in his mind.
But, it would make his father disappointed, Dick would be disappointed in him for weasling his way into the life of someone who is innocent. Yet, who says they have to know? It's just a project, a private project that he never needed to share. If he found something suspicious, then maybe they can learn, but for now no one would know.
It’s settled, while he worked on his own art project, he will also work on his private project and the mystery of the bodies. While most people might say he's going to burn himself out with all this work, he won't. He's Robin, he’s a Wayne, an Al-Gul, he can handle more than one project at a time.