Chapter Text
It was no secret that Damian loved drawing. On warm, breezy autumn nights he’d sit on the balcony and paint the swirls of colors that dappled the trees with Alfred curled up beside him. On winter mornings he’d wake up to the cool, crisp air on his face and try to recreate the beautiful, intricate snow that would fall and decorate everything it touched in a misty wonderland of white. Summer bustled with life, and the bright lights and laughing people would contrast with the foggy skyline of skyscrapers, and in spring flowers bloomed and the animals danced with joy.
Damian loved drawing the same way that Tim loved photography, because he could capture such happiness and beauty for forever before it was bound to die. A spark of warmth could be summoned on a dreary evening just by flipping open his sketchbook.
And so, Damian loved drawing everything around him, from the dusty, aristocratic furniture of the Manor to his family, and of course, nature. Anything that captured his attention and heart would earn a special place in his sketchbook.
But everything changed when one day, he met a boy in the attic.
~~~
When Damian had first moved in, he had brought some art supplies from the League. While Talia wanted him to master all of the arts, they didn’t encourage drawing nearly as much as they did in martial skill. The manor was huge, sure, but he had remembered that some of his supplies are kept up in the storage.
Itching for his traditional inks, Damian climbed into the attic. It was dusty and dark - but not as much from unuse. Drake used to more frequently come up here to develop his photos. This area, draped with shadows and isolated from the rest of the Manor, made a good darkroom for him where he could keep his photos away from the light while he dipped them in the chemicals. He was filling through the boxes stacked up in one corner when he saw a glow from a corner of the attic.
“Tt. Drake’s being careless,” he had started to mutter, when he realized something that he would never admit. While Tim would be sloppy when running on sleepless nights, one thing that he’d never be too careful about were his photos. Damian remembered once when Tim accidentally turned on a light in his darkroom, and a piercing screech could be heard through every single edge of the Manor. And really, the Manor was huge. His photo ended up absorbing too much sunlight and he had to throw away his precious film.
In short, Tim would never leave a light on near his photos. Besides, when was the last time he had been here, anyway? As they were growing up, Damian’s brothers moved further away from the family to pursue their own life, and somewhat abandoned some hobbies that they used to enjoy, when they still had the time to.
Damian cautiously approached the dim light. At first, it was just a muddy speck of light that even his sharp eyesight couldn’t catch onto. Once he edged closer, he saw a boy, not even much older than himself. He was transparent, and glowed softly in blue, but some faded colors still remained. His black hair, his piercing blue-green eyes, and his strong jawline and tanned skin. However, there was something else about him that also remained.
The boy was completely battered up. Damian knew that it was an understatement, judging by the boy’s condition. He was cut up and his bones jutted out at awkward angles. His skull was smashed in. Some pieces of his flesh were torn off, leaving cracked bones. Blood was still trailing down his body. It looked like he had been beaten in with a crowbar and blown up.
And what he was hardly wearing - were the tattered remains of the Robin uniform.
Damian let out a shriek that would rival Tim’s himself.
~~~
Outright through the numbness of shock, it never quite occurred to Damian that this boy could be a ghost. He might have said that he wasn’t superstitious - but this was Gotham. Anything could happen. Now that he examined the other boy, it made sense; he had seemed to retain the state in which he died. Damian almost shuddered. But why was he wearing the Robin uniform?
In return, the ghost didn’t shrink back. He just looked surprised, to Damian’s wonder, and his acidic eyes narrowed slightly.
Damian opened his mouth to speak when he heard footsteps climbing up the ladder to the attic, roused by his scream. He froze, whirring around. The steps were light, but urgent, and his questions were answered when a man with messy raven-black hair and wide, concerned blue eyes appeared.
“Damian!” Dick shouted, wrapping the younger immediately in a hug, before stepping back to glance around the room for immediate signs of danger, before his tense shoulders slightly relaxed when he saw none. “What’s wrong?”
“Grayson,” Damian said in disbelief, before gesturing to the ghost still tucked in its corner. He was momentarily at a loss for words to describe the setting. “Him.”
Dick squinted at the corner and saw nothing. “Huh? Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?” And with a reassuring smile, he added, “Dami, you should probably go to sleep. There’s nothing there, I promise.”
The ghost growled, startling Damian. His eyes seemed to glow even brighter, casting a dim, eerie green light across the dark room. But it wasn’t pointed at him; it was at Dick.
“Betcha you forgot about me,” he spoke. His voice was sharp, his syllables crisp. It was distinct that he was from Gotham.
Damian jumped, backing away. He didn't expect that the ghost could speak. Dick followed Damian’s sharp, green eyes to the corner, but frowned when he again found nothing.
“Damian?”
“T-There’s a boy,” Damian was ashamed of his stutter, not that he cared much about it at this moment. “He’s… glowing. And bleeding, as his skin… is torn. He’s wearing the Robin uniform…” The last words trailed off into a whisper.
Dick stiffened immediately. “J…Jason?”
With that, the ghost snapped, driving his fist into the man’s stomach, and a scream was heard for the second time in the Manor today.