Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PERSONAL GROWTH

─────────────

Damian Wayne had discovered the rules.

This was usually a good thing.

Rules could be exploited.

Rules could be studied.

Rules could be bent until they became suggestions and then broken when no one was looking.

This particular rule was less cooperative.

Every time Damian became better at being alive, someone died again.

Which was ridiculous.

They were already dead.

It should not have been possible to lose the same person twice.

And yet.

Richard had vanished when Damian stopped being alone.

Tim had vanished when Gotham stopped being incomprehensible.

Stephanie had vanished when Damian learned that enjoyment did not need a strategic purpose.

Jason had vanished when Damian decided that obedience was not the same thing as morality.

There was one ghost left.

Therefore, there was one lesson left.

Damian had no intention of learning it.

─────────────

For the next two weeks, Damian became a model of consistency.

He woke at 6:15.

He ate the same breakfast.

He took the same bus.

He sat in the same seat.

He attended school.

He completed every assignment.

He came home.

He ate dinner.

He went to bed.

Nothing changed.

Bruce remained.

This proved Damian correct.

Mostly.

not really.

Damian looked up from his cereal.

"I am not accepting commentary from the architecture."

Bruce stood by the window.

"I didn't say anything."

"I am aware."

Bruce looked at the ceiling.

Damian did too.

Nothing.

There had not been anything there for weeks.

Damian looked back at his cereal.

"The house is insubordinate."

Bruce's mouth twitched.

"Runs in the family."

"Do not become funny now."

"I'll try to control myself."

"Good."

Damian ate another spoonful.

Bruce watched him.

Damian ignored it for exactly thirty-two seconds.

"What."

"Nothing."

"Your face is doing something."

"My face is dead."

Damian's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

Bruce froze.

Neither spoke.

Then Damian placed the spoon down very carefully.

"That was Grayson's joke."

"I know."

"Do not use it."

"Okay."

Damian finished breakfast in silence.

─────────────

Colin did not cooperate with Damian's plan.

This was becoming a recurring character flaw.

"You've been weird."

"I am always weird, according to you."

"Different weird."

"Unhelpful."

They sat at their usual cafeteria table.

Bartholomew the frog had somehow acquired a miniature tie.

Damian refused to ask why.

"You keep saying no to everything."

"I have responsibilities."

"You said no to getting fries."

"Financial responsibility."

"They were my fries."

"Nutritional responsibility."

Colin narrowed his eyes.

"You ate cafeteria pizza yesterday."

Damian's expression tightened.

"Circumstantial."

"You are so bad at lying."

"I am excellent at lying."

"No, you're excellent at saying things confidently."

Damian paused.

That was annoyingly accurate.

He looked toward the empty space beside Colin.

Richard would have enjoyed that.

Damian looked away immediately.

Colin noticed.

Of course he did.

"You do that less now."

"Do what."

"Look at empty places."

Damian's jaw tightened.

"There is nothing there."

"I know."

Colin's voice was quieter.

Damian looked at him.

Colin did not smile.

He did not ask.

He simply opened his bag and removed a folded flyer.

"There's a movie night Friday."

Damian looked at it.

"No."

"You didn't read it."

"I saw the words movie and Friday."

"That's basically the whole thing."

"Then my assessment was efficient."

Colin sighed.

"Fine."

He folded the flyer again.

"If you change your mind, text me."

"I will not."

"Okay."

Colin put it away.

Damian hated how easily he accepted that.

He hated that there was no guilt.

No pressure.

No order.

Just a door left open.

Damian had become suspicious of doors.

─────────────

Bruce did not cooperate either.

"You should go."

"No."

"Colin invited you."

"And I declined."

"Why."

"I do not require a reason."

"True."

Damian looked up from his book.

Bruce stood in the doorway.

Not through it.

In it.

He had developed a strange habit of respecting doors since Jason disappeared.

Damian found this deeply irritating.

"Then why are you still speaking."

"Because I think you want to go."

"Incorrect."

"Okay."

Bruce turned.

Damian stared at his back.

"That is all?"

Bruce looked over his shoulder.

"You said no."

"You usually argue."

"You'd hate that."

"Yes."

"So I'm not."

Damian frowned.

"That is manipulative."

Bruce almost smiled.

"Probably."

"Todd would be proud."

The words slipped out.

Damian stopped.

Bruce's expression softened.

"Do not."

Bruce looked away.

"Okay."

He left.

Damian read the same paragraph six times.

─────────────

Friday arrived.

Damian did not attend the movie.

He remained at home.

He read.

Bruce stayed in the study.

The Manor was quiet.

At 7:13, Damian checked his phone.

No messages.

At 7:28, he checked again.

Still nothing.

At 7:46, Colin sent a photograph.

Bartholomew sat in a theater seat wearing 3D glasses.

The caption read:

he took your spot

Damian stared at it.

His mouth twitched.

He did not reply.

At 7:49, another message arrived.

traitor frog

Damian typed:

His loyalties were always suspect.

He stared at the message.

Then sent it.

Three dots appeared immediately.

HE LIVES

Damian snorted.

Then froze.

He looked toward the doorway.

Bruce was not there.

Good.

Damian put the phone face-down.

He did not notice himself smiling.

Bruce did.

From the hall.

He said nothing.

─────────────

Nothing happened.

Bruce remained.

Damian slept that night.

He woke the next morning.

Bruce was in the kitchen.

Still there.

Damian felt something inside his chest unclench.

He ignored it.

He had not gone to the movie.

He had merely sent one message.

Clearly the rule required larger developments.

Good.

He could manage that.

He could ration progress.

A little at a time.

Carefully.

Like feeding something dangerous through the bars of a cage.

Bruce watched him make toast.

"What."

"Nothing."

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what."

"Looking relieved."

Bruce's face changed.

Damian hated himself for noticing.

He looked away.

"The toaster is defective."

"It's thirty years old."

"So are several people in this house."

Silence.

Damian closed his eyes.

"That was poorly phrased."

Bruce laughed.

Damian did too.

Only once.

Bruce did not disappear.

Damian decided this was evidence.

He was wrong.

Winter arrived in Gotham all at once.

One morning the trees still had leaves.

The next, the city had apparently decided color was frivolous.

Damian approved.

Gray was efficient.

Bruce disagreed.

"You hate the cold."

"I tolerate it."

"You complained for twelve minutes yesterday."

"Observation is not complaint."

"You called the wind vindictive."

"It was."

Bruce smiled.

Damian pulled his scarf tighter.

They stood on the front steps.

Or Damian stood.

Bruce occupied the general concept of standing.

The bus would arrive in four minutes.

Damian checked the time.

Then checked again.

Bruce watched him.

"What."

"You could stay home."

Damian frowned.

"Why."

"You look tired."

"I am always tired."

"More than usual."

"That is not quantifiable."

"Your eyes are red."

"Cold air."

"You coughed all night."

Damian stopped.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"You were listening."

"Hard not to."

"The walls are thick."

"I can walk through them."

Damian glared.

"That was not an invitation."

"I know."

The bus appeared at the end of the road.

Damian adjusted his bag.

His head throbbed.

He ignored it.

Bruce did not.

"Damian."

"I have a test."

"You can make it up."

"I do not miss obligations because I am uncomfortable."

Bruce's expression changed.

Damian recognized the look immediately.

He hated it.

"Do not."

"Do what."

"Turn this into a lesson."

Bruce looked away.

The bus slowed.

Damian stepped forward.

The world tilted.

Only slightly.

Enough.

Damian caught the railing.

Bruce moved instinctively.

His hand passed through Damian's shoulder.

Cold swept through him.

Damian steadied himself.

The bus doors opened.

The driver looked at him.

"You getting on, kid?"

Damian looked at the steps.

Then at Bruce.

Bruce said nothing.

That was worse.

Damian looked back at the driver.

"No."

The word felt strange.

"Sorry."

The driver shrugged and closed the doors.

The bus pulled away.

Damian stood on the steps.

Bruce remained beside him.

"Say nothing."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

Damian went back inside.

─────────────

Staying home was intolerable.

There was nothing to do.

This was objectively false.

Damian had books.

Television.

A laptop.

A nearly unlimited archive of old Wayne files.

He had a phone containing twenty-three unread messages from school group chats he regretted joining.

He had Colin.

He had Bruce.

He still felt trapped.

At 8:04, Damian emailed the school.

I am ill and will not be attending today.

He stared at the sentence.

Then added:

Please send any missed assignments.

He sent it.

Bruce was standing by the door.

"If you smile, I will close the laptop on your face."

"Wouldn't work."

"I would feel better."

"Fair."

Damian stood.

Immediately regretted it.

Sat again.

Bruce's mouth tightened.

"I am fine."

"You're sick."

"These are not mutually exclusive."

"They should be."

"That sentence is sentimental nonsense."

"Probably."

Damian rubbed his forehead.

"What did you do when Grayson was sick."

Bruce blinked.

Damian looked at him.

"What."

"Nothing."

"Your face."

"I didn't think you'd ask."

Damian looked away.

"Forget it."

"Soup."

Damian stopped.

Bruce continued.

"Tea. Medicine if he needed it. Rest."

"Grayson rested?"

"No."

"Then your advice was ineffective."

"Mostly."

Damian's mouth twitched.

He got up again.

More slowly this time.

Bruce watched.

Damian ignored him.

He made tea.

The first mug was too hot.

The second was tolerable.

He found cold medicine in a cabinet after checking the label twice.

He ate toast because food seemed easier than arguing with Bruce's face.

Then he went upstairs.

Changed into pajamas.

Put his phone on the charger.

Set an alarm for later.

And got into bed.

Bruce stood in the doorway.

"You can leave."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you."

Bruce looked at him.

Something moved through his expression.

Not pride.

Something worse.

Relief.

Damian's stomach dropped.

"No."

Bruce went still.

"Do not look at me like that."

"Like what."

"Like I did something."

Bruce said nothing.

Damian sat up.

"I stayed home because I am sick."

"I know."

"I ate because medication on an empty stomach is inefficient."

"I know."

"I am sleeping because I require sleep."

"I know."

Damian stared at him.

Bruce's outline flickered.

Once.

Very slightly.

Damian's breath stopped.

Bruce looked down at his hand.

For the first time since Damian had known him, the edges of his fingers were not quite there.

"No."

Bruce looked back up.

"Damian—"

"No."

Damian got out of bed.

Too quickly.

The room swayed.

He caught the nightstand.

Bruce moved toward him.

"Stay back."

Bruce stopped.

Damian looked at his hand.

The edges had returned.

Almost.

"That was nothing."

Bruce did not answer.

"Tell me that was nothing."

"I don't know."

"Liar."

"I don't know exactly."

"That is not the same thing."

Bruce looked away.

Damian's heart was beating too hard.

He hated that Bruce could probably see it.

"What is it."

Bruce said nothing.

"What did I do."

"You took care of yourself."

Damian stared at him.

"That is ridiculous."

Bruce's voice was quiet.

"I know."

"That cannot be it."

Bruce looked at him.

"I think it is."

Damian stepped backward.

"No."

"Damian."

"No."

He looked around the room.

At the tea.

The medicine.

The blanket folded back from the bed.

Evidence.

Every stupid, ordinary thing had become evidence.

Damian's face twisted.

"I can undo it."

Bruce's expression changed.

"No."

"I can."

"Damian."

"I will go to school tomorrow."

"No."

"I will stop."

"No."

"You do not get to tell me no."

"Apparently neither do you."

Damian stared at him.

Bruce's voice softened.

"Get back in bed."

"Absolutely not."

"Damian."

"You are disappearing because I took cold medicine."

Bruce almost laughed.

Damian's eyes burned.

"Do not laugh."

"I'm sorry."

"You are not."

"No."

Damian sat on the edge of the bed.

Not because Bruce told him to.

Because his knees had stopped cooperating.

Bruce remained by the doorway.

Solid again.

For now.

─────────────

Damian did not sleep.

He lay awake and watched Bruce sit in the chair across from the bed.

Bruce did not need to sit.

He did anyway.

Hours passed.

At some point, Colin texted.

u alive

Damian stared at the screen.

Bruce looked away politely.

Damian typed:

Unfortunately.

The reply came immediately.

good

Damian read it twice.

Then locked the phone.

Bruce did not comment.

That was kinder than Damian wanted him to be.

By morning, Damian felt marginally less terrible.

This was inconvenient.

Bruce was still there.

Also inconvenient.

Damian sat at the kitchen table with tea he had made himself.

Bruce stood across from him.

"You are staring."

"Yes."

"Stop."

"No."

Damian looked up.

Bruce's mouth twitched.

"You have become difficult."

"I've been told."

"By whom."

Bruce looked toward the empty doorway.

Damian immediately regretted asking.

He looked down at the tea.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Damian said:

"Tell me."

Bruce did not pretend not to understand.

"About what."

"Them."

Bruce was quiet.

"Why did they stay."

His voice was precise.

Controlled.

"Not what they taught me."

Damian looked at him.

"Why did they stay."

Bruce's expression changed.

"I don't think any of us knew."

"That is not an answer."

"It's the truth."

"Try harder."

Bruce almost smiled.

Damian did not.

Bruce looked toward the window.

"Dick worried about people."

"Groundbreaking."

"Especially kids."

Damian's hand tightened around the mug.

Bruce continued.

"He hated the idea that someone could arrive here with nowhere else to go."

"So he waited for Wilkes."

"No."

Damian frowned.

"He wasn't waiting for someone to replace him."

"The result was identical."

"I know."

"Then the distinction is irrelevant."

"It mattered to him."

Damian looked away.

"Drake."

"Tim needed to understand things."

"Yes. Constantly."

"And when he couldn't understand something, he stayed until he could."

"So I was a problem."

"No."

"An unsolved case."

"No."

Bruce stepped closer.

"You were twelve years old in a city you'd never lived in, surrounded by systems no one had bothered to teach you."

Damian stared at his tea.

Bruce's voice softened.

"Tim couldn't stand that."

"And once I could manage without him."

"He trusted you."

Damian laughed once.

"That word again."

"I know."

"Brown."

Bruce smiled faintly.

"Stephanie thought surviving without liking anything was a terrible way to live."

Damian's throat tightened.

"She would."

"Yeah."

"Todd."

Bruce was quiet longer this time.

"Jason hated being told that authority made cruelty acceptable."

Damian looked up.

Bruce met his eyes.

"He needed to know you wouldn't make the same mistake."

"And then he left."

"Yes."

Damian looked down again.

"You all have a strange definition of reassurance."

"Probably."

"And an even stranger definition of staying."

Bruce did not answer.

Damian's fingers loosened around the mug.

"So."

He looked at his father.

"You."

Bruce went very still.

Damian hated how much that told him.

"You knew."

"Not at first."

"But eventually."

"Eventually."

"And you said nothing."

"What was I supposed to say?"

Damian stood.

"Perhaps, 'Damian, if you demonstrate healthy development I will evaporate.'"

Bruce almost winced.

"That would have been useful."

"I didn't want you changing your life around keeping me here."

Damian stared at him.

"You watched me do exactly that."

"I know."

"For weeks."

"I know."

"You let me."

"I couldn't force you not to."

"Convenient."

Bruce's expression tightened.

"It wasn't."

Damian laughed bitterly.

"For whom."

Bruce did not answer.

Damian's chest hurt.

Not physically.

That was almost worse.

─────────────

They did not speak for the rest of the morning.

Damian read.

Bruce pretended not to watch him read.

At noon, Damian made soup.

Bruce's outline flickered again.

Damian put the spoon down.

"Stop."

Bruce looked at his hands.

"I'm not doing it."

"Then resist."

"I don't know how."

"Learn."

Bruce looked at him.

Damian's voice sharpened.

"Everyone else expected me to."

Bruce closed his eyes.

"That's fair."

"Do not agree with me."

"Also fair."

Damian hated him.

Damian loved him.

Damian did not know what to do with either fact.

Bruce's hand steadied.

For now.

Damian picked the spoon back up.

He ate anyway.

Bruce noticed.

Damian pretended he did not.

─────────────

By afternoon, Damian understood.

Not because Bruce explained.

Bruce was terrible at explaining.

Tim had been better.

Damian refused to think about that.

He understood because there were only so many possibilities left.

Richard had worried Damian would be alone.

Tim had worried Damian would be helpless in a world he did not understand.

Stephanie had worried Damian would mistake survival for living.

Jason had worried Damian would mistake obedience for goodness.

Bruce Wayne had spent his entire life worrying that everyone around him would die if he stopped watching.

Damian stared at him from across the study.

"You think I will not survive without you."

Bruce looked up from the book he could not turn the pages of.

"No."

"Liar."

Bruce sighed.

"Not exactly."

"Then exactly."

Bruce looked at the book.

Then at Damian.

"I needed to know you would choose yourself."

Damian frowned.

"Meaningless."

"When no one was telling you what to do."

Damian said nothing.

"When there wasn't a mission."

Silence.

"When nobody was ordering you to eat, or sleep, or stop, or come home."

Damian's face went still.

Bruce continued carefully.

"I needed to know you'd do those things because you believed you were worth taking care of."

Damian stared at him.

"I stayed home because I had a cold."

"I know."

"That is your unfinished business."

"I think so."

"A sick day."

Bruce's mouth twitched.

"When you put it like that."

"How else should I put it."

"You didn't need me to make the decision."

Damian looked away.

"You told me to stay home."

"And you argued."

"I always argue."

"Exactly."

Damian glared at him.

Bruce almost laughed.

Then his shoulder flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Damian's expression disappeared.

"No."

Bruce looked down.

The bookshelf behind him was faintly visible through his chest.

"No."

"Damian."

"Stop."

"I don't think I can."

Damian stood.

"Then I was wrong."

Bruce looked at him.

"I do need you."

"I know."

"No."

Damian stepped closer.

"I need you."

Bruce's face crumpled for half a second.

Then it was gone.

"I know."

"Then stay."

Bruce said nothing.

"That should be enough."

Nothing.

"You were waiting until I did not need you."

"No."

"Then what."

Bruce's voice softened.

"Until needing me wasn't the same thing as needing someone to keep you alive."

Damian went silent.

Bruce's outline trembled.

"You can need people and still know how to take care of yourself."

Damian looked at him.

Really looked.

"That distinction is cruel."

"Yes."

"I hate it."

"I know."

"I hate you."

Bruce smiled.

"I know."

Damian's eyes burned.

"Stop saying that."

"Okay."

The fading did not stop.

It slowed.

That was worse.

If Bruce had vanished all at once, Damian could have hated the universe cleanly.

Instead, the universe gave him time.

Time to notice the gaps.

Time to understand.

Time to wait for the next piece to go.

Bruce's hands became translucent first.

Then the edges of his shoulders.

Then his voice began doing something it had never done before.

It broke.

Not emotionally.

Visually.

"Damian, sit down."

"No."

"You're still sick."

"Irrelevant."

"It isn't."

"You are disappearing."

"I know."

"Stop saying that."

"Right."

Damian stared at the fading letters.

His breath caught.

"Your words."

Bruce frowned.

"What?"

"They are doing it too."

Bruce looked down as though he could see the sentence beneath himself.

Perhaps he could.

Nothing about this house made sense.

Why should typography.

Damian stepped closer.

"You were not like this before."

"No."

"You were stable."

"Mostly."

Damian's face tightened.

"Do not use their jokes."

Bruce went quiet.

"They are not yours."

Silence.

"They were theirs."

Bruce looked at him.

"Okay."

Damian hated how careful he sounded.

Like Damian was fragile.

Like the room was.

Like everything had already begun breaking.

─────────────

They moved to the sitting room.

Not because Damian wanted to.

Because Bruce had sat there every night since Damian arrived.

Because Richard used to hang over the back of the sofa.

Because Tim used to stand beside the lamp and complain that the lighting was bad.

Because Stephanie had once spent forty minutes upside down in the armchair.

Because Jason had discovered he could phase through the coffee table and had made this everyone else's problem.

Because it was the closest thing the Manor had to a family room.

Damian sat on the sofa.

Bruce sat across from him.

For several minutes neither spoke.

The clock ticked.

The heating system clicked on.

Somewhere deep in the Manor, pipes knocked once inside the walls.

Damian listened.

He had learned the sounds of the house.

Richard had taught him which floorboards creaked.

Tim had explained why the old boiler made that sound.

Stephanie had named the radiator in the east hall Gerald.

Jason had threatened Gerald three times.

Bruce had pretended none of this was happening.

Damian looked at him.

"Tell me something."

"Anything?"

"Something I do not know."

Bruce thought about it.

"Dick hated cucumber."

Damian stared.

"That is your contribution."

"You asked for something you didn't know."

"I assumed significance."

"That was your mistake."

Damian almost smiled.

Almost.

"Drake."

Bruce understood.

"Tim once stayed awake for thirty-six hours because he was convinced the washing machine was making a suspicious noise."

"Was it."

"No."

"Predictable."

"Brown."

"Steph used to hide waffles in the freezer behind the vegetables so nobody else would eat them."

"Todd."

Bruce's mouth twitched.

"Jason read romance novels."

Damian blinked.

"No."

"Yes."

"You are lying."

"I'm not."

"What kind."

"The embarrassing kind."

Damian snorted.

The sound escaped before he could stop it.

Bruce smiled.

Damian's smile died.

Bruce did not.

Not yet.

"You."

"What about me."

"Tell me something."

Bruce considered.

"I hate pears."

Damian frowned.

"Why."

"Texture."

"That is absurd."

"Probably."

"Anything else."

Bruce looked at him.

Long enough that Damian regretted asking.

"I wanted to meet you."

Damian went still.

Bruce continued before he could interrupt.

"Before I knew you existed."

Damian stared.

"That is impossible."

"I know."

"Explain."

Bruce looked toward the dark window.

"I used to wonder if there was anyone out there I hadn't found yet."

Damian said nothing.

"Someone who needed me."

His outline flickered.

"Someone I was already failing without knowing it."

Damian's throat tightened.

"That is an unhealthy way to think."

Bruce laughed.

"Yeah."

"Drake would have said that."

"Probably."

Damian looked down at his hands.

"You did fail me."

Bruce went silent.

Damian forced himself to continue.

"You died."

His voice sounded younger than he wanted it to.

"Before I arrived."

Bruce did not move.

"You did not know me."

Silence.

"You did not come for me."

Bruce's face tightened.

"You were not there."

"I know."

"And then I arrived anyway."

"Yes."

"And you were dead."

Bruce's voice broke around the edges.

"Yes."

Damian looked at him.

"That was not fair."

"No."

"None of this was fair."

"No."

"Then stop looking pleased."

Bruce blinked.

"You are disappearing and you look pleased."

"I'm not pleased."

"You are."

"I'm proud."

Damian stood.

"Worse."

"Damian."

"Do not be proud of this."

Bruce stood too.

"I did not consent to this."

"I know."

"I did not ask to become well-adjusted enough for all of you to abandon me."

"We didn't abandon you."

"You left."

"There's a difference."

"Not to the person remaining."

Bruce stopped.

Damian's eyes burned.

"You are all very confident in the distinction between leaving and being lost."

Bruce looked at him.

For once, there was no answer.

Good.

Damian wanted him to hurt too.

He hated himself for that.

He did not take it back.

─────────────

Night came slowly.

Damian turned on lamps as the windows darkened.

One in the sitting room.

One in the hall.

One beside the stairs.

Habit.

Ghosts did not need light.

Damian did.

Bruce followed him.

Each time Damian looked back, there was less of him.

By nine, the pattern of the wallpaper showed faintly through his sweater.

By ten, his hands were mostly light.

Damian refused to go upstairs.

Bruce did not tell him to.

At 10:17, Damian's phone buzzed.

Colin.

feeling less dead?

Damian stared at the message.

Bruce read it over his shoulder.

"Do not."

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face."

Bruce's smile was faint.

Damian looked back at the screen.

He typed:

Marginally.

Then, after a moment:

I will be at school Monday.

Three dots.

cool. missed u

Damian's thumb stopped.

Bruce looked away.

Damian typed:

I noticed.

Deleted it.

Typed:

Obviously.

Deleted that too.

Finally:

I missed you too.

He stared at the words.

His thumb hovered.

Bruce said nothing.

Damian sent it.

The room changed.

No wind.

No light.

No sound.

Bruce simply became thinner around the edges.

Damian looked up.

"No."

Bruce's face went soft.

"That wasn't me."

"Undo it."

"I can't."

"I will delete the message."

"Damian."

"I will."

He opened the conversation.

Bruce stepped closer.

"Don't."

Damian's hand shook.

"Why."

"Because you meant it."

Damian looked at him.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I mean that too."

"I know."

"Stop."

"Sorry."

Damian dropped the phone onto the sofa.

It landed face-up.

Colin's reply appeared.

gross. feelings.

Damian laughed.

He covered his mouth immediately.

Bruce laughed too.

The sound was faint.

Damian lowered his hand.

"Stay."

Bruce's smile vanished.

Damian stepped toward him.

"Please."

The word was barely audible.

Bruce looked wrecked by it.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"I am."

"You are Batman."

Bruce laughed once.

"Apparently the title was posthumous."

Damian froze.

Bruce smiled.

His own joke.

Damian's joke.

The first night.

Something inside Damian cracked.

Bruce Wayne had been dead for two years.

Damian had known him for eight months.

Eight months was not enough time.

It was an absurd amount of time to become accustomed to someone who could not open doors.

It was nowhere near enough time to have a father.

Damian looked at him.

"You don't get to."

"Damian."

"You do not get to decide I am finished with you."

"I'm not deciding anything."

"Then stay."

"I can't."

"Everyone says that."

Bruce closed his eyes.

"Grayson said it."

"Drake said it."

"Brown said it."

"Todd said it."

Damian's voice broke.

"And then they left."

Bruce opened his eyes.

"They didn't want to."

"Neither do I."

Silence.

"I did everything."

Damian's hands curled into fists.

"I made a friend."

"I know."

"I learned your stupid city."

"I know."

"I learned how to enjoy things."

"I know."

"I learned when to disobey."

"I know."

"I learned how to take care of myself."

"I know."

"Then why does everyone keep thinking that means I don't need them anymore?"

Bruce went completely still.

There.

Finally.

Something his father could not answer.

Damian's eyes burned.

He refused to blink.

Bruce stepped closer.

"It doesn't."

Damian stared.

"You can know how to live without someone and still want them there."

"Then be there."

Bruce's face twisted.

"I wish I could."

"That is useless."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because there's nothing else I can give you."

Damian looked at him.

His father was almost transparent now.

The sitting room lamp shone through his chest.

The bookshelf through his shoulder.

The window through his face.

Damian hated the room for continuing to exist behind him.

"You could have lived."

Bruce's eyes closed.

"You could have been here."

"I know."

"I would have hated you."

Bruce smiled faintly.

"Probably."

"You would have been insufferable."

"Definitely."

"You would have grounded me."

"Frequently."

"I would have ignored you."

"Frequently."

Damian's mouth shook.

"I wanted that."

Bruce's expression broke.

Damian looked away.

"I wanted to hate you properly."

A small, wet laugh escaped Bruce.

Damian hated that too.

"I wanted you alive enough to disappoint me."

Bruce looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

"No."

"Do not apologize now."

"Okay."

Damian swallowed.

Bruce's outline trembled.

There was almost nothing left below his elbows.

"Father."

Bruce looked at him.

Damian took one step forward.

Then another.

He had never hugged Bruce.

Of course he had not.

Ghosts could not hold things.

Ghosts could not be held.

Damian knew this.

He moved anyway.

Bruce did too.

For one humiliating second, they both forgot.

Damian's arms passed through his father's body.

Cold flooded his chest.

His hands closed on nothing.

Bruce's arms passed through him in return.

They stood inside each other.

Not touching.

Not even close.

Damian closed his eyes.

"This is stupid."

Bruce's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

"Yeah."

Damian did not move.

Neither did Bruce.

It was the closest thing they had.

It would have to be enough.

Damian hated that sentence.

"Father."

"I'm here."

"For how long."

No answer.

Damian opened his eyes.

Bruce had stepped back.

His face was barely there.

"Do not."

"I love you."

Damian's face twisted.

"You barely know me."

Bruce smiled.

"I know enough."

"That is not how knowing someone works."

"Probably not."

"You are terrible at this."

"I know."

Damian laughed.

It came out broken.

"Idiot."

Bruce's smile widened.

"Goodbye, Damian."

"No."

The word arrived too quickly.

"No. You do not get a goodbye."

Bruce was almost gone.

"Father."

"You'll be okay."

"That isn't the point."

Bruce stilled.

For the first time all night, he looked surprised.

Damian stepped forward.

"That was never the point."

Bruce looked at him.

Damian's eyes burned.

"I know how to use the bus."

Bruce listened.

"I know how taxes work."

A tiny smile.

"Do not."

The smile disappeared.

"I have friends."

Bruce's outline flickered.

"I know when an adult is wrong."

Less of him.

"I know how to make food."

Less.

"I know how to call a doctor."

Less.

"I know how to go to sleep when I am tired."

Less.

"I know how to have fun."

Bruce's face was almost gone.

"I know all of it."

Damian's voice became very small.

"I still wanted you."

Bruce's mouth moved.

No sound came out.

Damian knew what he was trying to say anyway.

That made it worse.

"Father."

Bruce Wayne simply stopped being there.

There was no flash.

No wind.

No sudden warmth.

No door opening somewhere in the distance.

Nothing announced it.

One moment Damian's father occupied the space in front of him.

The next, the lamp behind him did.

Damian remained standing.

The clock in the hall ticked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The refrigerator hummed from the kitchen.

The heating system clicked.

A car moved somewhere beyond the gates.

The pipes groaned.

Wayne Manor had never actually been silent before.

Not since Damian arrived.

There had always been Richard talking.

Tim correcting.

Stephanie laughing.

Jason shouting from another room.

Bruce saying Damian's name like he was still learning how to be allowed to say it.

Now there was only the house.

Damian stared at the place where Bruce had been.

He waited.

One second.

Ten.

A minute.

Longer.

No one came back.

Of course they did not.

Damian's knees folded.

Slowly.

Without drama.

He sank onto the hardwood floor.

His hands rested uselessly in his lap.

He stared at the empty space in front of him.

There was no one left to tell him what to do.

No one left to correct him.

No one left to laugh.

No one left to make the silence less complete.

Damian had done everything right.

That was the unbearable part.

Two solitary tears slipped down his face and struck the floor.

There was no one to wipe them away.

There never had been.

And, sitting alone in the quiet of Wayne Manor, Damian could not imagine that there ever would be.