Archive of Our Own

It wasn’t supposed to be quiet in the Manor anymore, but it was. Damian Wayne was huddled– huddled– in a blanket at the foot of the living room sofa. He didn’t have the energy to move, not with Titus a lump on his legs, or with the sofa behind him looming larger than the mountain he climbed at age six.

He stared at nothing. The room was blurry, unfocused, but he was supposed to be focused . He was… Damian was supposed to be better than–

“Hey, man.” Damian regarded the voice with a slight tilt to his head. “You’ve been down here for hours.” Duke Thomas, family. 

Duke hadn’t been family when he first came to the Manor. Damian had been angry and hurt and he took it out on those around him because he had felt abandoned. It turns out, he was just trying to push everybody away as well. Well, when that’s all that you know… but, Duke was good. He was kind and didn’t take any shit outwardly. Duke and Damian had become begrudged acquaintances to finicky friends to best friends and then to brothers.

Damian had always wanted family. His mother– Talia wasn’t cold, but she was callous. Uncaring. It made sense, all Damian did was fail, but it let him fail into a better family than the League of Shadows had ever been.

A hand on his shoulder didn’t shock him out of his thoughts, but it did help dissipate the muddled feeling clogging his eyesight. Even if only a little. “Okay. I- Okay, Dames.” There was shuffling and then there was a body to the right of him. Another hand absentmindedly stroking Titus’ graying fur. “Only for you…” The last part had been whispered, Damian noted quietly.

“I don’t think I can really remember the first week after. Not well at least. It’s all blurry, but I remember how lost I felt. I think most of my waking hours were spent in silent panic attacks.” Duke sighed. “I lost my parents. So I know what grief feels like, I know how it hurts, but it… the knowing never helps the feeling part.”

Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne were never the picture perfect example of the older brother-younger brother dynamic. It came with being so close in age. At first Damian had tried to play the eldest card, but only having eighteen months on the other didn’t really work. Duke enjoyed pointing that out.

They were friends first before either of them thought of the other as family. It was needed at that time. Both had been only children and losing a parent or in Duke’s case both, only to gain another much too soon, had left them both volatile. They picked fights and Damian recalls attempting to ship Duke away in a box. In his defense, Western media was much different when it came to sibling dynamics.  

“And having– losing Tim?” Damian turned his head to his best friend of many years, aware of the crack in Duke’s voice, and more than startled by the admission of Tim’s departure from the living. Duke avoided topics he didn’t want to discuss with a passion and with skill. Running people away from emotional discussions with ease and flair, but Damian only had to wait for Duke to come to him. They always ended up talking eventually. “I didn’t make it in time, Dames. The distress signal went out and I didn’t make it in time. I saw those two seconds into the future right when that warehouse came into view and I had to hear the explosion twice.”

Damian’s mouth moved without him, the words had no sound, but he was trying to say them. Trying to comfort, but he couldn’t. The grief had taken his voice just like the Joker had taken Tim from them. He reached for Duke’s hand, squeezing once before leaning his head back against the sofa’s cushions.

“We’re a fucking mess right now and I know our family isn’t epitome of normal, but I need a– my big brother right now.” Duke sniffled, his voice was heavy with held back sobs. “I know your first response is to just shut down, but I need you– not Zombie Damian. And Cass needs the both of us, because Bruce is violent right now and–” Duke broke.

His little brother broke.

Duke didn’t smile much. Anymore.

Damian hadn’t seen Duke smile since before because Damian had left to go off-world. He hadn’t seen Duke smile since before because there was a two month old voicemail from Tim left unopened in his inbox. Damian hadn’t smiled since Duke had stopped.

He wrapped his arms around his younger brother, holding him tighter and tighter so maybe the knot in his own chest would lessen, if only to whisper comforts into Duke’s curls.

Damian wasn’t a touchy person. It had been trained out of him since birth, but so had the beginnings of attachment, and he’d gotten that back. Through fights and screaming and awkward hugs. Duke wasn’t overly clingy or touchy either, but he enjoyed the hugs and comforting shoulder squeezes. So Damian had learnt how to do those well.

There was a few attempts at a cuddle pile when they were younger that didn’t actually end in knives and glares. Damian is fond of those despite the exasperation he also recalls when thinking of the past. When it was just Duke and Damian against the world and against all odds doing it together.

“I miss him,” Duke’s scream was muffled by his shoulder. “I want him back. I want Steph back and I want Cass to sign again and I want Bruce to stop acting like he isn’t hurting because it’s hurting our family! And I want you to actually speak to us because ever since you came back it’s all been wrong!” Duke was trembling. Tears had since soaked Damian’s shirt collar, but all it did was make him feel slightly more alive and there.

Because his little brother was suffering and hurting. His whole family was hurting. It hadn’t even been a week since Damian returned home.

Hadn’t been a week since his world was flipped and he couldn’t breathe or speak anymore because Damian’s first response to everything was to just not.  

“I miss you . I miss our weekly breakfast when you weren’t talking to Bruce because you got kicked out… I miss patrolling with you and cracking jokes and…” Duke tapered off, his voice hoarse and his arms locked tight around Damian’s back. He found that he didn’t really mind. Even if his still honed instincts were screaming at the pressure.

“I love you.” And Damian whispered it, because the very idea of speaking hurt, but Duke hurting was suffering to him. “I love you. More than anything.”

Duke keened. Keened. His overly strong, reliable, chaotic and anxious idiot little brother who patrolled during the day and long into the night, was breaking in his arms. Damian just held tighter. How was he supposed to glue the Wayne family back together? He could barely hold himself together.

But holding the fragile state of his little brother in his arms… Damian could do that. He could hold these people together and he would. It didn’t matter if Damian started to crumble or break or fall. Just as long as he had the arms to keep his family in pieces.

“Batman.” Damian regarded his father, narrowing his eyes behind his mask. The older man looked awful. He was unkempt and the beginnings of an actual beard were on the usually smooth skin. His father was losing himself in his vigilante work while his three alive and not perfectly well children were pushed to the sidelines of his self-deprecation tantrum.

“Nightwing. What are you doing in Gotham still?” The words stung, still. They probably always would. Nobody wants to be kicked out of their home, but it had happened and Damian learnt to live with it. He gained a new name to fly under from Clark because Superman  would actually speak to him like a person instead of the walking embodiment of fatherly disappointment. 

“I’m here for Signal and Black Bat… and you, Father.” Damian added the last part with a resigned sigh. He saw how his Father’s eyes narrowed and the reaction that came next was a known one.

“I am fine. Both Signal and Black Bat will be fine.” Batman had turned to type something into the computer behind him. It was a data collecting mission. A simple in-and-out. The perfect time for a confrontation… or an intervention.

“Sure, I’d call sending each goon you come across to the hospital in a full-body cast, fine. What happened to ‘no excessive force?’” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that when you’ve sent people to their graves, Nightwing.” Damian suppressed a flinch. Bruce hadn’t even looked him in the eyes when he said it. Like Damian hadn’t been working and still is working everyday of his life to fight the abuse he suffered as a child. Like all of his efforts were nothing and that he was still the volatile, combative “stab first, ask questions later” child he was ten years ago. “Not when you’ve spent the last week non-verbal and useless on the field.”

Oh, fuck him. Damian breathed through his nose, calming the fury that had already risen. He knew that this was Bruce’s way of coping . It was shitty. It hurt those around him. It was exactly what Damian did when confronted. “You’re hurting and I’ll ignore what comes out of your mouth, because we all say things we don’t mean when we’re suffering.”

“But Batman? You still have kids. Thr– Two of them who need you. Signal is barely hanging on as is due to grief and the idea that he could have done something for Tim–”

“Keep his name out of your mouth, Nightwing.” Bruce… Batman whirled around, his eyes were narrowed and the white lenses of his cowl reflected that. “You always hated Shrike and you made it known.”

Damian fought for a breath. Choking on his own mistakes and regrets being thrown into his face.

Tim and Damian never had a good relationship. He was angry and he had felt betrayed that his Father had kicked Damian out onto the curb and replaced him with some white, smart, rich kid. A kid who had just wanted to be loved and acknowledged, and that Damian saw himself in far too much to feel comfortable.

So yeah, Damian made it known that he hated Tim, but he didn’t. Damian hated himself.

And it was one of the worst mistakes he’d ever made in his life.

“Oh, get off your high horse, Batman.” Alfred was so much better at this than Damian. “Shrike is gone. He died. He didn’t have access to a Lazarus Pit and I’m glad for it. He doesn’t deserve it. But your kids? Signal and Black Bat need you. I can only do so much, Br–” Damian shut his mouth, his fists clenched around the railing that he was perched atop. “This family is being ripped apart. You already got rid of me. Don’t get rid of those two as well.”

Batman’s jaw was set. It was his nervous tic. Damian had long since memorized his Father’s tells and habits. It was nostalgic and painful and Damian just wanted to be ten years old again. “I never got rid of you. You did that yourself.”

Damian ducked his head, swallowing back the bitter retort and the lump in his throat. “Don’t stay out too late, Batman.”

Cass danced around the room. Her moves were graceful in that way Damian’s would never be. She was born to dance. It was intertwined with the birthright of fighting. Damian wasn’t one to say that Cass’ spars were something short of poetry, that was Duke’s job, but Damian could see it. He preferred to keep his thoughts close to his chest.

“Hey, little bat.” Damian had been swinging his feet from the rafters, watching her with a bird’s eye view. She had known he was there from the start and she was performing. It was a sad dance. Of grief and loss and Cass communicated through body language more fluently than any spoken language. “Wanna go see a recital with me?”

He waved the tickets. Cass stopped for a moment.

She smiled.

They were dressed warm. There was a large scarf wrapped haphazardly around Cass’ features and she was practically drowning in it. Twelve and a quicker fighter than Damian would ever, and had ever been. 

Once again, all he felt was attachment to his younger sister. His Grandfather would be disgusted by Damian’s betrayal of his teachings. Though that was also the reason Damian had managed to learn how to experience emotion to begin with.

Duke and Alfred taught him what family really meant. Bruce hadn’t. It was simple.

Tim had taught him a different kind of betrayal. Damian hadn’t known how to deal with it at the time. He still doesn’t. Tim taught him regret. So much regret.

Cass taught him to care. To really care. She cared about each and every one of her movements. Of the people in her life, no matter how many times she had met them. She cared about the garden and clothes, and all these things that seemed so useless to Damian until he’d met her.

Until Damian had met his family, he wasn’t really a person. He was just another body for his Grandfather to hollow out and wear. He didn’t know if that revelation would have mattered to a nine year old Damian who was dead-set on proving himself. Just as long as it made his Mother look at him with something akin to pride.

Then Bruce happened and then Alfred. Then Duke and then Cass. But never Tim.

Damian hated Tim and everybody in the family knew it. Except he didn’t and Cass saw that.

Cass saw everything.

“You’re sad.” Cass looked up at him. Their hands were intertwined as they crossed the street. It wasn’t necessary, but Damian knew his younger siblings enjoyed physical contact more than they let on.

“I’m reminiscing. There’s a difference.” Damian shrugged, trying to keep his shoulders from slumping in an obvious display of anything but nonchalance. “Stop gaping at me like a fish, Cass.”

Cass rolled her eyes before narrowing them in an effort to look over his features with better clarity. As if the extra squinting would help. “I’m sad too. I miss Tim. But, we are going to ballet.”

“We are.” Damian lowered his head in a nod.

“So we aren’t allowed to be sad.”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Damian stared at his little sister for a moment. Her bottom lip was trembling in an effort to stop the tears that usually welled up whenever Tim was a topic.

He was glad that he was learning to be an older brother, but he was angry and terrified beyond measure that Damian would never be able to interact with Tim properly. Duke and Cass deserved this sort of relationship. This kind of family and comfort.

So did Tim.

But Tim would never get the chance to be Damian’s little brother.

He gripped Cass’ hand a little tighter through the gloves they both had on. 

The red yarn covering his fingers made his stomach turn.

Stephanie Brown was in the Manor’s kitchen. Her hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and Damian had never been so relieved to see blonde in his life.

Stephanie ran after Tim’s death. Duke said that she shut her self off. Isolated.

Stephanie never ran.

Except for when she did.

Damian didn’t blame her.

“Hey,” Stephanie’s voice was quiet. She was never supposed to be quiet. Where had his friend gone? “Long time no see, D.”

Her clothes were purple. That was her favorite color. They used to tease each other about wardrobe choices. It hadn’t been Damian’s fault that most of his clothing was black, but Stephanie pointed it out in good fun.

The purple was bright.

It felt muted.

“Where have you been?” Damian mustered a few steps towards her. He was too used to physical contact constant that his siblings had been the past three weeks.

Stephanie glowered. “It’s never ‘how are you, Steph?’ Or ‘how are you holding up after one of your best friends was tortured and then killed, Steph?’”

Damian fought a flinch. He didn’t do that anymore. It had taken a long time. “How are you, Steph?” He used the nickname. People didn’t actually like when other’s used surnames for referral. Supposedly it was combative and rude.

Her face crumpled. “Fuckin’ bad.”

Damian understood. He just didn’t show it.

He couldn’t.

If he did. He wouldn’t stop.

Duke always said that Damian wore his heart on his sleeve.

He opened his arms in an invitation for a hug. Stephanie practically barreled into him, her hands gripping his shirt tight enough that Damian was sure she’d rip the fabric. When he went to curl up in his bed later that night, he could find that there were holes in his shirt. He wouldn’t end up taking it off.

“I haven’t gotten a hug from you in years. Usually there’s a scowl to go along with it.” She mumbled into his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You didn’t have to be.” Damian thought she should have been.

“I did.” Stephanie shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to deal with Bruce on your own. He’s terrible right now.”

He gave a soft grunt of agreement and she laughed.

“Stop that. You sound just like him.”

“I know.”

He didn’t really want to.

Damian didn’t want to be just like his Father anymore. He didn’t want the cowl.

He just wanted his Father to hold him like he cared.

“I can’t believe he’s gone. I’ll never get to beat him up so he takes a nap ever again.” Stephanie still hadn’t pulled away. “We were planning to go to an aquarium. Just to take a break. He never took enough breaks. Shit , I miss him so much.”

Her knees gave out and Damian just lowered his sister(?) to the floor. “I know. I know you didn’t hate, Tim.”

Damian couldn’t look her in the eyes.

Of course he didn’t hate Tim. Tim was a child.

Bruce had kicked Damian out when he was a child. Seventeen and not ready to be on his own. He never would have been ready if Bruce had let him.

Despite all of Damian’s arguments with Bruce about how he wasn’t a little kid. He was. He always would be. Because under all the experiences and abuse and monsters that made Damian grow up too quickly, was a child that made all the decisions. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Damian fought to keep his voice steady and his arms steadier.

“It’s okay if you cry too, Dames.” She squeezed him tighter, rubbing circles into his back.

“It isn’t.” It really isn’t.

Damian didn’t deserve to cry for a child whom he never called his brother.

Tim was his brother. He knew that now.

But he could never tell him.

He could never repent.

Damian was crumbling. He was ripping apart at the seams.

The Joker was still in Arkham.

He stared at the footage of that monster’s cell.

He kept coming back to it.

Damian would get up. He would walk around his apartment. He would sit down.

He would stare at the footage from Arkham.

Damian killed. There was blood on his hands that he could never wash off. He had never wanted to kill again.

Until a clown tried to destroy his family.

Bruce would never do it. Duke had never killed before and never should. Cass was young and he’d promised her that she’d never have to kill another person again. Stephanie wouldn’t recover if she did.

It had to be him.

Bruce would never forgive him for it. Bruce hadn’t forgiven him for a lot of things and Damian suspected one of them was his birth.

His Father had never seen him whenever he stared at Damian and thought him unaware. All his Father had seen was Talia.

Damian would never be able to escape his family or his features. Short of mutilating his face.

That was fine. As long as Bruce loved his siblings more than Damian, he could live with being a human punching bag. Damian could live with the fact that he never got a Dad like Duke or Cass or Tim.

He could live with being Bruce’s child, but not his son.

It was why he could live with slitting the throat of the monster who took away his Father’s son.

Even if it could never be Damian.

The news was loud. The lights were loud. The blood on his hands was drying and his skin felt clammy. The shower was loud.

He wasn’t in it.

Gotham was a big city. There were plenty of safehouses for him to crash at. To get his bearings at.

To forget about his actions at.

Bruce was right. He was always going to be a murderer. It clung to his skin and to his heart and it clung to his hands the worst.

Jon would come if he called.

Damian hadn’t called for him in years.

They had an argument. Damian always had arguments.

Everybody left due to them. He didn’t blame them.

Jon would come. He would ask what had happened, but the man would already know. He would uncurl Damian from his hiding place, tucked behind the ratty couch and in the corner. He would take Damian to the bathroom and he would run his hands under the faucet. There would be blood in the sink. Damian wondered if he’d end up throwing up the bile that sat in his stomach as Jon rubbed circles into his back. 

Jon would ground him.

Damian didn’t want to be grounded.

The floaty effects of disassociation kept the grief away. Kept his thoughts away. Let them slip through his fingers.

He would eventually fall asleep.

Jon would hear his panicked heartbeat, but Damian had long since told the other to leave. Forever.

Because Jon had gotten too close. He’d known him too well and at that time, Damian had been terrified being known.

It was just another regret.

His whole life was just a fucked up rubber-band ball of regrets and mistakes. Damian wondered if he could have a world record.

Damian wondered if Bruce would beat him into a training mat for killing the Joker. Damian wondered if he’d let him.

He probably would.

“One rule, Damian! I don’t ask for anything else but this one rule.” Bruce’s hands were dug into the fabric of his button-down. Duke and Cass were in the Manor with Stephanie. That was good.

They wouldn’t have to see this.

The Batcave– thank you Duke, for your unnecessary contributions to the naming protocols– had always felt too big. He’d assumed that the space would grow smaller as Damian grew taller, but it never did. Damian never had to chance to reach eighteen before being kicked to the curb. He hadn’t been back in the Cave since he was seventeen.

It felt even larger with his Father looming over him.

“I should have known. I should have known when Talia dropped you off and you murdered somebody on your first night here.” Damian winced at that. “Don’t act like you feel bad. You smiled about it.”

Damian had been a child who knew no better.

It hadn’t actually been a smile. Just one trained into him.

He couldn’t really tell his Father that now.

“You killed the Joker, Damian. In cold blood.” The hands gripping his collar let go, letting him drop to the ground. His Father would always be taller. Talia’s genes made sure of that.

Damian would always be the smaller person.

“You don’t hold any grief for Tim. Just some fucked up patchwork thing like shame.”

Was it not grief that Damian felt?

He felt shame. He felt heartbroken.

Like after Talia left and didn’t come back. Like when Bruce kicked him out for good that time.

Damian felt… a lot.

Bruce just never acknowledged it.

“I will never be able to live well with myself, that Tim was mistreated so terribly by my hands.” Damian made eye contact. He had never liked making eye contact. “I will never be able to repent for my actions, but killing the Joker was necessary.”

It was.

It had to be.

Damian felt it was.

“You never would have done it, Bruce. Duke shouldn’t have to. I promised Cass, she would never hold a knife with lethal intent again, and Stephanie would break. I don’t have the ability to fix that. So, it fell to me.” Damian was panting. Whether it be from fear or the admission of his actions. Maybe it was both. “I don’t regret it. I never will. I don’t regret the lives I’ve taken because I was a child. I was a child, Father. They weren’t my choice.”

“This one was.” Bruce’s hands were in fists and his jaw was clenched tighter than it would be for the habitual tic. His Father was angry. Furious. “You aren’t a child anymore, Damian. Not the last time I checked.”

He felt like one.

Damian knew what he felt didn’t matter. It didn’t stop his whole body from aching. Didn’t stop the pains of betrayal and neglect and the urge to scream and shout.

“I don’t think you ever raised me not to be.”

There was a crack and a sting, and Bruce was shouting. Damian was on the floor, his arms under him, but his legs crumpled in shock.

There was blood on the tile.

Damian didn’t move for a long time.

There was a child in his apartment. Damian briefly acknowledged his open window before turning to the mess of curls and moles that was the kid.

“Who are you?” There wasn’t a sneer in his voice these days. Just exasperation and an age he didn’t feel.

“M’ Jason Todd. Does Duke just like… not talk about me?” Jason crossed his arms with a scowl. “What a dick. At least Cass enjoys the classics.”

Duke talked about Jason plenty. They had started their weekly breakfasts again now that Damian was… shunned by his Father. It was fine. They were fine. Cass came over every other week.

The kid was new. He hadn’t been adopted, but supposedly Duke said Bruce was doing better.

Which meant that Jason was just as replacement for Tim, like how Tim was a replacement for Damian. Duke had never been a replacement, nor Cass. Duke had just ended up being a better son.

Jason liked books and school. He enjoyed Titus’ company and took care of Batcow. Damian thought that he could like Jason, if he’d met him.

But before now, he didn’t think he’d have a chance. Not with how Bruce and Damian parted the last time.

Not when Damian had recent blood on his hands. It would never leave.

Damian wasn’t sure he wanted the Joker’s blood to leave. It gave him closure.

“Are you mute or do you just like staring at people? It’s fucking creepy.” Jason sneered.

“Swear jar…” Damian mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He was in his sleep clothes, which meant that it was a hoodie he’d stolen from Jon when they were on speaking terms and thin pants. “Duke talks about you plenty. What are you doing in my house?”

“This is an apartment.” Jason moved to the kitchen, fiddling around with the coffee maker. Damian hated coffee, but Tim had liked it. He was trying to find what Tim saw in the shitty beverage. “I wanted to know who you were. It isn’t fair that everybody but me knows what’s going on.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “And what’s going on?”

“Well, like. Whenever somebody says your name, it gets real quiet, and I dunno what it’s about.” Jason shrugged, grabbing a mug from the cupboards. “There’s something there but nobody wants to tell the new kid.”

“There’s not much to say. Bruce and I had a falling out last time I was at the Manor. I am not invited back.” Damian crossed his arms, but accepted the mug of coffee when Jason handed it to him.

They both situated themselves at the counter.

“About what?”

“Tim Drake-Wayne.” Damian mumbled around the lip of the mug. Jason gave a sharp hiss.

“Was it bad?” Jason was fiddling with the atrocious red hoodie he had on.

“Quite.” It had been pretty awful.

Damian had been on the floor, gaping like a fish for an hour before he managed to stand. His lip had been split and he ended up losing a tooth. It had been a pain in the ass to replace on a freelancer’s budget. Duke had covered it and Damian was extremely thankful for that. 

Not to mention the giant bruise that covered the left side of his jaw for a few weeks.

“To be honest, I kinda think the old man misses you.” Jason was indifferent to the way Damian spluttered on his coffee.

Damian doubted it. “I doubt it.”

“I dunno. He gets all sad lookin’. Like whenever somebody brings up Tim.” The boy shrugged, but looked rather tense. Jason probably knew virtually nothing about Tim. Damian was… definitely not going to be the one to share any stories.

He didn’t have any good ones.

“If Bruce wants me back, he can apologize and say so to my face like the grown man he is.” Damian looked over Jason once more. “Instead of sending an eleven year old to do so for him.”

Jason squawked. “I’m twelve! Steph was right, you’re such a bitch.”

Damian let out a laugh, or… his idea of a laugh. Duke said that he just exhaled and called it laughter. “Of course she did. She’s always been excessively crass.”

“Okay, you posh fuck.” Jason scrunched up his face like an angry kitten.

He liked Jason. Damian actually did.

Jason was easy to anger and he was crass. He was obviously a caring person from both stories and Damian’s own observations. He was also Damian’s younger brother.

Or he would be.

He wouldn’t take his issues out on another child. Never again.

“I would daresay I am a posh fuck. ” Damian smiled behind his coffee and Jason returned with a sharp grin.

Damian saw himself in Jason and he didn’t hate it.

“I have to get a ride to the Manor… will you take me?” Jason looked sheepish now.

Ah, there was the plan. Well, Damian would have time to yell at Steph and Duke later.

“Sure. Let me grab my keys and an extra helmet.”

The kid’s eyes lit up.

Jason’s laughter was infectious and they were stumbling up the driveway in a fit of giggles by the end of the ride. The kid was gleeful to be riding on the motorcycle and who was Damian to ruin that?

He didn’t want to ruin anything. Not anymore.

“You have to let me drive that sometime!” Jason was bouncing on his feet before settling into a more serious expression. Well, as serious an twelve year old who was giggling could be.

“Sure, when you’re not below the legal age.” Damian was lying. If Bruce was taking Jason out on patrol, he wanted to teach the kid to drive. To actually drive.

He really hoped that Bruce didn’t.

Tim died in Shrike’s suit. There didn’t need to be anymore bloody, torn suits on display in the Cave. Not that the one didn’t leave a metallic taste in his mouth.

Jason just grinned, raising the knocker on the Manor door once, before letting it fall. Then once more.

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was like home. Damian missed it. A lot.

Alfred usually called whenever he could, but Damian either ignored the calls or exchanged pleasantries with his grandfather-figure until he raised the question of whether not Damian would be back at the Manor anytime soon.

Damian always hung up before they got to that.

“And… Master Damian. Oh, my boy.” He let Alfred lead them inside. Damian also let the man check him over, smooth out his clothes, and hold him gently. He returned the careful embrace.

Jason shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“Hi, Alfie.” Damian pulled away, although he didn’t really want to. It had been a while since he’d gotten a hug from Alfred… or any of his parental figures. “I suppose I’m home.”

“Yes, you are.” The old man’s eyes twinkled and for a moment, Damian agreed. “ Bruce will want to see you.” The name of his Father was spat like vitriol and Damian had to take a moment to right himself. 

First, there was no respectful term of referral from Alfred, which meant he was rightfully pissed off. Second, Bruce was essentially Alfred’s son and Damian had never heard his Grandfather speak like that.

“Well, he’ll have to say that to my face, won’t he?” Both Jason and Alfred nodded before moving towards the dining room.

It would be around breakfast for the household. Maybe Damian could snag some food and then escape without having to have a confrontation with Bruce.

He doubted it.

Waffles were stacked high onto the serving platters. Stephanie was definitely here.

Cass spotted him and proceeded to run full-force into his arms. She grinned up at him.

“Hello, Cass. You do know that we visited not more than two days ago?” Damian quirked an eyebrow but returned her smile.

“Missed you.”

He knows he’s missed, but hearing it helps calm his nerves sometimes. At least patrols aren’t a screaming match between he and Bruce anymore. Mostly because he hasn’t been called into Gotham in a very long while.

Stephanie waved from her seat, it was tilted back as far as it would go without tipping over. “Hey, Dames. How’s life?”

“It is.” They both nodded solemnly before Stephanie gave him a smile. She was doing better. They both were, at least a bit. Damian had the texts from her to prove it.

Damian, communicating out of his own free will? Who knew. Yes, that was Stephanie’s voice in his head. Disgusting, get it out.

Cass practically dragged him to a seat before launching into a signed tale of whatever she and Steph had been talking about earlier. It was nice to see her lively. He’d missed it.

She was finally getting back to a new semblance of normal and Damian was just glad he got to be included in it.

His family was one of the only reasons he got out of bed in the morning. The next was his pets and then after that was his hobbies.

He did have hobbies outside art, thank you Duke.

Although Duke had been adamant that since Damian took art as a job it lost its hobby status. Then again Duke was a poet, so he didn’t get opinions.

The whole family tensed and so did he.

They were all trained to pay attention to their surroundings despite other stimuli. Bruce walking down the stairs and to the dining area was a new addition to their conversation and so they all went quiet.

Bruce’s footsteps were heavy. He was a heavy-set man, but they were also heavy in the sense that the man was downtrodden. There was a shuffle to them, a different kind of weight.

Damian knew that his Father favored his right side. They sparred. They were in tune with each other due to years of fighting at one another’s side. If Damian were to spar with his Father, there would be a tie depending on rules.

If they were to fight… he does not know.

The fear of not knowing– being caught unaware– is something Damian has never been able to get over. Information meant life and death in the League and out on patrol with Batman.

Information was what kept you from being tortured by a madman and blown up.

Tim was supposed to keep them all informed when it came to his whereabouts and then he went cold-turkey.

It cost Tim his life.

It cost Damian’s family everything.

“Mornin’ Bruce.” Jason piped up from far side of the table, waffles quickly being stuffed into his mouth.

Damian would not be initiating a conversation first.

He topped his own two waffles with fresh fruit and powdered sugar.

When Stephanie and Damian had a conversation about Tim a week ago, they talked about his likes and dislikes. Damian didn’t have much to add, but he recalls her telling him about Tim’s waffle topping preferences.

Damian doubted he’d have cared five months ago, but now? Tim’s waffle toppings were on the forefront of his mind. 

Grief was stupid.

“...Damian?” Bruce sounded awful. Looked awful… but not as bad as he had a month ago. Jason was good for the family. Good for Bruce.

Damian hummed, still focused on his waffles, slowly adding whipped cream.

“Waffles for breakfast this morning, huh?” Bruce took his seat at the table, but his eyes never left Damian’s face. He knew without looking up.

He was used to his Father’s stare.

It used to make him proud. Now it was just there.

“Ye p !” Stephanie grinned, popping the p. “We even got Jason to manipulate Damian into coming over.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware. You four are not as sly as you think.” He turned to glare at her, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. Stephanie knew this, since she only grinned wider.

He missed the Manor. Despite his apartment in Bludhaven, Gotham would always be his home, even if he hadn’t lived there until he was nine.

“Yeah, I called him a posh fuck and–”

“Swear jar.” Cass crossed her arms and Jason had an intense look of betrayal on his face.

Damian smiled and ducked his head in amusement, but the rest of the family broke out into quiet laughter. Not only at the insult, but at Jason’s frantic search through his pockets.

After that, breakfast was a less tense affair.

Damian had been invited up into his Father’s study/office before, but usually he’d been chewed out whenever that happened.

He was rather sure that’s what had happened last time he was in here.

The family portrait hung above the unlit fireplace. The one without Tim. Cass, Jason, Duke, Alfred, and Bruce. Though Damian did note the two portraits of Tim and himself on the mantle.

Damian’s Father didn’t show love or care to him the same way he always had towards his siblings. Their relationship was different. It was a quiet thing.

Shown through small actions and seldom words. Verbal encouragement and praise wasn’t really a thing between them. It never had been.

It was fine.

Damian preferred the ability to hide behind his Father’s cape without acknowledgment and finding his Shrike suit patched up for him.

The door opened with a click and closed without a sound.

“I want to preface this by saying I am no good at apologies.” Bruce looked tired. His eyes were downturned in the expression he usually wore for sadness, but Damian had never seen that on his Father’s face when he was looking at him.

“I know.” Damian shrugged.

He hadn’t gotten many apologies in his life anyways. Damian wasn’t good at receiving them so they were on even footing.

“I let my rage… my grief get the best of me, Damian. For that, I am sorry.” Bruce frowned. “I do not condone your actions with the Joker. I do not condone nor agree with the fact that you killed him, but looking back I can understand the reasoning you took specifically.”

“I… should not have said the things I said about you. They were in the heat of the moment…” Damian frowned at this.

They were practically a reflection of the other if you ignored the darker skin and differences in build.

He hadn’t really expected Bruce to ever take back his words.

For all intents and purposes… they were correct in many ways.

“You’re my son, Damian. I know I don’t show it like I do with the others, but you’re different. You have always been different.”

“Yes, it seems my face is exceedingly more aggravating and easier to hit.” Damian deadpanned. Suddenly uncomfortable with the emotion his Father was showing.

Bruce’s face crumpled. “I should never have done that.”

“No,” Damian whispered. “I don’t think you should have.”

It had broken him that night. He knew what he was walking into, verbally at least… but Damian had never expected his Father to lay a hand on him.

It didn’t take much for Damian’s life to start crumbling around him after that.

The fickle truce he and Bruce had was gone and Damian was back in Bludhaven. Duke and Cass had to come to him and he hated it.

He was supposed to be there for him. They shouldn’t have had to traverse Bludhaven for that.

It made Gotham look positively peachy.

“Things can’t be the same, Father.” Damian leaned on the desk behind him. “I don’t want to go back to that normal. It wasn’t healthy.”

“It wasn’t.” His Father dipped his head in agreement. “You can’t kill anymore, Damian.”

He tightened his grip on the edge of the desk. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Damian sighed, holding his face in his hands for a moment. “I know.”

He definitely felt like the volatile ten year old again.

“I’m just… excessively tired.” Damian rolled his neck.

It wasn’t a lie.

He hadn’t gotten actual sleep in months. Which was probably hurting both his vigilante work and his freelance work.

And his college course work for vet school.

Bruce have a grunt. “Aren’t we all.”

He shrugged in response. “I don’t want you thinking I’m at your very beck and call… and I’d like it if you treated me as if my emotions and thoughts actually mattered, Father.”

“I–” Damian shot him a glare. “I will. I’m sorry if it seemed like I hadn’t, Damian.”

“You didn’t, but you will.”

Bruce nodded.

Damian let out a sigh.

The words, "You are still not forgiven" weren't spoken out loud. 

They wouldn't be.

It was Tuesday. Tuesday was a Duke and Damian affair. Breakfast at a local Bludhaven or Gotham café. Sometimes it was a box of doughnuts and a rooftop. Other times it was the smell of tea and coffee and whatever overpriced pastry was on the menu that morning.

Duke waved him over. Gotham was surprisingly not terribly dreary and the sun managed to peek through the clouds.

“Hey Dames. Get any actual sleep last night?” Damian returned the smile easily.

Duke was smiling again. Even if they weren’t the same unwavering grins they used to be.

Cass was talking again. Even if it was few and far between.

Stephanie was back. Even if she wasn’t as cheery and intense as she used to be.

Bruce wasn’t putting people in full body casts every night.

And… Jason was here. Jason helped everybody really. The kid was painfully likable and despite the extremely loud fight both Bruce and Damian had gotten into.

Jason was a good Shrike. Even if it meant Damian was in Gotham more nights than he was in Bludhaven.

Damian couldn’t see another bloody suit behind glass.

“Do you want the truth, Duke? Or would you like the Wayne family special?” Damian took a seat in the rather pretty cast iron outdoor chair. It was a quaint little cafe. Gotham didn’t usually do quaint.

“Dude, if you don’t get some actual sleep you’re going to end up passing out on patrol.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That time you got shot in the stomach does not count towards sleep deprivation!” Duke shook his head, his hands in the air. “I can’t believe Jason looks up to your sorry ass.”

“Does he?” Damian narrowed his eyes. “Probably a bad idea. Somebody should tell him to stop that.”

Duke groans, “I’ve tried . He thinks you’re this cool, mysterious assassin! Dami, I’ve seen you use chopsticks with your feet when both your arms were broken! It was definitely not cool and mysterious!”

“You’re just mad about the fact that I can use chopsticks with my feet.”

“No.” Damian raised an eyebrow. “Maybe a little bit.”

He nodded sagely. Most should be jealous at his range of motion. Although it did sometimes leave Damian feeling like a limp noodle. Flexibility had long been a strength in his fighting style.

The waiter came along and took their orders. Damian had given up his attempts at enjoying coffee and was instead embracing his journey of tea. Duke however decided to get a monstrosity and had the gall to look excited about it.

His phone pinged and Damian went to check whatever text notification had popped up.

Unknown numbers were never good.

Nor was the starter of, ‘Damian, I am aware of your distrust and unwillingness to ever speak to me again. I have earned such, but I do not lie when I say this.’

It was his Mother. He hadn’t seen her nor spoken to her in years. Long since being dropped off at Wayne Manor, but the dread in his stomach was enough to have Damian tap on the pop-up.

Tim is alive.

“Dames?” Duke’s brow was furrowed, concern practically radiated from him. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Damian’s eyes widened just a fraction and then, so did Duke’s.

They slammed a few bills down on the table.

Damian had a chance.

He had a chance.

It wasn’t going to be two months late.