Chapter Text
It was a drizzling, Titus' favorite kind of weather, Damian suspected.
He watched, standing in the wet grass, rain jacket and boots on, as the dog ran around the backyard, just a few feet past Alfred's herbs garden, and excitedly jump on puddles, his tail wiggling high and long tongue catching the rain drops.
From his part, Damian disliked the wet weather. It made his skin feel humid even inside, it made the sky seem lower, the clouds erased the stars and usually made Batman grumpier and Bruce Wayne wear his knee brace under Italian suits.
It had been a tiring week filled with tests at school, bone chilling rain dripping under his Robin uniform, and sudden night storms keeping him awake consoling his trembling pets.
And the message received from Mother was just the cherry on top. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw it, the firm and precise strikes of black nankim against handmade ahar paper declaring they would see each other again, sooner than he expected.
The simple thought made Damian’s stomach turn. What did she mean? Was the League planning something? Was she taking him away from Father? They had been keeping an eye out on Ra’s movements and nothing had stood out in months.
No, it was something personal, a meeting between mother and son. Damian knew the time would come for him to tell her how much his mind and behaviour had changed since she left him on the cares of Father, still he was not ready to face the task. There was no way she would be pleased with him.
Maybe Grandfather had ordered her to come collect him, set him back in the ways of the al Ghul, finish their project of turning him the rightful successor of the League of Assassins.
But could he ever go back? Could he unremorsefully kill again? Would he be able to leave Gotham? Would he forget about the manor and Alfred, see the disappointment in Grayson’s eyes every time he looked at him? There was not a chance he would give Robin back to Drake, absolutely not.
Sending a message and not coming directly and unexpectedly, like she often did, was hardly the way Talia operated. There was something else to it, he was sure.
He would figure out what it was, hopefully before Father returned to Eath on his Justice League mission. He was Robin, the greatest detective in the world after Batman himself. He would realize what it was once he finally managed a good night’s sleep.
For now, all he could do was keep an eye on Titus, let him get muddy and stinky before a nice and warm bath.
_______________________
Detective Grayson stood under the pouring rain hunched inside his Bludhaven Police Department uniform jacket. At his feet, the water mixed with the blood that had left the woman’s broken body.
He looks up towards the heavy sky, eyes squinting against the drops, and focuses on the roof of the condemned building. Witnesses reports say she jumped. No one was seen at that rooftop or leaving the seven floored complex since she hit the pavement. They’d get a warrant for any security cameras around just to be sure.
“I’m going up,” He says to the equally soaked officer guarding the body. “No need for backup. Building is empty.”
If someone had thrown her, they’d be far away by now anyway. Still he had to check the crime scene. He enters what must be the grungiest building at city’s East Side, turns on his flashlight and climbs the stairs up to the seventh floor.
The hallway is dark, the walls filled with graffiti. He walks past one, then two, and three doorframes reinforced shut before stopping dead on his tracks at the forth one, his light catching the glimpse of something.
He aims it to the door, and in an involuntary reflex he steps forward heart racing in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry.
There’s a poster fixed there, by far the newest and cleanest thing in the entire building. Its colors shine bright yellows and blues and purple, on the top the white cursive letters he could identify from a mile away. The Haly’s Circus very own Flying Graysons.
He shone his light up and down the hall, no signs of movement, nothing else caling his attention. He swallowed dry and pulled his gun out his holster.
"BPD, open up!" His voice bounces on the walls and he hears his last syllable on and on. When the echo fades, he quicks the door open.
The lock gives away easily under the impact and slams on against its hinges revealing the inside. Dick's eyes widen and he let his arms fall at his sides. His radio buzzes on his waist.
"Grayson? What the hell was that?" Rohrbach barks, worry masked under irritation. He hears hurriedly footsteps climbing the stairs floors below him. Familiar heavy booted ones. Colleagues, his brain supplies him.
He steps inside oddly unafraid of what is inside. Irresponsible, Batman would have said, but what is in front of him inspires no fear, though makes his chest ache.
The small apartment is lit by the dim light of the morning rainy sky, but it is enough to reveal its content. There is no furniture in the open plan living room and kitchen, but the walls are covered in colorful posters exhibiting the many attractions of the Haly's circus.
The Magic Thruman and his top hat and beautiful assistant, the Nim Yen sisters and their contorted positions atop each other, the clowns, and the equilibrists, the strong man and the singers, faces Dick once knew so well, staring back at him.
"Grayson!" Rohrbach stood at the door, a group of man walking past her and into the apartment, guns searching for any sign of danger. "Are you out your fucking...?"
She stops by his side taking in the vibrant pictures for a second before tugging forcefully at his arm. "Out. Get out. Now."
But Dick is still lost, staring at the posters, savoring memories buried deep of smiling faces and stories told around the fire and the smells of popcorn, cheap makeup and sweaty costumes.
Two hands grab the sides of his face and Rohrbach eyes are on his. "Grayson! Leave. That's an order."
And it's like a sparkle of an engine and the sluggishness of his brain faded. A trap. A crime scene laid out straight to him. But for what? By whom? Did they know? Was it coincidence? No. A death on his territory, on his duty day, it was on purpose. He was the target.
"I still have to..."
"You have to go. Wait downstairs until..."
"It's all clear! And boss, you'll wanna see it."
Together, they follow the guard out the window and up the fire scape stairs. On the roof, an old and fallen outdoor is laid on the ground. In white paint, startlingly bright against the faded and dirty add, the lines of a circus trapeze and its broken rope is drawn, ending by the spot the girl jumped from.
Dick has barely time to reach the sidewalk before puking.