Chapter Text
The bone-saw pinwheeled through the air and smashed into the stone facade. The event wouldn’t have been nearly so noteworthy if Dick hadn’t just yanked Damian out of its path only a second ago.
“Hey, Robin,” Jason called, “get your head in the game before you lose it completely!”
In front of them, Red Hood had swapped out his dual guns for a set of brass knuckles. All around him the Dollotrons and their improvised weapons fell to the ground with every strike.
Not helping, Jason.
Robin’s domino mask hid multitudes behind its whiteout lenses. Dick read what he could from the pinched lines of Damian’s mouth and the taut muscles in his neck which trembled through each unsteady swallow. He could feel the effort it was taking him to reign it in.
“Robin, you good?” He placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder and tried to draw his attention back from wherever his mind had just drifted off to. It wasn’t the first time that he’d asked that question tonight and he doubted that it would be the last.
“Fine,” Damian replied but jerked free of his grip with a suddenness that could only mean his pride had been bruised.
Damian snatched a fallen bone-saw up off the pavement and hurled it back into the mass of flailing limbs where it sliced deep into a Dollotron’s shoulder and sent the man staggering.
“Incapacitate only, Robin!” Batman’s voice boomed over the noise of the brawl unfolding before them.
The hope was that they could save at least a few of Professor Pyg’s failed creations if they got them prompt medical attention. Robin, however, had been one-step behind the entire evening—breaking with their predetermined strategies and acting on reflex more than anything. Dick could only chalk so much up to rustiness from being out of the field.
As Robin ducked back into the fray, he had no choice but to follow him in the hopes of preventing further bloodshed. It was going to be a long night.
Back in the cave, he watched Damian unbuckle the utility belt from his waist, his uniform glowing brightly in the cave’s dim interior. His movements were calm, but the distracted look in his eyes betrayed him outright. It was too soon for him to be back in the field after his death at the hands of the Heretic and subsequent resurrection…and it showed on patrol this evening. It wasn’t just the jerkiness of his movements—like with every attack he was flinching away from another sword through the belly— Dare he say it, but tonight Robin was sloppy.
And didn’t that just make it worse, he thought to himself, remembering Jason’s muttered comment earlier that night, you can’t blame Damian, the last thing he wants to do is disappoint his father.
Well, what the hell was a kid supposed to do when Batman was your father?
Dick’s gaze cut to Bruce at the Batcomputer, oblivious to everything except finishing up his report of the night’s mission. He wanted to chuck an escrima stick at his stupid pointy head. But no matter how satisfying that would feel in the moment, it wouldn’t be productive. So instead Dick did the adult thing and waited impatiently for Damian and Tim to change out of their gear and head to their respective beds to sleep away the rest of the dark hours.
When they were alone with nothing but the clicking of keyboard keys to fill the silence, Dick cast a final confirmative glance Jason’s way. Jason raised his arm and tapped at the imaginary watch on his wrist.
It was now or never. “Bruce, can we talk for a sec?”
Bruce turned in his chair and faced him. “About what?”
He took a breath and forced the words out before his confidence failed him. “I don’t think Damian should be back in the field.”
Bruce held up his hands, his expression transforming from mild to exhausted in a fraction of a second. “Dick, no. We’ve discussed this. I’m not having this conversation again.”
Again, he said, like he’d ever really taken the time to listen to him the first time around.
“You agreed to give him time! We only just got him back and already you’re putting him back in the line of fire?”
He’d thought that would have been the last thing that Bruce would have done. They’d all witnessed how Damian’s death had driven Bruce to the edge, Jason especially. It had taken hours of persistence to get Jason to even agree to come here, let alone stand with him on this, after the stunt Bruce had pulled in Ethiopia.
Bruce sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly. “I’m not putting him anywhere. I put the decision up to Damian and he told me he felt ready to put the uniform back on.”
Those walls that Damian had started to lower during their time working together were back up now that his father was around, but not before the damage had already been done. Dick had glimpsed the vulnerable side of Damian that just wanted to prove his worth. He couldn’t stand by and watch the kid get hurt, even if he had to step on Bruce’s toes to do it.
Jason pushed off the clothing lockers that he’d been leaning against for the past ten minutes and walked up behind Dick’s shoulder. “You sure he really meant that? Or was he just saying what he thought you wanted to hear?”
Bruce’s face was quickly losing its composure. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, he was raised knowing he was the son of Talia al Ghul and Batman. Not Bruce Wayne—Batman. He might not think he has a choice in putting on the cape unless someone tells him otherwise.”
“And you think I didn’t?” snapped Bruce. As quick as that anger appeared, it was snuffed out just as fast and replaced with a measured response. “Robin is the one thing that gives Damian purpose. I won’t take that away from him.”
“Can you honestly say that his actions tonight didn’t worry you?” asked Jason. “He can take down Dollotrons with his eyes closed, but tonight he was distracted almost to the point of defenselessness. If we didn’t tag along and babysit him the entire patrol he might have ended up in the medbay or worse.”
“I think it’s understandable that he’s having some trouble adjusting.”
Adjusting, Dick wanted to scream. Did you see the look on your kid’s face out there? He’s not adjusting to anything.
Jason sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “C’mon, B. You know I don’t stick my nose in things unless they’re serious. This is serious. We’re worried about him.”
Bruce glanced between them, eyeing them both critically. “Think back to when you both were Robin. Would you have appreciated someone coming in and telling me to bench you because they thought you weren’t ready for the role? Without even taking into consideration how you might feel about the matter.”
“We aren’t saying that—” said Dick.
“Are you sure? Because it seems like you only just made this mistake with Tim.
The comment hit Dick like a slap to the face. “That was an entirely different situation—”
“You took Robin away from Tim when you thought he wasn’t in a position to handle the job anymore and gave it to Damian. Now you’re trying to take it away from Damian.”
“Robin was my mantle,” Dick said slowly, an anger months in the making rising in him. “I created it and I’m so sick of you telling me what bearing that name means or who that uniform gets passed down to like I don’t have any say in it! Especially with Damian. When you ‘died’ you left him with nothing. He was your blood son but you never bothered to give him a place in this family beyond that. So you want to talk about Damian’s place and his purpose? Well, I gave those to him, not you.”
He thought you were going to be the one to take Robin away from him. He was so scared that his place in your legacy would be erased the moment you returned, despite all the work he had put in to change his nature.
Bruce was in his chair one second and standing over Dick in the next. “Despite what you might still believe, you’re no longer his guardian nor are you his mentor. You gave up the right to parent my child when I came back from the dead. I’m Batman and it’s time for you to go back to being Nightwing. Understood?”
Go back to not having a say, you mean, Dick thought to himself, remembering a time when all he wanted to do was go back to being Nightwing—to not have to make the hard choices. But not anymore. He’d been Batman and had a Robin of his own and those protective instincts don’t just magically turn off with a snap of the fingers.
Sometimes I feel the need to protect him, even from you.
“I said, is that clear?” Over four years since he’d worn the uniform and taken orders from Batman, but Dick’s body still jumped to attention like it did when he was Robin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that even Jason wasn’t immune to that tone of voice.
He absolutely hated it.
“Crystal.”
Bruce’s cape whipped him in the legs on his way out.
It was a long moment before Jason placed a hand on his shoulder.
“C’mon, get changed,” Jason nodded his head towards the exit, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
It would take more than a year for him to realize he should have tried harder.