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Damian grabs the back of the man’s throat, slitting the front. Blood sprouts violently from the front, pooling into a warm puddle at his feet. Damian narrows his eyes and turns sharply on his heel, calmly walking out of the building.
Act like nothing’s wrong.
No one suspects a thing.
He’s a child, after all.
He avoids the cameras with controlled expertise. Drake and Gordon were good, the best, even, but he knew how they worked.
It was an unfair advantage that he had to use. He sends a flying kick at a nearby disguised BV, biting his lip in disbelief at how easily the woman crumbled. He ignored the blaring regret in his every actions and ran from the public’s view.
Ever since Grayson died, the family had been in shambles.
Father had started a BV; Batman vigilance corps. Every two years, they welcomed a select few of trainees; training them in typical Robin fashion, say for a few extreme exercises.
Father didn’t hold them dear to his heart, though. That was the major difference. They were soldiers to him.
Children who wanted to be heroes.
Motivated by nothing but curiosity.
Most of them couldn’t handle the pressure, and Damian wasn’t at all sad to see so many quit.
None had died.
For now.
Todd and Brown both made sure Grayson’s legacy never died, the Red Hood and Spoiler actively working with the Batfamily.
Cain was the only one he was unsure of. He didn’t like it. She was the only one with true potential to bring them together.
Drake drowned his sorrows in finding Damian and finding Grayson, not believing the man was deceased.
Gordon did the same, possibly more desperately.
Damian heard Gordon in particular beg every night for Damian to come back.
He couldn’t.
There was too much blood on his hands.
Mother planted bombs in each one of them, ensuring Damian never left her side.
He couldn’t contact them.
He did the next best thing.
Fight for them.
He had long lost hope.
Damian collected the money from his employer before grabbing his mother’s hand.
Bloodshed and constant worry protected him from the ball of grief rolling down a steep slope.
He pretended Grayson was alive.
With the others.
It was easier than imagining the disappointment the man was sending his way from wherever the dead went.
He couldn’t lose anyone else.
He couldn’t do that to Father.
Damian Wayne.
Damian Al Ghul.
-
Damian screamed into his pillow as he woke up, clenching the sheets in silent frustration.
Another day of killing.
And another.
And another.
The days were endless.
Could it just stop?
For his family.
-
Damian grabbed a nearby assassin’s swords and plunged them into his mother’s chest, jaw clenching as blood splattered onto his face.
With ample force, he stomped on Talia’s face until all left of her face was a bloody mess of tissue.
He grabbed the god-forsaken remote and selected the ‘disable all bombs’ option before crushing the remote to pieces.
Damian slid onto the floor.
He knocked his head on the walls of his room and dug his face into his hands as blood trickled down his face.
A singular tear ran down his face, mixing with the crimson red liquid staining everything on his person.
A few feet away, a deceased Talia Al Ghul lay.
Damian scrambled to his feet and ran.
-
He darted through the melodious songing of Christmas carols, of parents hugging their children.
His boots clicked against the snow silently, stopping abruptly nearby a small store specifically labeled for farm supplies.
The blood was still on his hands.
“Wanna get the last present, kid?” A woman standing beside the store asked a shaking Damian.
“You’re not dressed for the winter.” The woman continued, eyeing Damian’s meticulously designed attire.
Damian covered his face.
“Yes. I guess I am not.” He resisted the urge to scream, opting to focus on the burning black hole feeling in his chest.
“You okay? What’s a kid like you gotta worry about, go have some fun, eat some candy, whatever kids do these days.” The woman patted Damian’s back, handing him a small sweet.
“Yeah. What’s a kid like me, have to worry about?” Damian scoffed, momentarily distracted from his precarious position.
Damian inhaled sharply as a raven-haired kid stepped out of the shop, hands full with farming supplies.
“A friend?” The woman was still here?
“I hope.” Damian watched Jon slowly disappear into the snow.
He didn’t look back once.
Damian always told him he needed to keep his guard up.
Damian let out a maniacal laugh.
What was his life? He was a born-and-raised assassin, with a family that indulged in vigilantism for a job. He’d died, Richard had, Todd had, Brown had.
He was Robin, an Al Ghul, with Batman for a father.
Friends with Superboy.
And Damian wasn’t even fifteen yet.
“You feeling better?”
“No. Thank you, however. What is your name?”
“Beatrice. Beatrice Bennett. It’s great to meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Bennett.”
-
Damian was fine with Bennett.
Sometimes he would go to the farming shop when he knew Jonathan would be there, and Bennett would be just next door, shopping for groceries.
She knew him as John; Richard’s middle name.
Maybe he didn’t deserve that; taking Richard’s name.
She didn’t ask questions, and sometimes Damian needed someone who wouldn’t.
Who didn’t know him.
-
Damian inspected a doughnut, wincing at the amount of saturated fat.
“Where are your parents, John?” Bennett uncharacteristically flicked her gaze towards Damian.
Strange.
Bennett did not ask questions.
“That is not for you to know, Bennett.” One was dead by his hands, and one was deranged and looking for his body.
“Well, my boyfriend’s a cop, and I really think he could help.”
“Did you bait me here, Bennett?” Damian narrowed his eyes, scrunching his nose.
“Not really? His name’s Ric. Just, try. We just want to help you.”
They thought he was a runaway.
He was, but not in the typical sense.
“We? Is Ric here, Bennett?” Bennett looked away anxiously before looking down on Damian again.
“Yeah. Ric, come out. The kid knows your here.” Damian crossed his arms, looking at the entrance of the aisle expectantly.
He dropped the doughnut.
“Richard?” Damian’s hands shook as the man’s face contorted in confusion.
“Do I know you?”
Richard’s eyes, Damian knew them, he knew them-
But Richard didn’t know him back.
Not a splinter of recognition.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Richard didn’t remember being his Batman, the way Damian had hugged him after they each found out the other was alive, the way they bantered.
How much Damian cared for him.
He didn’t know.
Damian’s stomach twisted in a violent, familiar knot.
He took one step back. Bennett reached for his wrist, but Damian smoothly avoided it.
He slammed his hand against the aisle, toppling down multiple products as he tripped over his own feet and ran.
Ran like he always did.
“Kid!” Damian risked a look behind. Richard was chasing him.
Damian rushed smack into Jonathan.
Before Jonathan could recognize Damian, he flew to his feet and sprinted to no particular direction.
“Damian?”
Damn super speed.
-
Jonathan and he were sitting in a park.
The silence was deafening.
Damian stared at as a small girl giggled and chased another boy around.
Children.
He anxiously turned his gaze towards Jonathan.
Jonathan was comprehending the sheer information Damian had unloaded onto him.
Every dark, gruesome murder of his two years.
Jonathan laid a very gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder.
Damian stood.
“This was wrong. I apologize, you can take me in now.” Damian’s face was of steely determination.
He extended his wrists toward Jonathan, cocking his head in anticipation.
“I- I don’t blame you.”
“What?” Damian dropped his hands in shock.
“You did what you had to save your family.”
“But the law has no exceptions!” Damian exclaimed, desperately poking Jonathan in the chest.
“I- I’m unredeemable. Take me in, Jonathan.”
Damian watched Jonathan shook his head.
“A true, terrible unredeemable person wouldn’t be begging to be taken in, Damian. Besides, your my best friend. I’m not gonna let you go to jail.” Jonathan was grinning.
Damian didn’t understand.
He had taken so many lives.
How could Jonathan so easily forgive?
He froze as he was enveloped into a tight hug by the younger teen.
“Your my best friend, Damian. Nothing you do can change that.”
“You forgive me.”
“Yeah.”
“I do not forgive myself, Jonathan. And I do not think I can be with you, or anyone I know until I regain purpose.” Damian stared into Jonathan’s eyes, mouth tightly pressed in a straight line.
Jonathan’s face crumbled, but he nodded, flashing Damian a sad smile.
“Okay. I’m not telling anybody. But can you promise me something?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Promise me you’ll come back. That you’ll never forget me.”
Damian huffed in amusement.
“I would never, Jonathan. We are Robin and Superboy.”
-
Damian leaned against Richard’s tombstone, a tear sliding down his cheek.
Maybe he would finally get time to grieve.
He didn’t deserve to.
He’d been crying too much lately.
He knew the man was alive.
He would have preferred him dead.
Damian stared at the Mansion.
He could never go back.
That was for sure.
Damian stood up and dusted himself off. He placed red carnations on the foot of the tombstone, running his fingers on Richard’s name.
“Goodbye, Richard. You will not forgive me nor remember me, but remember, please, I love you.”
Damian walked away slowly, the only evidence of his existence the flowers.