Archive of Our Own

Damian knew many things. Of those things, he knew he was right about every last one. His observation skills were top notch, his deduction skills just as good. Between the training his mother gifted unto him, the tutelage under his teachers within the League of Shadows, and everything he’d been taught since coming to live with his father, he had reason to be confident in what he deduced to be true.

And he’d finally come to determine the name of the giant, glaring piece of the puzzle that haunted his family, that had brought them so much pain and suffering. The one man who dared to stand before his family like an outsider, who saw the pain cross his father’s and Richard’s faces every time he was invited down into the Batcave, every time they counted those present and came up short, believing the family to never be whole again.

If there was anything in his life that Damian was confident of, it was this.

“Father, the Red Hood is Jason Todd.”

He saw his father tense, subtle enough that most would not notice. But Damian was not of the majority, he’d lived with the man long enough to notice his tells. The way his shoulders pulled back by mere millimeters, the slight scrunching of his eyebrows, how his eyes moved from tired to alert to disbelief to bone deep sadness in less than a second. Damian would be a disappointment of a student, let alone a son, if he failed to notice them.

It's also how he knew his father didn’t believe him.

“Damian, please,” his father sighed, eyes flickering over to the old case with its destroyed suit and horrible placard. “It’s late son, and we’re both tired. Let’s get upstairs and rest before we start making such claims.“

Damian felt his hackles rising, felt the indignation creeping up his spine. His father dared not believe him? Him? His son? Had he not proven himself to be trustworthy? To be just as capable a detective as he was a fighter? To find even the most well-hidden information? How could his father just not believe him?

“I understand Father,” he said instead, returning to the task of removing his weapons and suit before heading upstairs. “We can discuss my findings at a later date when you are not so exhausted from your responsibilities.”

He heard his father sigh behind him, deep and long and oh so tired. “Very well Damian.”

He felt a stir of victory, a thrill at his father acquiescing that his son had valuable information that he lacked. Damian would count it as a win.

“Thank you, Father.”

Damian was aware of how morbid his little…obsession would be by others’ consideration. It was why he never confided in another regarding it.

As a child his mother had spoken of a boy, one so loved by Damian’s father that the man had nearly destroyed himself at the boy’s loss.

“But you said Father took him from the streets,” Damian had said. “Why would he be so distraught over a child already destined for death? Akin to the cats we see outside from time to time?” 

His mother had forbade him from touching the poor strays, saying they were diseased and destined for a quick death. Best to leave them be and not become attached. Surely this boy, coming from the same sorts of streets as those small, malnourished, and defenseless kittens, should be viewed and treated the same? 

“He was…different,” his mother said in way of an explanation. 

“How so?” 

His mother stared towards the wall, not really seeing it. She’d do that from time to time, he’d noticed, but only when it was just the two of them and only when their conversations related to his father.

“He just was, Habibi. Now it is time for you to get some rest, you have lessons in the morning.” 

“But Mother-“ 

“No Damian,” she cut him off, “You must rest. How are you to grow wise and strong if you go through life exhausted from lack of sleep?” 

Damian puffed out his cheeks, looking away. He began moving towards his bed, acknowledging the lost battle before him. But before he fell into the cold hands of unconsciousness, he had one more question. 

“Is that what made him so different? He came from nothing, but still grew strong enough to be at Father’s side?” 

His mother looked at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Yes, something like that dear. Now sleep, and put these thoughts behind you. You need not worry about a boy that the heavens took before his time.” 

He'd tried to follow his mother's wishes, he really had, but the thought of this boy, so lowly and abandoned, becoming something so revered and cherished, ate away at him. 

He was able to ignore it while he was with the League, far too busy for his mind to wander, but when he was thrust into Gotham? When he was face to face with the glass case housing the dead boy’s final uniform? There was nothing that could stop him from researching this “Jason Todd”, not even himself.

It was a compulsion, a need to know everything about the boy. At first, he convinced himself it was just a result of the boy being Robin, a title that Damian, as Batman’s blood son, deserved to hold. He needed to know of his predecessors, inferior as they were. Then he told himself it was Jason’s fighting style he was after, his tactical knowledge, that he wanted to learn how the boy had survived against the likes of Gotham’s worst when he’d had so little training, how it was that the Joker was the one to finally end him rather than some drug dealer or pimp. But as time wore on, he had to face the facts. Learning what the boy liked, what classes he took, what his dreams and aspirations were, what he was good at and what he planned to improve, none of that had anything to do with studying the dead Robin. No, this obsession was not with Robin, it was with Jason.

So it only made sense that when the large, hulking man only calling himself the Red Hood came on the scene that Damian would be suspicious. The man had a thick Narrows accent. Sure, his helmet’s voice modulator covered it up, and if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t notice it. But Damian paid attention. He always paid attention. The way the man talked, his hands articulating his words if he wasn’t consciously restraining such actions, was eerily reminiscent of a certain home video Damian had found not even two months ago. The random quips and banter he’d shout in the middle of battle once he’d begun working with them regularly, the care he showed to every victim he met, how he always had an eye out for the other vigilantes, especially the younger ones, the way he seemed to know so much about the Bats but still not letting on much at all. It all pointed to one conclusion. 

Red Hood was Jason Todd. 

How such a thing could be possible Damian didn’t know, but he also happened to live in a world with aliens, magic, and Lazarus Pits. With what resided in Gotham, it was a wonder they didn’t have the undead marching the streets on the regular.

But Mother always said Jason Todd was different, perhaps this was just another facet of that.

He knew he couldn’t go to anyone with his findings, not yet. He needed proof, something more substantial than “They say Bowery the same” or “They both roll their neck ever so slightly when uncomfortable”. No, he needed more, a whole lot more. And he would get it. 

His father was counting on him, whether the man knew it or not. Perhaps in this one way, by reuniting him with his lost son, his father might be at least a little happier, might feel a lighter weight on his shoulders than he did now. He might even smile just that little bit wider, just as he did in the old pictures hidden away at the back of his office desk’s top drawer. 

The thought was enough to confirm what must be done. Damian had a duty to his father and his family. He would see this through.

It was not difficult for Damian to deviate from the planned patrol routes his father had set up. No, all it took was some careful planning and a little bit of bribery. It was a simple matter of waiting until he and Drake were teamed up. His father believed forcing them to work together once a week would be good for them. He likely did not mean in this way.

“I have a personal matter to attend to during patrol tonight,” Damian stated once they had reached the first building of their planned route.

“And you think I’m just going to let you go off on your own?” Drake said in disbelief. “B and Wing would have my head if I let you do that.” 

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself.” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. And besides, all of us can handle ourselves, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be prepared to run into trouble we can’t handle alone,” Drake said, clearly trying to be diplomatic given their forced partnership for the night. Even so, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone as he parroted the words Richard preached on a near weekly basis. 

Evidently, Drake wasn’t going to let him go without some kind of explanation, if even that would work. 

Which only left Damian one option. 

“If you let me leave to handle this matter,” he said, his voice controlled so as not to give anything away, “then come the next event Father forces us to attend, I will assist in keeping those shallow wenches away from you.” 

Drake paused, eyes showing intrigue even hidden behind his mask before squinting in thought. He tightened his mouth, lips thinning, and Damian knew he’d won.

“What is so important that you’re willing to put up with the Monroe twins and their mother? If anything, you hate dealing with these ‘wenches’ more than me.” 

“It is a…personal matter,” Damian settled on. What could he really say that wasn’t an outright lie but did not let on to what he was doing? “If my deductions regarding this matter are correct, you will learn of them soon enough.”

Drake stared down at him, thoughts running through his head at lightning speed as he tried to think of what Damian could possibly mean. He tilted his head, eyes darting from Damian to the south side of the city.

“You’re heading towards the Bowery, aren’t you?”

It was times like this that Damian hated how perceptive Drake was. But it also gave him a sense of relief. He wasn’t running off on his own made-up beliefs. Another saw something there too, enough to find value in Damian following through with his investigation, even if that meant facing the wrath of his Father when he found out. 

“Keep your comm line on. If you run into any trouble, I don’t care how small, you call me,” Drake continued despite Damian’s lack of a response. “You already spoke to Oracle I take it.”

“Yes. She required the same precautions be taken. She has also stated that she will be tracking my movement and checking in via camera to ensure I am safe. I believe such measures to be tedious, but I accept them for the cooperation you two are showing me.”

“This must be pretty important to you then.” 

Damian nodded, tight lipped as the conversation drug on. If he was to have any chance he’d need to leave soon.

Drake sighed then, something clearly forced to make him seem like he was bothered. “Alright alright,” he said, waving his hand in a shooing motion, “get going then. We only have so much moonlight to work under.”

Damian nodded one last time, giving the most authentic, “thank you” of his life, before turning and leaping off the edge of the building.

“You better know what you’re doing twerp,” he heard Drake yell. By then he was too far out to yell an audible response back. That was fine with him. 

He had a mission to complete. 

It was always a gamble on if one could track down the Red Hood. It didn’t matter who you were, what tools and skills you had in your arsenal, if the man didn’t want to be found then chances were slim he would be. That didn’t stop Damian, not tonight, not when he finally had an opportunity, not after acknowledging the truth that was the older man’s identity.

The Red Hood had been a mystery from the second he’d appeared in Gotham’s criminal underbelly. Working his way through the local crime families, taking over multiple arms of the local drug trade, he’d seemed like any other up and coming career criminal with a chip on their shoulder ready to take over. But watching the footage, seeing the notes Father and Richard had made regarding their encounters with the man, it was clear he was not just any criminal. He wasn’t doing this for the money or fame or power, no, he seemed to have some other ulterior motive. One they never learned, not for lack of trying.

There was an Arkham breakout, entire city districts attacked. The Bats were left exhausted and were losing footing fast. Ivy had Drake by the neck, vines wrapped around his throat and constricting with every step taken in her direction. Any move could have resulted in Drake’s neck snapping. 

Ivy hadn’t expected the bullet that ripped through her precious vines. If the Bats were honest, they hadn’t either.

No one ever told Damian exactly what happened after that battle, or even how it ended. Given the Bats were working with Hood on a semi regular basis by the time Damian had been dropped into this horrid city by his mother, he would say a truce had formed. Their goals clearly lined up, was there anything else that needed to be said? 

Apparently, there was if his hunch was to be believed. 

The Narrows was an easy enough location for Damian to start his search, large as it may be. They knew Hood had at least a few safe houses up in the district, a few other holes he crawled into when he didn’t want to be found. Even if he wasn’t there when Damian arrived, he’d be there at some point that night. 

The problem was, Damian didn’t have all night. 

As bright as the man’s helmet was, it should be easy to spot even in the darkness. Shadows couldn’t naturally hide something so red, not even Gotham’s. But somehow between the Narrows and the Bowery there was not a single peep of bright red anywhere. It wasn’t like Hood was a small man either, rivaling Damian’s father in both height and mass. Large hulking figures, the two of them, capable of filling the room when they wanted to or sticking to the shadows like they weren’t even there. It only made Damian’s realization that much grimmer.

Jason Todd, the son most adored by Damian’s father, the son brought from the literal streets, lost to their father’s war on crime. He was the son who most resembled their father. The son who was buried and left in the ground, the son who returned to Gotham with blood on his hands and a goal of death and destruction, he was the one who could be mistaken for Bruce Wayne’s biological son.

Not that he’d gotten the chance to be. 

Damian had only seen the man’s face once. Jonathan Crane had come out of hiding, spreading his fear toxin across Gotham like a plague. While working with Poison Ivy he’d developed a new strain, one specifically for the Bats. They had gotten cocky, even his father if Damian was being honest. They’d faced Scarecrow enough times to believe they knew what he was up to, that they could stop him. But they were wrong, oh so wrong. 

The second Crane focused his toxins on them they’d begun dropping like flies, their screams and wails filling the night sky, eyes blown wide at the horrors they saw. Damian had been just far enough out to watch it happen, had felt the tiniest pinch of panic stab at him as he watched the others writhe in agony. He was about to jump down and go after Crane when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, and something was shoved onto his head. Damian tried to fight the figure off only to realize the thing on his head was a helmet, the hand on his shoulder large and fitted with a worn leather glove. He looked up to find Hood crouching next to him, face firm as he looked at Damian, warned him to stay put and keep the helmet on. If the gas spread, the built in filtration system should keep him toxin free. 

That close Damian could see his eyes, could see what looked to have once been a blue teal was now pulsing with a familiar toxic green. Even with the domino mask in place, that green was unmistakable. Lazarus Pits were the only thing in known existence to do that, but only the al’Ghuls had access to their waters. Surely the Red Hood of all people wouldn’t have been granted access. But the longer he looked the more it made sense.

And the more time he had to remember that night, to turn the memory of the man’s face over in his head, the easier it was to see the truth. 

Once soft teal eyes had been hardened and hollowed by death, cheekbones chiseled by age, a nose broken over and over again only to be mended and look like it’d never been so much as cracked, the tuft of white hair over his forehead where Pennyworth and Thompkins's autopsy report showed his skull had been cracked open, it all screamed of pictures Damian had found hidden away. It made sense, everything. How Hood moved, how he knew so much about Gotham, about the Bats, how he seemed to know everything Father and Grayson would do before they did it, how he already knew their identities. Either the Red Hood was Jason Todd, or he was a damn good clone.

Whatever he was didn’t matter. Bringing him home, back to his family, that was all that mattered.

It was as Damian neared Crime Alley that he finally heard the gunshots, two quick bangs disturbing the peace. Not that anyone would notice, not around these parts.

Damian turned his attention in the direction of the sound, watching with rapt attention as a man drug himself across the dirty alley pavement. He was blabbering, trying to offer the slowly approaching Red Hood something, anything, if he’d just leave the man alone. Damian didn’t hear the man’s answer, only saw him step on the thugs bleeding leg to put pressure on it. It didn’t take a genius to know Hood was threatening the man, warning him to follow the rules of the territory or it’d be more than just his legs next time.

The man nodded, his head looking ready to pop off as he shook, and that was it. Hood stood back to his full height, towering over the man before slowly leaving the alley. He wasn’t a second out of the downed man’s sight before his helmet snapped up, his eyes burning into Damian from his spot on the roof. He’d been caught, not that he expected anything less.

Hood sighed, shaking his head as he made his way up the roof at a leisurely pace.

“Alright Shortstack,” the man said as he finally pulled himself up. “What do you want and where’s your dad?” 

Damian bristled at the question. Was Hood insinuating that Damian needed his father’s constant supervision? That he couldn’t handle himself? Damian was a master combatant, he could make his way through a fight by the time he was five, a death match by eight. He did not need his father’s protection.

But what if Hood wasn’t asking for Damian’s sake? What if he was asking for his own?

That thought made him stop. Perhaps he was being a bit rash in his thoughts today. He would need to consider why the question upset him after he returned home from patrol. For now, Hood was waiting.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he answered, approaching the Red Hood with the kind of open body language he’d seen Grayson use when speaking to friends. “Father is on the other side of the city patrolling. I am sure he would not mind your company if that is what you are asking.” 

Hood huffed, the sound coming through his helmet’s voice modulator like a static screech. “So you’re flying solo tonight? Something tells me that’s not what daddy bats had planned for ya.” 

Damian bit his tongue, holding back the snide remark he wanted to make. He would not let this man control the conversation, he couldn’t, or he would never get the confirmation he needed. Granted, having watched Hood interrogate and question their enemies, he could honestly say his chances were low. But he refused to just give up, he couldn’t. 

“Father is unaware of my current location and situation, though I doubt I need to tell you that.” Damian looked up, catching how Hood’s head tilted just so, and he couldn’t quite hold himself back. “Though I suppose that makes us equals.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Father expects that I be in the Diamond District patrolling with Red Robin at the moment. Much like he expects you to still be in your grave.” 

Hood’s muscles tense so quickly that Damian almost didn’t notice. The man was good, knew how to play the part, how to lie, and maybe it would have worked if the person he was talking to wasn’t Damian, if he didn’t know League training when he saw it.

“Was it the Lazarus Pits? Did Grandfather take pity upon you and Father and throw you in?” 

Hood remained silent for a moment longer as he took in what Damian was accusing him of.

“Kid, what the hell are you talking about?” he settled on, voice unaffected by whatever surprise he was masking.

“You are the second Robin.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. How the hell-“ 

“Why have you not returned home? Why have you not told Father? He misses you terribly.” 

Once again Hood went silent, just staring down at Damian. Most people would be uncomfortable, intimidated even, but Damian had a mission, and he would see it through. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about kid,” Hood finally answered, footsteps heavy as he walked past the boy. He almost reached the edge of the roof when Damian, in a last-ditch effort to keep him from escaping, wrapped his arms around the man’s waist as tight as he possibly could, refusing to let go. “Come on kid, I’m not in the mood.”

“Then answer me this one question,” Damian demanded, face squished into the man’s leather jacket. 

“Fine. What?” 

Damian let go of Hood’s waist, still keeping a hold on his jacket sleeve as he took a step back, allowing the man to turn around and look at him. “Let’s say I believe you, that you aren’t that boy, that I am truly mistaken. Fine. Then at least tell me this. Why do your eyes glow with the green of the Lazarus Pits?” 

Hood stared down at him, helmet giving away nothing. They stood there in the silence, staring at each other and unmoving for so long Damian worried he’d broken the man. Then finally he spoke, voice mellow and controlled. “Because your mom thought she could fix me.”

With that he shook Damian off, finished his walk to the edge of the roof, and let himself fall backwards off the ledge. Damian didn’t bother chasing him, knowing he would have already disappeared. The Red Hood wouldn’t be found again tonight, not without an emergency pulling him from the shadows. No, he’d be going underground just as he always did when he and Father argued or when he had an important lead to follow. There would be a slim chance of finding him, Damian would have better luck with other leads. 

Namely, his mother. 

Unfortunately, finding his mother was easier said than done. While Talia loved her son, and he did not doubt that, she hadn’t been the most present of parents since dropping him on his father’s doorstep. He had no phone number, no email, not even a mailing address with which to reach her. He would turn to carrier pigeon if that’s what was required to speak with her, present circumstances aside. As much as he may love and respect his father and siblings, there were days where he just wished to talk to his mother, to hear her voice, to feel her hand upon his head as she praised him, to see her smiling down at him when Grandfather and the other assassins were not watching.

Damian knew he shouldn’t miss her so dearly, but he couldn’t help it. He was sure the others felt the same. Granted, his was the only parent capable and willing to separate a man’s neck from his head, so maybe he couldn’t compare his mother to say Drake’s or Richard’s. His mother was also alive, so he supposed he had that advantage as well. 

Nevertheless, he missed her, and knowing that she might hold the key to solving his little puzzle did not make that yearning go away. If anything, it made it stronger.

But he had no way of finding her. 

Not without help anyway.

Richard’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, if only barely. The man was helping him with his newest assignment, some urban planning project his social studies teacher had decided to curse upon the class. Damian hated the man, and the man likewise hated him in return. Damian was perfectly fine with that. 

What he was not fine with, was this stupid project. If you asked him it was a waste of his time. If he wanted to understand why cities and their roads were built the way they were, Damian would research it himself. But he would most certainly not be creating a diorama of multiple Gotham city blocks to show how the current roads could be improved. He had better things to do with his time.

Which is why Richard was now sitting on the floor of the manor’s sitting room, cardboard and paper and glue spread out between him and Damian. He looked so happy. Damian didn’t understand it. Maybe one day he would. For now, he needed to change the topic. If anyone would be willing to help Damian it would be Richard. He was a masochist like that. 

“Richard,” he began. The man in question almost seemed to snap to attention, eyes glued on the pre-teen before him.

“What’s up Little D? Robin’s Park still too boring for you?” he joked, lifting their makeshift gazebo. 

“No, it is not that. I have a question. A personal one, I suppose.” 

Richard watched him closely, tilting his head in question. “Sure buddy, what’s up?” 

“Do you ever miss him? Or think about him, I should say.” 

Richard looked perplexed, head tilting in the other direction. “Who would I be missing Dami?” 

Damian looked into Richard’s eyes, hoping he wasn’t about to completely ruin the man’s day. He wasn’t so sure he could stop it though. “Jason. The second Robin. Your successor.” 

The room fell quiet as the older man stared at him, smile morphing from genuine to frozen and falling. “What’s brought this up Damian? Did someone say something to you at school? I know Tim got some rude comments about Jason when he was at the academy, but I would’ve thought those rumors would be gone by now. Do B or I need to stop by and have a chat with the principal? We can do that, you know we can, it’s not a problem at all.” 

“Richard,” Damian interrupted.

Richard stopped his rambling. A look of sadness took over as he looked at Damian. No, not at, through. He wasn’t looking at Damian anymore, he was looking at something else, something far off that no one else could see. He stared through Damian like his mother used to stare through the walls. 

“I think about him, way more than I probably should,” Richard admitted. “Not as much as I used to, it’s a bit more bearable now, but over seven years without someone will do that to you.” 

Damian stared, growing more and more confused as Richard didn’t continue. Richard was a talker, he loved to talk to his friends and family, loved to talk about his day and find out how theirs was, learn any new interests and hobbies. Hearing silence from the man felt wrong.

Then he remembered one crucial detail. 

“You didn’t really know him, did you?” he asked, feeling the tension coming off of Richard in waves.

Richard closed his eyes, Damian’s school project long forgotten as he ran a hand through his hair and counted his breaths. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I should have, if for nothing else than the fact that he took the Robin mantle. I knew how hard it was, I knew how Bruce could get, I should have been there, should have tried more to mentor him, to just…be there. But I was angry. I was so so angry, and Jason suffered for it.” 

As much as Richard and the others might have liked to pretend, Damian was aware of how short the man’s fuse could be, how all-consuming his rage could be. The man was passionate and in many ways he cared far too much. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“I know I can be overbearing sometimes with you and Timmy,” Richard continued as he reached over and ruffled Damian’s hair. “but it’s because I couldn’t live with myself if I made you guys suffer from my mistakes like Jason did. I wasn’t there for him like I should have been, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.” 

“What would you do,” Damian started, stopping halfway to think of his question, “if you could see him again?” 

Richard chuckled, low and wet in his throat as he looked to the carpeted floor. “Honestly Dami? If I knew it was him? Probably cry. I know it’s not the big strong man answer that you might want, but it’s the truth. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to him.” He chuckled again, fingers threading through the carpet now in a bid for stability. “You know, I saw this guy at a coffee shop last month, real tall and muscular, everything Jason never got the chance to be. I saw him and I knew it couldn’t be him, Jason’s six feet in the ground, not six feet tall. There’s no way he’s up and walking around, let alone with that kind of a growth spurt. But there was just something about the guy, something familiar that I just couldn’t shake.”

Damian listened to the older man with rapt attention. This was the first he’d heard Richard speak in this way about anyone, let alone a stranger. It made Damian wonder if it was possible, if Jason really had wound up in the same coffee shop as Richard, if the two had crossed paths and Richard was left without answers of if it was truly him. 

“I went back a couple of times,” Richard continued. “But I only saw him once. Seemed like the second he laid eyes on me he’d hit the road, couldn’t even ask for his name.” 

Damian hummed. “What would you do if that really were Jason?” he questioned, wondering where this was going. 

“Probably ask him why he ran like he did. Was it something I said? Something I did that scared him off? Was there something I could have done to avoid everything that happened? I’d want to know, have to know honestly.” 

“And if he weren’t Jason?” 

Richard hummed, leaning back as he stared to the ceiling in contemplation. “If this mystery man isn’t Jason, what would I do?” Finally, he snapped his fingers, Grayson smile back in place. “Ah, I know! Ask for his number.” 

Damian threw one of the sofa’s throw pillows at his face. “You are incorrigible, how can you even begin to live with yourself? It’s a wonder how you can function on a daily basis given your predisposition to sexual advances and escapades.”

“No need to be jealous Little D, you’ll have your time to shine, just you wait.” 

“I’d rather I did not.” 

“Sure buddy, sure.”

They sat like that for a while, tension finally broken. It was nice, being able to just joke with someone.

“So,” Richard began, “what brought up that topic of conversation?” 

Damian bit his lip, wondering how much information he should give away. He knew Jason was the Red Hood, knew it was entirely possible the man Richard had seen was Jason, knew they would likely be working with the man in the coming week. But did he want to drop that on the older man? Especially when he didn’t have any solid proof? No, he couldn’t do that, not to Richard.

“I’ve been missing someone myself,” Damian admitted. 

“Mind if I ask who?” 

“My mother.” 

Richard paused, head tilting again, thoughts running a mile a minute through that skull of his. “Do you want to see her?” he asked.

“Yes,” Damian admitted. “There are things I must ask her, information only she knows. But I, I would really just like to see her again. It has been a long time since I have laid eyes on her, let alone spoken with her.” 

“Give me a few days,” Richard said, that calculating look in his eyes showing he was working his way through a problem. He readjusted his position on the floor, moving so they could return to working on Damian’s diorama, “I’ll see what I can do, okay? 'til then, we’ve got some urban planning to tackle. Think you can handle that?” 

“Tt, please. I’m more concerned for your abilities than my own,” Damian remarked, picking his papers back up. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Damian didn’t respond, just went back to working on his project. A few days Richard had said. Damian didn’t have high hopes, but he knew Richard always delivered on his promises. He would see what the man could pull up for him. 

A few days turned into a few weeks in the way only Gotham could cause.

It wasn’t Richard’s fault, and Damian hadn’t even considered that line of thought. There had simply been too much happening in too many places for either of them to focus. Whether it was dealing with their standard fare of crime fighting, investigating the crimes that the GCPD wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, dealing with school, or having to interact with the world as Bruce Wayne’s youngest child, Damian was exhausted. He couldn’t imagine how Richard and Jason had faired all those years ago when they were brought into this life by his father. They’d been nobodies, a boy from the circus and a boy from the streets. They hadn’t been trained for combat like Damian had, hadn’t been raised on proper etiquette and socializing like Drake. There was little of their previous lives to prepare them for what being a Robin or a Wayne entailed.

The comments Mrs. Kenmore made to his father made more and more sense the longer he thought about it. The way she’d tell Richard she was surprised he could dress so well at last year’s winter ball, as though the compliment was not sincere and was never meant to be taken that way. How she’d tell Bruce he looked so much better since he dropped all that weight seven years ago.

The first time Damian had heard that last comment he hadn’t understood. His father was in impeccable shape, yes, but he had always been fit. Looking at old pictures showed that, if anything, he’d gained weight due to increased muscle mass over the years. The comment made no sense. That was, until his investigation began, until certain dates became more important to him. Then it clicked. 

She’d meant Jason. 

Damian was no stranger to anger. Much like Richard, he and anger were old friends who kept in close contact, albeit without his father’s knowledge of the full extent of their visits with each other. Normally Damian could keep his anger hidden away, if for nothing else than to keep his father at ease.

But this night? As Pennyworth and his father helped him prepare for the night’s formal festivities?

It was a miracle the Red Lanterns hadn’t sent him a ring that night. 

“Is everything alright Master Damian?” Pennyworth had asked in concern. “You seem awfully, hmm, prickly this evening.” 

“No,” Damian had answered, surprising the older man with his honesty.

“Would you be willing to tell me what has put you in this state? Perhaps I could be of some assistance,” Pennyworth offered.

“I cannot tell you everything,” Damian admitted. “It involves some information I am gathering.” 

“Really now?” 

“Yes. Once I have the hard evidence I need in hand, I shall share my findings with the family. But I will promise you this Pennyworth. These demons in pearls and gold will not speak to Richard or Father or Drake as they have previously. I will not stand for it.” 

Pennyworth hummed, eyebrows raised as he looked down at Damian in wonder. “A noble goal indeed young sir. How do you intend to accomplish it? Unfortunately, there are certain parameters within these high-class social events. One cannot simply, say, walk up to another guest and throw their drink at them.” 

Damian thought the question over. Pennyworth was right after all. If Damian made a scene he would be seen as the problem and likely kicked from the event. Simply arguing or throwing food at these people would not accomplish anything. Truthfully, it would more than likely work against his cause. How did Father navigate these situations? How would Richard deal with someone insulting a person he cared for? Then he remembered. 

His first gala since arriving in Gotham. He’d dreaded the event, hadn’t seen a need for it. But he understood that he, Bruce Wayne’s first child by blood, needed to be as much a public figure as his father. If he was to carry on the mantle of Batman in the future, he would first need to carry the mantle of Wayne. It hadn’t made the night any better. 

The people certainly hadn’t helped. Especially once Mr. Stein, a wannabe political lobbyist, set his sights on Damian. He’d forced his way into their circle, staring at Damian like he was some lab rat to examine. It made Damian’s skin crawl, the way his eyes moved over him, the way he commented about Damian like he wasn’t even there. He thought he’d prepared for the night. He clearly hadn’t. 

“I must say Bruce,” the man said as he stroked his chin. “There is no denying he’s your son. That scowl is near spot on to your ‘I have to work today?’ scowl in the office. I have to ask though, what was the payout?” 

It was then that his father put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, gently pulling him to stand behind his father. Damian had scowled at the time, the context of the situation lost on him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that Ron, the last payout Wayne Enterprise was involved in had to do with paying our R&D team for their work towards local sources of nuclear energy.” 

Stein chuckled and lifted a brow suggestively. “Oh, you know what I mean Bruce. Kids don’t just pop out of thin air, especially not ones as exotic as your boy here.” 

The hand on Damian’s shoulder tightened, even as his father’s face continued to hold that easy going smile. Albeit, his smile was beginning to sour, the left corner of his mouth lifting just slightly too sharp, his eyes squinting to accentuate the circles under his eyes that were covered by concealer. Damian opened his mouth, ready to ask his father what had upset him, when Richard arrived. 

“Hey Bruce! Have you seen the cakes yet?” he called as he approached, plate stacked with what looked to be a dark chocolate cake. Richard walked with a stagger, giggling as he neared, as though he had been drinking. But he hadn’t, Damian knew as much. So what was going on? “Oh my god, they’ve got dark chocolate. You haven’t had any since like, last year, and I figured you should- oh my god I’m so sorry!”

The cake slid down Stein’s back, leaving a path of dark brown frosting in its wake. Richard backed up a step from the man, apologizing for bumping into him, he’d only wanted to show Bruce the cake, you know? Gosh, he must have had too much sauvignon, and it was only eight thirty! 

Damian watched on, growing more and more confused.

“Come on Chum,” Bruce interrupted, grabbing Richard’s elbow as he began to walk Damian away from the cursing Stein. “We better get you home before you ruin anything of value.” 

Richard’s response had drowned out Stein’s grumbles, keeping Damian from hearing anymore of the man’s garbage opinions.

That was it, he determined. That was how his father and Richard dealt with these people. If you can’t use your own methods, use theirs.

That would also explain why, after ogling Richard and making lewd comments about the man, the Monroe twins had found themselves covered in fruit punch and a fallen Timothy Drake.

“I will beat them at their own game,” Damian finally answered Pennyworth’s question.

Pennyworth nodded, a proud smile set on his face. “I will look forward to hearing your tales after the gala then young sir.” 

Damian nodded, a thrill of excitement running up his spine. He was going to accomplish more with this gala than just paying Drake back for his assistance all those weeks ago. 

After spilling some ice water on the floor behind Senator Rickman, dragging Richard away from handsy Mr. Hanson, dancing with Mrs. Stein long enough to make her regret it, and “helping” half of the Monroe twins find the chocolate fountain face first, Damian was sure the excitement for the night would soon be over. Drake looked to be in a permanent state of shock at the night’s display, fingers flying over his cell phone’s keyboard, likely giving Brown and Cain a live update of what was happening. Richard had a knowing look in his eye, patting Damian’s head as he passed and offering a “Looking good tonight Little D.” His father looked more confused than anything. 

Damian was sure the concussion he likely had from the night before wasn’t helping at all. Not that Father had let Pennyworth check him over for it though.

The man watched Damian like he was trying to solve a riddle. Every time another went down and went home, the crease between his brows got deeper. A switch had flipped with his youngest son, and he didn’t know what it was.

Not that Damian was willing to tell him, not right now anyway.

It was as things were winding down for the night that Damian finally let himself relax. He’d done well at keeping the vultures away while upholding his deal with Drake. Pennyworth would be proud, though he was sure his father would like to have a talk with him later to determine what had happened, possibly remind him that they needed to be nice to people not that either of them would consider following that rule. Perhaps he would be banned from these events for the foreseeable future, benched in a way from this part of their lives. He couldn’t complain about such an outcome. He doubted any of the Bats would. 

Looking around to find the crowd thinning, Damian took the opportunity to head towards the snack table. He wasn’t one for sweets, but Richard was adamant this particular catering company’s fruit parfait was simply to die for, and that Damian just had to try it. Never one to disappoint the older man, he’d allow himself a small cup. That was the plan anyway. 

Until he saw a familiar figure heading towards the exit doors. 

Dressed in the same suit given to all of the night’s security staff, white streak of hair now black, and any visible scars expertly covered up, it was undeniably the same face Damian had come to associate with one Jason Todd. Or should he say Red Hood until he got the man to admit his identity? 

Either way, the man was here among the crowd, which meant he was looking for something. Or he had been if his long strides towards the main exit were anything to go by. What that was, Damian had no idea. Red Hood never told the Bats when he was investigating a case, not until it was over or if he needed their help or expertise for it, which was a rarity in and of itself. 

Aborting his trip to the snack table, Damian began walking with the intent of following the man. Perhaps he could find out why he was here, offer his assistance, or at least continue where their last conversation had ended. He saw Hood stop just inside the door, head turned oh so slightly as though making a final sweep of the room before exiting. His eyes fell on Damian, lips thinning in annoyance as he realized he’d been recognized. Damian picked up the pace, forcing himself not to run as that would bring attention to him, and that was the last thing he needed.

Before he could reach the man, Hood turned, walking through the door without a single glance back. Damian cursed, ready to forgo social etiquette and run after man. Unfortunately, that was not an option as his view was suddenly overtaken by a familiar black tuxedo. Looking up, he found his father looking down at him with worry.

“Is everything alright Damian?” 

Damian pursed his lips in annoyance. Of all the people to get in his way, it just had to be his father. He wanted to tell the man of what he just saw, ask him if he knew why Hood was there, but he couldn’t. There were too many people around, too many possible witnesses to their conversation. If he were to tell his father it would need to be in the privacy not offered there. 

“I thought I saw someone I recognized,” Damian settled on. “Although I am growing tired, so it could just be my mind acting up.” 

“I understand son,” his father said, using the hand he’d placed on Damian’s shoulder to steer him towards Richard. “Let’s go collect your brothers, then we can head home. How does that sound?” 

“That would be acceptable.” 

His father chuckled, shaking his head with humor. “Then let’s get to it.” 

It didn’t take long to find Richard and Drake, the two also drained from the night’s events. While not physically exhausting, these events were “soul sucking” as Drake liked to call them, long and tedious and oh so frustrating. It was why patrol was only being handled by Brown, Cain, and Kane for the night. It was rare for any of them to go out after these events, whether it be due to alcohol, the espionage, the schmoozing, or the concussion Father still refused to acknowledge. The three women were more than capable on their own, especially once you considered Oracle’s eyes in the sky. Granted, he had assumed Hood would be out with them, just as he was sure his father assumed as well. Oh well, if something went wrong, he was sure they’d hear about it.

The drive home was uneventful, with Drake falling asleep the second he was in the car. Poor Richard took it upon himself to carry the man inside once they reached the manor, not wanting to disturb his sleep.

“Don’t make that face Dami, we do the same for you,” Richard told him as he scooped Drake up. 

“I do not put myself in situations that could leave me in such a position, so no you do not,” Damian chided back.

“Funny,” Richard returned with a smile. “I seem to recall a certain someone falling asleep in the Batmobile at the end of patrol a week or so ago. I also recall that same someone being carried upstairs by his father. Multiple times.” He ruffled Damian’s hair, ignoring the indignant squawk that came as he did so. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens to all of us.” 

“Not to Father,” Damian said with a huff. 

His father made a wounded sound behind them, suddenly finding the grass to be extremely interesting.

Richard chuckled. “Do you want to tell him, or me?” 

“Tell me what?” Damian demanded. 

“A few years before you came along, B got so pissed at one of these events that he actually drank through a good bottle or two of the vodka. Was hammered enough that Superman had to bring him home.” 

Damian looked between the two men confused. “You have the alien on speed dial?” 

His father sighed. “No, he was already at the party apparently.” 

“Superman attends social events? I thought the Justice League had rules against that.” 

“No, he wasn’t there as Superman. He was there as his civilian identity, not that I remember much about him.” 

“Well, if your drunken rambling was anything to go by, he was cute, adorable, has big hands, a beautiful smile, and was wearing such an unflattering suit that you almost ripped it off of him. For totally unsexy reasons, of course,” Richard counted off on his fingers.

Damian grimaced, holding the front door open. “You are all disgusting.” 

“Think of it this way Little D. If B and Supes get together, you’ll have a bonus dad.” 

“That is not the benefit you seem to think it is.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Richard said with a wink in Father’s direction. “Anyway, I’m heading up to put Timbers to bed, then I’ll be off to my own. Long night of watching Damian destroy the ego of Gotham’s upper class and all. Good night.” 

Damian and his father gave their own good nights to the man as he disappeared up the grand staircase. Once he was out of sight, Damian’s father sighed. 

“I’m heading down to the cave,” he told Damian as he started heading towards his study. 

“You aren’t going out on patrol tonight, are you?” 

“No, I have a few cases I need to look over, check in with the girls to make sure they’re alright. Nothing to worry about.” 

Damian nodded his understanding, following his father down into the underbelly of Wayne Manor. When his father sat down at the Batcomputer, he spoke up once more. “You aren’t really planning to bed the alien, are you?” 

His father lowered his head into his hands, heaving a world-weary sigh as he dragged them down his face. “I have no plans to sleep with Superman, Damian, no.” 

Damian stared at his father, mind trickling over everything Richard had said and everything his father hadn’t. “But you want to.” 

His father groaned, hanging his head again. “I’m not sure this is an appropriate conversation for us to have right now Damian. Besides, I’m not even sure my memories of that night are correct. Mr. Kent could have put me in a taxi and my drunken mind could have conjured up this image of him turning into Superman and carrying me through the sky. And besides, I tried looking into Clark Kent and couldn’t come up with any connections to Superman beyond the news articles he's written about him. And that would be too obvious an alibi, I would hope Kal isn’t that stupid on his off hours. Chances are they just look similar without the glasses, that’s all.” 

“So you want to sleep with a reporter? That somehow feels worse.” 

“For fuck’s-, we’re ending this conversation,” his father grumbled, finally turning his chair so as to begin his work on the computer. Damian remained beside him, watching his every move. It was only a minute before his father looked back to his son. “Was there something else you needed to talk about Damian?” 

“Were you aware Red Hood would be at the banquet tonight?” 

His father’s movements stopped, fingers frozen above the keyboard. “No, I didn’t. Are you sure it was him?” 

“Yes, it was definitely him,” Damian confirmed. “He was wearing the suit of a security guard. He was leaving when you found me, so I was unable to speak with him.” 

“Hmm, interesting,” his father said. “Wonder who he was investigating this time. Or what.” His father turned to him. “I also wonder how you know what he looks like.” 

“Do you recall our conversation from a few weeks ago?” 

“Yes, the one where you told me Red Hood is Jason. Which, I’m sorry Damian, I am not believing without proof.“ 

”Which I fully understand and respect Father. I am working on that for you as we speak. However, it is because of that knowledge that I could recognize him, both at this banquet and the one time I’d seen him without his helmet.” 

“The Scarecrow incident involving Ivy’s pollen.” 

“Exactly.”

His father scratched his chin, bags under his eyes becoming pronounced again. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future,” he said. “However, at the end of the day Hood is an ally. Unless his investigation gets in our way or brings harm to anyone, it’s for the best we leave it as is. If he wants our assistance, then we can offer it to him.” 

“You still haven’t allowed Pennyworth to check you over for a concussion from last night’s brawl with Bane, have you?” Damian asked. 

“No, and I do not have a concussion, so I don’t need to be checked over,” his father grumbled. 

“You may not be currently concussed, but you certainly aren’t acting as you normally would. Perhaps you should allow him to look you over. Or if you’d prefer, I’m sure Dr. Thompkins would be more than happy to see you.” 

“Good night, Damian,” his father said in way of dismissal. “I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.” 

“You as well Father. Good night,” Damian returned before beginning his slow pace back up the cave stairs. This was fine, everything was fine. He would simply continue his investigation tomorrow, and likely ask Hood why he was at the banquet. The man could always say no if he really wanted to, he had that option. 

Even if Damian would prefer he didn’t use it. 

When the time came, Damian ultimately decided not to question Hood concerning his presence at the banquet. The last thing he wanted was to piss the man off before he got his answers. Hood could be flighty when he felt cornered and had no problem with disappearing for weeks on end if it meant not interacting with the Bats. Damian couldn’t risk it. His father was right, if they needed to know then Hood would tell them.

Damian wasn’t even supposed to know what the man looked like. One moment of seeing the man without his helmet wouldn’t equate to immediate recognition after all. 

Too bad that all went out the window the second Damian was within five feet of the man. Curse Richard, his lack of a brain to mouth filter was wearing off on him. 

“Do you wear a hair piece or do you actually dye your hair when doing undercover work?” he asked as they watched the others argue over patrol routes. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Hood muttered under his breath, grip on his arms tightening where he’d crossed them. He seemed to hunch into the cave wall behind him, going so far as to throw his head back in exasperation at Damian’s comment. 

“Both options seem cumbersome and have room for error. I am simply curious as to how you determine which to use.” 

“Kid,” the man grumbled, massaging his helmet where his temples would be, “what the hell do you want from me?” 

“The truth,” Damian answered without thinking. “But,” he continued before the man could take that as an opportunity to leave, “if that is too much to ask for at this time, I simply wish to know you better. Or at least understand your thought process behind certain tactical decisions.” 

“And you think asking about my hair is gonna get you what you.” 

“No, not necessarily,” he shrugged. “But it would be a start towards a better working relationship, if nothing else.” 

Hood turned his head to look at him, blank helmet with its blank eyes staring with the intensity of a reaper come for his soul, all six foot, two hundred pounds frozen in place as the older man took him in. Finally, he shook his head before looking away. “You’re a weird kid, you know that Shortstack?” 

“I believe that may be a prerequisite to this job.” 

“Fucking hell,” Hood muttered, shaking his head once more before falling silent. 

The other Bats continued their quarrel around the cave’s meeting table. Their voices had droned into background noise long ago, and Damian could only hope neither his father nor Richard tried to ask for his opinion. He’d accepted that he would go with whatever was assigned to him for the week, just as he usually did. No sense in arguing when it would change nothing.

“Temporary dye,” he heard. Looking up, Damian found Hood was likewise staring at the others. “Usually washes out within a few days, if not a few hours. Wig only comes out on special occasions.” 

“Are you saying the GCPD’s annual banquet for fundraising was not special?” Damian asked. 

“Nope,” Hood answered, popping the ‘P’ obnoxiously. “Now, if they’d had all the intel I need maybe then we could talk special. Til then? Naw.” 

“And what intelligence were you looking for exactly?” Damian asked innocently. 

Hood chuckled, large hand coming down to ruffle Damian’s hair. “Nice try kid, it’s nothing you need to be involved in.” 

Damian took the hair ruffling with barely a grumble, thinking through what Hood was implying. “You don’t intend to let whoever is responsible live.”

“Aw, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Damian looked up at the man incredulously. “Well, surely if you do not want us aware of whatever this is, then it must involve the worst of Gotham’s scum, and you’ve shown no qualms regarding permanent solutions to those individuals in the past.” 

Hood once again shook his head. “Unless things go really south, that shouldn’t be a concern.” He sighed, peeling himself off the wall. “Anyway, it’s about time I head out. You lot have bed times after all, and I have a criminal empire to manage.” 

“When do you sleep?” 

“Ah ah ah, the time you’re allotted for your twenty questions is now officially over for the night Shrimpcake.” 

“But I didn’t ask twenty-” 

“You’re leaving already?” Richard interrupted, suddenly hanging off Hood’s shoulder. “We just got back.” 

“We got to the cave an hour, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-seven seconds ago. So no, Dickhead, we actually did not ‘just get back’ ,” Hood said back. “It’s almost four thirty, you Bats need your beauty sleep.” 

“Sounds more like you need the beauty sleep if you’re rushing out of here,” Richard said, cocking his hip to the side smugly. 

“If sleep can’t fix my will to live, then it ain’t gonna fix this ugly mug either,” Hood answered as he extracted himself from Richard’s grasp and started walking towards the vehicle bay. “I really do need to run though.” 

“ Fine ,” Richard grumbled. “I guess you can go. Unless...you’d like to stay the night? In the manor?” he continued hopefully. “We have enough spare rooms, we could definitely find one for you. I’m sure Bruce could lend you some clothes to sleep in, you two seem about the same size. Or we could convince Alfred to overlook his no suits upstairs rule this one time if you’d prefer that.” 

“That’ll be a no from me Wing, sorry not sorry.” He straddled his motorcycle, turning the key to start the engine. 

“I’ll just have to keep trying then,” Richard answered, all smiles. 

“Wouldn’t suggest it,” Hood responded before taking off towards the cave’s exit.

“Like that’s ever stopped me,” Richard yelled jokingly, fully aware Hood was too far gone to hear him. He turned to Damian, smile absolutely glowing. “Ready for bed Dami? We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

“What could make tomorrow so important? It is only a Friday, and it is not like we have anything planned,” Damian said as he walked towards the locker rooms, Richard hot on his trail. 

“You’ll see Dami, just you wait and see.” 

Damian rolled his eyes one last time. “If you say so.” 

Nothing had been out of the ordinary when Damian awoke the following morning. Breakfast was done and on the table by the time he arrived downstairs, just as it always was. Pennyworth greeted him as always, going through the checklist of assignments and tests due that day as Damian ate. His father was still in bed as he usually was this time of the morning. The only times he would drag himself downstairs this early were for family events or exceptionally early WE meetings, though he usually stayed in bed even longer those mornings.

For how much of a persona Brucie Wayne was, there were days when Damian wondered how much of it was an act and how much was simply an exaggeration of what was already there. 

Like breakfast, the drive to Gotham Academy was likewise uneventful, his classes much the same. As the day drew on Damian grew more and more frustrated. What the hell had Richard been talking about? 

By the time he walked through the Academy doors to go home, Damian was ready to assume Richard had been exaggerating. If he’d been referring to the pop quiz in biology, Damian knew he’d passed that with flying colors. If he’d meant the announcement for the school’s annual sports festival the following month, he should already know how much Damian despised that event. 

Seeing Richard waiting for him behind the wheel of his father’s most low-profile sedan, Damian heaved a sigh. At least he could pull answers out of the man during the drive home. He might need to turn on the puppy eyes as Brown called them, humiliating as they were, but he’d at least have his answers. 

“Are you prepared to tell me what is so special about today?” Damian asked as he slid into the front passenger seat. 

“Nope,” Richard answered cheekily.

“Richard, you are acting childish.” 

“You’re the one demanding answers here, not me.” The older man pulled out of the school parking lot, heading in the opposite direction to home.

“Where are you taking us now?” 

“You’ll see, just sit back and relax.” 

Damian threw his head back against the seat with a sigh. “You are horrible.” 

“Hmm, we’ll see how long you keep that tone.” 

The drive wasn’t long, maybe fifteen minutes thanks to Gotham’s post-school traffic, but Damian spent it all staring out the window in a sulk. Would it truly be so hard for Richard to just tell him what they were doing? Damian didn’t ask for much, the least he could do was this. 

Accepting the futility of that line of thinking, Damian turned his attention towards familiar grounds. 

The night before hadn’t been any more difficult than usual, just a standard patrol followed by a standard post patrol meeting. Usually Hood avoided those, choosing to withdraw or keep patrolling as the Bats returned to the cave. There were times he came with them, but they were few and far between and usually influenced by whatever case Hood was working on. 

Yet, he hadn’t mentioned a case at all, not until Damian brought it up, whole lot of good that did. So why? Why was he there? Surely, he wasn’t there just to be nice. And if he was worried that Damian had leaked his secret enough for the Bats to believe him, the cave would be Hood’s last place of residence. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be in Gotham at that point. 

So why? 

Damian was pulled from his thoughts as Richard pulled up to an apartment building, driving into the underground parking garage like he owned the place. The building screamed wealth, from the cars parked in the garage to the gold foiled trim on the elevator doors. Damian begrudgingly followed Richard out of the car and into the elevator. 

“Should I be concerned?” Damian questioned with squinted eyes. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Your standards in romantic partners have never been reliant on property or monetary wealth, and I don’t see you dragging me to one of your social calls. So, I must question what exactly we are doing here.” 

The elevator rose quickly once Richard swiped a card on the elevator’s reader. Where the man got it, Damian could not say, but he was sure the card was not Richard’s. 

The higher the elevator climbed the more anxious the older man became, hands twitching as he stared at the rising floor number above the door. He didn’t say anything, didn’t seem capable of it, instead forcing a smile as he looked down at Damian. 

“Richard what is wrong? Why did you bring us here?” Damian asked, only to be cut off by the elevator reaching the top floor. The doors opened, revealing the penthouse suite, with its sparse yet opulent decor. The space appeared to be covered in dust, sheets covering most of the furniture. For how expensive the location was, it did not appear to be used, not with any kind of regularity. Beyond, Damian could see a figure approaching, tall and slender with footsteps as familiar as the face they belonged to. Now he understood what Richard had meant, now he remembered. “Mother.” 

“Damian,” Talia answered as she stopped before them, looking not a day older than when they’d last met. 

The tension in the penthouse was suffocating as Talia lead them inside. Richard followed at Damian’s heels, uncharacteristically silent for the journey. Damian wanted to turn around, to look at the man, to ask why, why he would do this knowing he'd be in such a state of unease. But he dared not take his eyes off of his mother’s back, not until the icy coldness left her eyes. He loved her, respected her, and at the end of the day, that was why his trust in her was not complete. 

She was the one to teach him his hardest lessons after all. She was the one who spoke of power, of not letting anyone stop him from achieving his goals. He’d seen the results of others stepping between Talia and what she wanted, much like he’d seen the carnage left when his grandfather was refused. While he knew his mother would not bring permanent harm to him, he could not guarantee the same mercy would be extended to Richard.

“It has been a long time my son,” Talia said as she took a seat, gesturing towards the remaining two chairs in the room.

“It has been almost two years since we last saw each other, if my memory is correct,” Damian offered. 

“Yes, I do believe so.” She looked him over, sharp eyes studying him like the hunter he knew her to be. “Only two years, and yet you’ve grown so much in that short amount of time. You look more and more like your father every day.” Her eyes moved to Richard, somehow becoming even colder as she continued to address her son. “Mr. Grayson here told me you wished to see me. Given our mutual displeasure for one another, I had assumed it must concern a pressing matter.” A smirk pulled at her lips, a taunting tilt to her head as she maintained eye contact with the man. “That, or you’d managed to put the man on a leash, ready to do your bidding. I just had to see which it was.” 

Richard’s hands tightened where they clutched his thighs, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake. “Damian said he wanted to see you,” he growled. “Who am I to deny someone a visit with their mother when I have the power to make it happen?” 

Damian’s head whipped around, staring up at the man in shock and concern at talking back to Damian’s mother. He looked between Richard and his mother, waiting for something to happen, the inevitable explosion of violence to occur. When none came, he leaned back in his chair, content to assume the expected reaction was not coming. “I am not a child,” he grumbled in an attempt at normalcy, hoping to mask the worry creeping up his spine. 

Talia sighed, closing her eyes in the process. “No,” she agreed slowly, opening her eyes again, the freezing coldness in the process of thawing. “You aren’t a child. You are growing, have grown, in the many ways I wish I’d been present for.” 

“Then why haven’t you?” Richard questioned pointedly. 

“For the same reasons I could not be as present before I left him in this gods forsaken city. The League of Shadows requires my attention, as does my own projects and contacts.” 

“Are you saying,” Richard growled, voice rising, “That your fucking league is more important to you than your son?!” 

Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist. All eyes snapped to him, confusion pouring from Richard, curiosity from his mother. 

“Richard, I understand your anger, but please restrain that beast for the moment. This discussion is not why I wished to see Mother.” 

Richard stared back at him, searching for something in his gaze. The man nodded, forcing his shoulders to relax as he leaned back. “Sorry Little D,” he said with a small smile, “forgot where I was for a second there.” 

“Interesting,” his mother said with intrigue as she watched the exchange. “You actually let him call you that?” 

“Of course,” Damian answered without hesitation. “He means no malice by it, if anything it is a sign of affection and comradery. He does the same for the rest of our colleagues and associates. Why would I be upset?” 

Talia hummed in surprise. “You really have changed,” she admitted, “hopefully for the better. Horrendous nicknames aside, why did you want to speak to me?” 

Richard watched from the corner of his eye, his own curiosity on display. Damian hadn’t told him. No if anything Richard was under the impression that Damian was just missing his mother, that there was no ulterior motive for this meeting. While not a complete lie, saying he was missing his mother didn’t tell the whole story. 

“I believe I have confirmed the Red Hood’s identity,” Damian stated. “However, he is less than cooperative.” 

“And this concerns me how exactly?” 

“Besides the fact that he has clearly been trained by the League?” Damian retorted. “His eyes have the glow of the Lazarus Pits, of which only a select few have access to, yourself being one of them.” 

Richard’s head fully snapped around to Damian at the statement, before turning to look back at Talia, somehow even more confused.

“Damian, my son,” she said slowly, “you know just as well as I do that the only people allowed to use the Pits are your grandfather and those he permits. Why would you assume the Red Hood of all people has been allowed to bathe in those waters?” 

“I never said he was allowed. And neither did he. He was not very forthcoming about anything, but he did tell me one thing. ‘Your mother thought she could fix me’. What did you have to fix? Why did it require use of the Pits?” 

“Hold up hold up hold up. Hood’s been dumped in a Lazarus Pit?” Richard asked only to be ignored. 

“We all know the risks of submerging someone in those waters, the possibility of pit rage if not complete insanity. Was it that Grandfather took pity upon Father? Ignoring the risks under the belief that he could fall within Father’s good graces if he could return what was once lost? Or was it you? Hoping Father might love you if you only did this one thing?” 

He saw the miniscule flinch of her finger at his final statement, the unease that crossed her face the longer he spoke. So he was correct after all then, it would appear. 

“Damian, what the hell are you talking about?” Richard tried again, a panicked look in his eyes.

“Tell me Mother,” Damian continued, ignoring Richard once more. “How long did you wait to throw Jason Todd’s corpse into that Pit?” 

The room fell silent as Damian stared at his mother, meeting her bewildered gaze as he waited for her response. Richard remained silent beside him now, features going blank. 

As the silence wore on, Damian finally broke eye contact, bowing his head to look at his lap. “Please,” he said lowly. “I know it is him, whether he wishes to admit it or not. What I need to know is how.” 

His mother stood from her chair, walking towards the balcony exit. Panic struck Damian as she walked away, fear that he had ruined everything. He dared not look at Richard for fear of what he might find there. 

Rather than leaving, Talia pulled the blinds across the balcony doors, shrouding the room in the dimness only a Gotham afternoon could provide. 

“It was not a corpse I put in that Pit,” she said quietly before turning back to look at them. “By the time we found him, he’d been wandering these streets longer than he’d been in the ground.” 

She sat back down, bringing the tea cart with her. 

“He was alive?” Richard asked softly. “Jason was, is, alive?” 

“Have you ever noticed,” Talia began, “how rapidly the Red Hood’s wounds heal? How he seems to walk off injuries that would cripple another? The Lazarus Pit may have been responsible for healing him all those years ago, of possibly even accelerating his body’s healing abilities to a point, but it is certainly not responsible for all of it, or even most of it. And the Lazarus Pit is certainly not responsible for that young man digging his way out of that grave.” She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “Jason did that all on his own.” 

Damian never wanted to hear the broken sound that escaped from Richard’s throat ever again. 

The drive back to the manor was awkward to say the least, quieter than it had ever been. 

Richard’s hands shook on the steering wheel, his breath coming out in long, deep waves that meant he was consciously controlling them. It was as they hit Bristol that Damian decided to speak up. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shattering the silence. “I did not want to hurt you.” 

Richard continued in silence for a few more breaths, throat working over the words before he said them. “How long...how long have you known?” 

“Not long,” Damian answered softly. “I’ve had my suspicions for only a few months now. I was not certain until more recent. I had wished to have more information, proof of my findings, when I brought this information before the family.” 

Richard nodded, eyes trained ahead. 

It ate away at Damian, seeing the older man like this. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all him. 

“I’m sorry.”

A hand was placed on his head, hair slowly tousled. “You have nothing to apologize for Dami.” 

“But-” 

“I just, I just need some time to process, that’s all.” 

The car pulled up outside of the manor, with Richard stopping in the driveway rather than the garage. 

“You plan to find him, don’t you?” Damian asked in lieu of getting out. 

“I don’t know.” 

Damian nodded, grabbing his long-forgotten backpack as he turned to step out of the car. “Drive safe,” he said. “Stay out of trouble.” 

“Who, me?” Richard asked, voice breaking on the joke. “How could you ever accuse me of such a thing?” 

Damian stared at the man, at the forced smile, at the red rimmed eyes. In a burst of desperation, he turned back around and reached across the middle console, squeezing Richard in a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said again, squeezing Richard even tighter as he spoke. “I never want to cause you such pain.” 

“It’s okay Little D,” Richard said back as he returned the hug. “It was gonna come out eventually. Better sooner rather than later I guess.” 

Damian pulled back, fully exiting the car this time. “I mean it,” he said as he closed the door. “Drive safe, I know how you are when upset. And Alfred would be very disappointed if the time and food he spent on your dinner went to waste.” 

Richard chuckled, putting the car back into gear. “Can’t upset Alfie now, can we? I’ll be back later, don’t you worry.” He drove off, leaving Damian to watch him pull through the front gates, a horrible feeling in his gut. 

He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. 

Despite what he’d told Richard, Damian couldn’t stomach the idea of food. The request to save his plate for later received a few raised brows alongside questions of his health. He couldn’t bring himself to explain what had happened, what he’d learned. His mind was racing with the new information, slotting the pieces into the puzzle he’d already begun to solve, only to find new holes in the picture, new pieces that needed to be discovered. 

He found himself down in the cave not too long after returning home. While the others had looked concerned, they thankfully hadn’t followed him, instead choosing to continue their dinner. 

As he made his way towards the main platform of the cave, Damian passed the old display cases, taking in the old suits and their upgrades over the years. Batman, Robin, Batgirl, the three identities with the largest collections and the largest differences between their original designs compared to their current iterations, closely followed by the Nightwing suits. 

His stomach twisted as the familiar black and blue entered his vision. While he had expected Richard to be capable of finding Damian’s mother, he hadn’t expected the man to be present for their talk. Even if Damian had expected his presence, he could not sense if he would have expected his response to the news. 

Richard was emotional, compulsive in his efforts to keep this “family” of theirs together. Perhaps it was a result of losing his parents and the following split from the circus, maybe the answer lied in his and Bruce’s separation all those years ago, in Jason’s death and the near death of Barbara. Richard fought for the stability of this family like his life depended on it. Of course he would be devastated if he learned Jason had been alive for years and hadn’t told them, let alone working with them for the last two or three years. 

Maybe this had been a mistake. 

He sat down at the Batcomputer and watched as the system booted up . He looked across the numerous screens, their news scrolls, databases, casefiles. He needed to document what he’d learned, get it in writing, clear his mind. Even if he deleted the entry later, at least things would be a little clearer. 

He pulled out his phone as he opened a new document, scrolling through his contacts. It didn’t take long to find Barbara, her contact almost at the top of the screen. His thumb hovered over the call button, anxiety churning in his stomach. Surely, he should notify someone to look for Richard, to at least check on him and make sure he hadn’t gone off to start a fight or something. If anyone could find him in a reasonable amount of time it would be Oracle, she had eyes everywhere after all. She would probably be able to find him during their phone call she was so efficient. 

But would that help at all? Richard had left to be alone. He’d wanted space to process. Would adding another person be a breach of his wishes? He was Nightwing, he was more than capable of protecting himself. 

He put his phone back in his pocket, decision made. He would give it another hour or two before he began to worry, Richard deserved that much before Damian sent the hounds after him. 

Mind made up, he turned back to the screens before him. While Richard processed everything in his own time, Damian needed to process it in his as well. 

Normally, organizing his thoughts was not this difficult. Even his most difficult of cases did not take this much thought to put together a report, let alone a timeline. Maybe it was due to the nature of this investigation, how personal it was to the Bats and to Damian by proxy, perhaps it was due to the sheer variety of information, the jumbled, unclear timeline he was attempting to piece together. While his mother had given him a slight order of events, she hadn’t provided dates or time periods, nothing that could tell them when anything had happened. 

It was infuriating. 

He knew when Jason had died, when his body had been laid to rest. He knew when Red Hood’s presence in Gotham was revealed to the Bats. The problem was there existed an almost four-year gap between those two dates. 

He needed to compartmentalize, figure out what he knew or could reasonably deduce happened and in what order, maybe that would help. If his mother was to be believed, then he knew Jason awoke on his own, that he had dug himself out of his grave with his own bare hands. With the kind of injuries he’d sustained at the time of his death, Damian doubted some newly activated meta gene would have been capable of healing him completely, especially after escaping from his grave. But no hospital listed any patients by the name of Jason Todd in the last seven years, not that he’d expect any to. Surely if a hospital identified the dead son of Bruce Wayne the tabloids would have been all over his father, dragging him through the proverbial dirt just as they had done at the time of Jason’s death. But at least if that had happened his father would have known of Jason’s resurrection, would have been there for his recovery. 

A recovery that Talia had decided a Lazarus Pit was needed for. 

Damian left the simple note of “Hospital? Look into teenaged John Does, severely injured” following the resurrection point of his timeline. 

Next came Talia finding Jason in the streets of Gotham. She’d said he’d been there longer than he’d been dead, which begged the question of how he was never noticed. Damian could understand no one recognizing the man now, he looked damn near completely different thanks to aging seven years and the puberty that came with it. But back then? At least four or five years ago? Was he hiding? Staying out of sight? Had his face truly been that mauled and unrecognizable? 

Most importantly, why hadn’t he come home? 

Damian shook his head. That wasn’t for him to determine. He would find out one day, his need for knowledge demanded it, but he could put that on the backburner. 

Next came the League of Shadows and the Lazarus Pit. Which came first? Did it even matter? 

He tried to think back to his own time in the League, to the periods when his mother was present. Nothing stood out to him, none except that night wherein his grandfather had bathed in the Pit. His mother had been adamant he stay in his room, to not answer the door to anyone but her or her most trusted of servants. Damian had done as she’d asked, but he could hear the commotion outside the compound walls later that night anyway. In the silence of the night he’d heard Grandfather’s voice, enraged and out for blood, but he hadn’t understood the words said, the distance too great for any clarity. 

He hadn’t seen his mother again for two more months. 

He put his best estimation of the date on the timeline, noting that was likely when Jason had been thrown into the Pit. It made the most sense, especially with his mother’s long absences for the following year before she brought Damian to America. That was likely when Jason was receiving his training, when he had gained the skills needed to be become the Red Hood. 

“Damian...What is this?” 

He spun around, taken off guard by the sudden appearance of his father and Pennyworth. Was he truly so engrossed in his work that he’d forgone even his earliest of training? 

Pennyworth stared up at the screens, composure lost as he took in everything that was typed out. Damian’s father stepped forward, placing a hand on the back of the chair Damian was sitting in. 

Anxiety screamed through his core, keeping him rooted to the spot. What if his father was angry? What if he kicked Damian out for this? Sure, his father knew he was investigating the connection between Jason Todd and the Red Hood, but researching and building a full case file were two completely different things. 

The silence stretched out, no one daring to say a word as they took in the work Damian had done. 

Pennyworth was the one to break the silence, regaining the eloquence he had lost earlier. “That certainly explains quite a lot.” 

“Yes, yes it does,” his father agreed, giving the chair a pat before standing to him full height. “Good work Damian. I take it this is why you and Dick were gone for so long?” 

“Yes, Hood...Jason, implied Mother had helped him in a significant manner. Richard assisted me in meeting with her to ask for that information,” Damian reported. 

“And how do you intend to prove or disprove your theory?” his father asked. 

“I had not thought quite that far ahead yet,” Damian admitted. “If this is all correct, however, his grave should be empty. We could perhaps start there.” 

“Yes, but digging up a grave requires city approval,” his father explained. “That takes time, possibly a lawyer to argue why we feel we must unbury him, and that sort of thing will attract the kind of attention we don’t want.” 

Damian thought it over as the others waited. Surely, there had to be a way. Even if all they proved was how empty that casket was. 

“We could ask the alien,” Damian offered. “He has X-ray vision does he not? He could tell us if the grave is empty, and if there is any sign of how the body got out.” Damian let a smirk cross his face, reveling in his father’s soon to be discomfort. “You could even treat it as a date, if you so wish.” 

HIs father hung his head in shame. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?” 

“Perhaps one day.” 

Pennyworth hummed a knowing tune as he caught Damian’s eyes. He knew something Damian didn’t if that look was anything to go by. Interesting. 

“It’s empty.” 

They’d all been expecting the words, Damian most of all, but actually hearing them was a completely different thing. 

Superman looked at Batman, concern in his eyes. “There’s a giant hole in the top of the coffin, it’s broken and splintered, some of it looks like it’s starting to decay. This isn’t recent.” 

“Does the hole look to be made from the outside or the inside?” Batman asked. He kept his tone and posture neutral, just as he always did around Superman and the other members of the Justice League. In many ways Damian was envious of his skill, how unbothered he was at the proximity of the other man, even as he leaned closer to Damian’s father, hand poised to be placed on his shoulder. 

Superman turned back towards the grave plot, eyes moving over the coffin buried down where the others could not see. “From the inside out. I can see grooves dug into a few of the pieces, the lining is torn, looks to be bloody. I think I see something metal down there...a belt buckle? It’s twisted, broken.” He turned back towards his colleague, eyes briefly looking over at Damian who was currently donning his Robin attire, before settling on Batman once more. “It looks like he dug his way out. Batman, how could that be possible? Mr. Wayne’s son was dead, completely dead, no coming back dead. It’s not like he was, I don’t know, a Kryptonian or a mystic or something.” 

“Is it truly that impossible?” 

“For a normal human, it should be, yes. Granted, we’ve seen exceptions of course, like with Green Arrow and the youngest Flash, but they were special cases.” 

“And what if this is one of those special cases?” 

The statement seemed to take Superman by surprise, no doubt used to his friend’s pessimistic views on reality. “How so?” 

“Robin believes he could have been a metahuman. If he is correct, then it is likely that the meta gene was dormant before his death, which would explain why he was buried as he was. Perhaps the trauma he experienced at the time of his death could have activated the gene.” 

Superman noticeably paused after Batman finished his statement, eyes roaming over the shadowed figure in question. “I never asked, I guess I didn’t feel it was necessary let alone polite, Ma sure would have had words with me if I did ask back then-” 

“Spit it out Kal.” 

Damian watched the two, saw the concern in Superman’s form, the hidden anguish in his father’s. 

“...What actually happened to the boy?” 

Batman stared back at him in silence, emotionless. Damian looked between the two, a sudden heaviness in his chest. He averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the newfound staring contest the adults had found themselves in. 

His eyes were drawn to the familiar shoe prints in the mud in front of the grave, the worn in tread telling a story of long and hard use. He’d noticed them when they’d first arrived, though he hadn’t said anything. The rain had turned the dirt to mud, losing some of the earlier definition of Richard’s shoes, but they were still there all the same. Curiously, Damian found another part of prints joining Richards, bigger and wider, clearly keeping a safe distance from Richard when they’d been there earlier. 

“Listen Batman,” Superman said, interrupting Damian’s survey of the scene. “I get your whole no metas and magic in Gotham rule. Even if I don’t agree with it, I can respect it. But please tell me you aren’t about to hunt down Bruce Wayne’s undead son just to kick him out of the city.” 

Damian stared at the man, pleasantly surprised at his forwardness, at his willingness to question and even defy Damian’s father. 

“...No,” Batman growled after another moment of silence. “I have no intention of hunting down my own son just to throw him from the city he was born and raised in.” 

“Batman, what are you-” 

“Thank you for your help, Kal.” Batman gestured to Damian to follow him out of the cemetery, leaving Superman to hover behind them awkwardly. They stopped at the Batmobile, with Damian climbing inside. “I’ll see you at the League meeting next week. Don’t be late,” he said to Superman in way of a dismissal. 

“Batman, wait, I’m-” 

Batman drove off before they could hear the end of Superman’s response. Damian watched the man grow smaller in the rearview mirror, feeling a semblance of delight at the shock and despair that crossed the man’s face. That delight soon dissipated as he replayed the conversation in his mind, concern stabbing through him as he came to a realization. 

“Father, you are aware that you just revealed your identity to the alien, yes?” he asked. 

His father’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, lips pulling tighter as he continued to look ahead. “I am aware.” 

“He has perfect memory recall. Even if he hasn’t realized what you said, he will soon enough. He’ll want an explanation, he always does.” 

“And I will handle him when that happens.” 

Damian huffed, crossing his arms as he stared out the window. “And you wish to chide Drake for communicating with the alien’s clone outside of mission requirements,” he reminded the man sarcastically. “It is almost as though you wish to be found out.” 

“It was a calculated move.” 

“It was an emotional outburst in response to his accusation.” 

His father grumbled beside him, giving the car more gas as they sped through Gotham’s dark streets. He didn’t respond, and for that Damian allowed himself a small, victorious smirk. He might not be able to defeat his father’s arguments normally, but he had his moments. 

“You are going to pretend it never happened, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Of course,” his father admitted. “It’s not like Kal is going to bring it up within ear shot of others. He’s too much of a boy scout to risk ‘violating my privacy’ in that way.” 

“You are a menace.” 

“And I am sure you will be utilizing the same technique at some point in the future as well, if you haven’t already, so let’s not go pointing any fingers now.” 

Damian rolled his eyes before returning them to the road ahead of them. “What are we going to do now?” he asked, much more somber. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We have confirmed that Jason is the Red Hood.” 

“No, we haven’t.” 

“But the grave was empty, broken from the inside out!” Damian snapped. “He crawled his way out, what do you mean we didn’t confirm that they are one and the same?” 

“We did not confirm that Jason Todd became and is currently the Red Hood,” his father said slowly. “What we have confirmed, however, is that Jason is no longer in his grave. Based on the evidence provided to us thanks to Superman’s vision, it is safe to assume he did in fact wake up and dig his way out of his grave. Thanks to that evidence, we now have additional information and questions to ask.” 

“You want to investigate more before approaching the Red Hood?” Damian asked incredulously. 

“Perhaps. It never hurts to have more information before ending a case. We aren’t on a schedule like we would be if we were investigating a crime. We have the opportunity to take our time, make sure we get this right, make sure we aren’t letting our hopes and dreams get in the way of reality.” 

“...You’re scared,” Damian accused. “You fear that I might be wrong, that by potentially falsely accusing the Red Hood of this you will lose not only an ally but have fooled yourself into believing a lie. And as a result, you will feel a second loss as you’ll have no idea of where to look for Jason, if he is even still alive.” 

“Yes,” his father admitted. “I know you said you spoke with your mother regarding all of this, that she confirmed their identities as being one and the same. I trust you with my life Damian, I have no reason to ever believe you would deceive me son, I don’t want you to ever question that. Unfortunately, while I wish I could do the same for Talia, that isn’t possible anymore. I need to find out more, get some more hard evidence beyond what she’s said first.” He chuckled, a deep and bitter sound coming from deep in his throat. “That, or Hood admitting it to me himself, or Jason walking through the manor’s doors, whichever comes first.” 

Damian couldn’t argue with that. He understood the need to know, the paranoia surrounding taking such a leap of faith. “I understand Father. I will not let you down.” 

His father smiled, reached over to grab his son’s shoulder comfortingly. “I wouldn’t expect any less. Now, how about we actually begin patrol tonight?” 

“That would be acceptable.” 

Batman just shook his head, reaching towards the Batmobile’s dashboard to pull up the police scanner. 

His father wanted more, needed more, to be willing to act on their findings. He needed the security that evidence brought, needed as much information as could be feasibly obtained. Fine, so be it. 

Damian was nothing if not a perfectionist. He could do this. 

He just wondered how much more it would take before he’d have enough, how detailed a timeline, how many reports. He wondered, albeit briefly, if perhaps his father was hoping Damian would drop it all and just forget his investigation. Perhaps his father genuinely did not want to know and wanted to instead live in blissful ignore rather than acknowledge the truth. It would be abnormal if that were the case, but at the end of the day, there was nothing normal about this. 

He walked the streets of Gotham, the current drizzle causing the streets to be devoid of most life despite it being lunch time on a Saturday. The gaudy store signs and their obnoxious lights reflected off of the puddles around him, the falling rain telling him he shouldn’t be there. 

The audacity of this city’s weather. 

Does Gotham not know who he is? 

He shook his head in disgust, picking up the pace. Curse Drake and Brown and their senseless use of memes in everyday conversation. They didn’t even make sense out of context as they used them, and yet they’d drilled such useless drivel into his skull with such a ferocity that he was now reciting them. 

They could never know. He’d never live such a thing down. Brown would tease him relentlessly, going on and on about how he finally “becoming a real boy” or some such nonsense, which meant the news would no doubt reach the others. Drake would stand there all smug and full of himself as Richard babbled about Damian being such a good and active member of the family and how this must be the way he shows his love. Cain would come out of nowhere, pat his head, and give him an awkwardly silent thumbs up. 

Three years in this horrendous city had clearly been too long if he was having those kinds of thoughts. They were a team , barely acquaintances he told himself. Drake and Richard and Cain were only considered family because of his father’s mentorship and legal guardianship. That’s all, nothing more. 

He heaved a sigh, well aware that was a lie. 

It’s just hormones, he told himself. You are thirteen, things are changing, you will come to your sense soon enough. Preferably with a growth spurt. 

Internal struggle ended, he finally reached his destination. The Clocktower loomed above him, the hands of the clock ticking the seconds away. He entered the old building, making his way to the top floor. While the journey did not take nearly as long as his journey there, it was still longer than he preferred. 

Opening the final door, he found Barbara’s base of operations, cords lining the walls and ceiling, screens scrolling with information. It was dizzying. 

He heard voices further inside, just out of view and hushed. The steady click clack of Barbara’s keyboard told Damian who at least one of the individuals was. He approached slowly, peeking his head around the corner just far enough to hear a familiar voice heave a sigh. 

“I just don’t know-” 

“Damian,” Barbara said in lieu of a greeting, cutting off whatever Richard was saying. The man looked up from where he was seated, eyes underscored by dark circles. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Don’t worry Babs, something tells me we’re here for the same reason,” Richard said with a lighter tone than Damian had overheard. 

“I must find more evidence, otherwise Father is unwilling to accept my conclusion as fact,” Damian explained before turning to Barbara. “While I am more than capable of running the needed searches myself, your skills and efficiency are an asset. I request you assist me in this manner.” 

Barbara leaned back in her wheelchair, taking in Damian’s soaked form. “You sure are asking for a lot of help lately.” 

“If you do not have the time to assist me, I fully understand. As I said, I am fully capable of-” 

“Damian, Damian, calm down,” she chuckled. “I’ll help you, it’s not an issue, just an observation. Normally you refuse help, and yet here you are.” 

“Is that not the point of working together?” he asked in irritation, recalling every time he had been lectured on that exact subject. 

Richard stepped forward to throw an arm around his shoulder. “Of course it is,” he chirped. “Now, let’s go over everything first, alright? Gotta get Babs up to speed on your investigation.” 

Damian agreed, allowing Richard to steer him forward. Using the Clocktower’s access to the Batcave’s network, he was able to pull up his timeline and walk through what he knew thus far. He explained his assumptions, the night at the League’s compound, his observation’s regarding the Red Hood’s behaviors and motives, finding the grave empty and the coffin broken the night before, how his mother had likely assisted in Hood’s training, if not his funding as well. Having the information in front of him made it so much more obvious how little information Damian actually had, and how much was actually just assumptions. 

He wanted to scream looking at it now. 

No wonder his father wanted more work of substance. 

“He got mixed up with some Russian gang while in London,” Richard interrupted. “Think he said it was the Ivgene Clan or something.” At Barbara and Damian’s questioning looks he shrugged. “Ran into him last night, we had a bit of a... scuffle let’s say, but we talked some stuff over afterwards. He didn’t go into too much detail.” 

“But enough detail to give you a place and the exact name of one of Russia’s gangs,” Barbara rolled her eyes, already turning towards her nearest computer screen and keyboard. “Did he happen to mention what that little vacation conflict entailed?” 

“Something about bombs? He got them all defused though, so you might not- wait. There was one he didn’t get actually; said he didn’t have time to defuse it by the time he found it. He threw it off a bridge or something.” 

Damian could not tear his eyes off of the man, too dumbfounded to look away. “He threw a bomb off of a bri- ” 

“Found it!” Barbara announced, pulling the news article to the big screen. “It doesn’t say anything about the Ivgene Clan, not surprising, but it does mention an American male, believed to be late teens. He was carrying a gun when police found him at the scene with the bomb. Per police reports, he checked below for incoming boats or swimmers before throwing the bomb over the West Minster Bridge, which exploded moment later. The man disappeared during the commotion, yada yada.” 

“That sounds about right,” Richard commented. “Think they’d still have any nearby camera footage?” 

“No,” she sulked. “This was four and a half years ago, that footage would have been wiped long ago. And all of the pictures in this article and the others are from after the explosion.” 

“Damn.” 

Damian couldn’t take it, the stupidity of the situation just too much to bear. “He threw a live bomb off of a populated bridge ?!” 

Richard looked to Barbara and the screen displaying the article before turning back to Damian. “Yeah, I'd say so.” 

Damian grumbled incoherently, running his hands through his hair. He expected this behavior from Richard, from Brown, from Drake, but from Hood?! 

“What else do you got for us Little D?” Richard interrupted his mental breakdown, returning his attention to the timeline before them. Barbara had already added the dates from the London incident to the timeline for them thankfully. 

“We should check hospital records,” he finally said. 

“For what exactly?” Barbara asked with a raised brow. 

“For Jason Todd obviously,” he sneered. “After he dug his way from his grave, he would have still been extremely injured. The chances of him making it into Gotham proper in that condition would have been slim at best.” 

“So, we’re looking for John Does,” Richard said as a way to direct Barbara towards the search. “Possibly listed as having pre-existing injuries, maybe cross reference with Alfred and Lesley’s autopsy report.” 

“Do you have any idea how many John Does Gotham General admits every year, let alone every day?” Barbara asked, already working into the backdoor she’d left in the hospital’s network. 

“Well, we can filter it down somewhat at least. Male, teen, black hair, blue-green eyes. Sort by the admission date, it obviously can’t be any earlier than the funeral,” Richard listed. 

“HIs fingers and hands would have been injured,” Damian added. “Superman saw blood in the casket, and one does not simply break out of a buried coffin and come out with pristine hands.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Barbara sighed. “Can someone grab me a coffee while I do this? No offense, I need some silence to work through all these patients.” 

“Sure,” Richard chimed in, grabbing Damian by the shoulders on his way up. “We can go grab that for you. It’ll give us a chance to wade through the rain for a bit.” 

“Aren’t you lucky?” she asked dryly. 

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it. Be back,” Richard announced, dragging a reluctant Damian behind him. 

What the hell did the man want now? 

The coffee shop Richard dragged him to wasn’t far, only a block or two away. If Damian had to describe the place, he’d say it was cozy, not too obnoxious in its decor and furnishings but not nearly as bland and corporate as the other locations he’d been dragged to previously. There were only a few customers in the shop, most keeping to themselves, the others in couples or groups speaking low enough that the music coming through the shop speakers downed them out. 

It was everything Damian expected Barbara to like in a locale, which made sense as to how Richard knew of its location. 

“Are you two dating again?” he asked, causing the man to jump where they stood in line. 

He looked down at Damian, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. “What? No, why would you think that?” he asked awkwardly. 

“No reason. You have a pattern, that is all.” 

“ Okay , and according to this pattern of yours I'm supposed to be getting back together with Babs?” 

“Not necessarily,” Damian answered, bored out of his mind. “Just that you will likely begin another romantic relationship soon, whether that be with Barbara, that alien ex of yours, or another.” 

“Shh, jeez Damian,” Richard shushed as he grabbed the teen, scanning the shop for anyone that might’ve overheard. “Be careful what you say, normal people aren’t supposed to know any aliens, let alone date them.” 

“But Father wants-” 

“Bruce is a special case. The media would devour that shit in a second. You and I both know it.” 

“Tt,” he sneered as he crossed his arms. “My point still stands.” 

“If you say so.” 

They moved up in line, finally reaching the register so the older man could pay. Damian looked around the establishment, taking in the other patrons. The rain continued to pour outside, soaking everyone and everything in its path. He was not looking forward to going back out there. 

Richard’s hand on his shoulder alerted him to the finalization of his transaction. The quick glimpse Damian took at the receipt revealed an oversight. 

“Richard wait,” he grabbed the man’s wrist, stopping him from swiping his card. “Where is Barbara’s drink?” 

“We’ll order it before we leave. Don’t want the ice to melt while we sit, now do we?” 

The employee behind the register giggled at the joke. “Definitely not.” 

“Wait a minute,” Damian snapped, “why are we-” 

“Come on Little D,” Richard said, already walking with his receipt. 

Damian threw his hands up, frustrated and grumbling as he followed Richard to the table he’d sat down at. “What do you mean?” he growled. “We have work to do, we cannot just sit around and waste time.” 

Richard put his hand over Damian’s interrupting his speech. Heaving another sigh, Damian sat down. 

“Fine, what is it you want?” he grumbled. 

“I don’t know if we should keep going with this.” 

Damian stared at him, confused at the turn of events. “Are you saying we should stop this investigation?” 

Richard nodded slowly. “I’m not so sure this is such a good idea anymore Damian.” 

 It took everything in Damian not to explode on the spot. They’d come so far, learned so much, how could he just give up?! But this was Richard, he wouldn’t pull the plug without reason, would he? Surely not. 

“Is there a particular reason you feel this way?” he asked stiffly. He thought back to the gravesite the night before, the footprints joining Richard’s. “Did he say something to deter you?” He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. “He didn’t threaten you, did he? I will end him here and now if that is the case, you have my word.” 

The shop’s worker chose that moment to bring them their drinks, setting what Damian had to assume was some kind of fruit smoothie before him. 

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Richard said with a smile, earning another giggle from the waitress. 

“Tt, I will be the judge of that,” Damian quipped, pulling the drink closer to himself. “Thank you,” he directed towards the waitress. 

“You’re more than welcome. Enjoy your drinks you two,” she said before skipping off behind the counter. Damian could see her rejoining her coworkers, the group visibly squealing. 

“Your popularity once again proceeds you,” Damian droned. “Congratulations. 

“It’s not my fault I was born with these amazingly good looks. Don’t be jealous now Dami, you’ll have your turn soon. I mean, just look at Bruce. Alfred’s still beating wannabe suitors off with a broom every other weekday.” 

“I’d rather not.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Richard took his opportunity to take a sip of his drink, some whipped topping, cool beverage Damian couldn’t be bothered to learn the name of. Damian likewise took a sip of his own, coming out pleasantly surprised. 

“Not bad,” he settled on, pushing the drink away. “Now, back to business.” 

Richard’s face noticeably darkened, mood dropping in an instant. He looked off to the side, sipping his drink as a comforting mechanism. 

“He didn’t threaten me, so you can put the sword away if that’s what you’re implying,” he began before pausing. He looked around the shop, much like Damian had done earlier, before sighing and returning his gaze to the teen before him. “It’s just...let’s put it this way. One does not simply get in a random shootout with an internationally wanted gang, right?” 

“Correct...” 

“Much like one doesn’t just happen to gain the favor of the League of Shadow’s second in command.” 

“Yes...” 

“And one also doesn’t just, say...happen to place a certain explosive device on the one weak point of a heavily armored vehicle without certain...intent.” 

“...are you saying...he attempted to kill Father?” Damian asked. 

“That’s what I was having Babs check before you got there,” Richard admitted. 

Damian was almost too scared to ask. “What did you find?” 

“An undetonated bomb behind the back left tire. No one could have known about that weak point except for B, myself,...and Jason, who had been dead for almost two years by that point.” 

“Based on your...notes...upon his entrance into Gotham, it seemed he had a vendetta against you all, Father most of all. But then the incident with Dr. Isley happened and it almost seemed to be over,” Damian said quietly, trying to rationalize what he was being told. 

Richard sighed, taking another drink. “From what he told me yesterday it was, still is. Said something just snapped, and that he couldn’t let Timmy go like that.” He stared ahead, eyes no longer looking at Damian. “ No more dead Robins , that’s what he said,” he whispered. He looked down at the table then, hunched over and biting his lips. “If we continue this,” Richard said, lifting his head to make eye contact with Damian again. “Then Bruce is going to find out that one of the first things Jason wanted upon regaining his senses, his driving motivation for over a year of training with the lowest scum on the planet, was to see him dead.” 

Richard leaned back in his chair, looking so exhausted. This was...a lot. Damian was aware of how deadly Hood was, how remorseless he could be when he felt it necessary. Damian did not have a single doubt that he’d been the one responsible for breaking into Arkham and killing the Joker two years ago, especially after learning who the man was under the mask. In a way he’d even understood the animosity he’d shown towards Richard, Drake, and his father upon returning to Gotham, but did he ever think the man had been planning to kill any of them? 

Did his father? 

“Even so,” Damian said slowly, “Doesn’t Father have the right to know?” 

The coffee shop continued to operate as normal around them. People continued to mill about out in the pouring rain without a care, all unaware of the turmoil occurring inside. Richard didn’t answer him, eyes sad and expression hardened as he continued to drink from his cup. 

What had Damian done? 

The following days were absolute torture. 

Damian understood Richard’s point, could even admit that he might be right, but that didn’t change the facts of the situation. Would his father be hurt if he learned the full extent of what Damian now knew? There was no doubt in his mind that he would. His father may be strong, both physically and mentally, may be able to compartmentalize and clear his mind when needed, but he was still human. No one wanted to hear their child had planned their murder, had gone so far as to make an attempt on their life, whether that attempt was successful or not. He would be hurt, but at least he would know. 

What was really the other option? 

If he left things as they were his father might grow suspicious. He knew Damian was investigating the connection between Red Hood and Jason Todd, had seen the lengths he’d go to for information. If Damian stopped his father would grow suspicious, which meant he would start his own search. And even on the off chance that the man did no such thing, he would still be left with one absolute: his son was alive, had been alive for years, and he hadn’t come home. 

As much as his father might be pained at learning Hood had attempted to kill him, he’d grieve so much more if he never found out what happened to his son. 

He’d search, investigate, no doubt he would learn everything that Damian and Richard had found thus far with the help of Talia and Barbara, would learn even more than they had. It flowed through Damian and his father’s veins, this obsessive nature of theirs. It did not matter the resources, the lengths, the time it took, they would get their answers. 

Staring at his bedroom ceiling Damian had to ask himself, if in his father’s situation which would he prefer. He tried to argue for the later, for the bliss of ignorance and the peace it could bring. His father had lived for seven years with the knowledge that Jason was dead, what did an empty grave really change? It’s not like he had a body, and it’s not like he had even known the body was gone to begin with. 

It was a laughable attempt really. 

He knew the answer he sought, knew what he should do. If he was to do right by his father then he could obscure the truth, couldn’t hide reality behind false hopes and dreams. His father deserved answers, wanted answers now that he’d gotten confirmation that something was amiss. 

But that meant he’d be going against Richard and what he believed to be right. 

He groaned and threw a pillow across the room. Curse such crossroads. 

Damian was not sure if he would ever get used to Gotham completely, whether it be the high buildings with their flashy lights, the near constant sounds of cars, or the constant deceit being perpetuated by those in power. The ever-present smell of ash and shit that permeated from certain districts of the city was certainly something he hoped to never be familiar with. How Hood could operate in such districts, let alone claim them as his own, was beyond Damian. 

That was a lie. Damian knew why Hood claimed these streets, was well aware of the man’s connection to the people here, to their circumstances and upbringing. It was a noble endeavor, working as hard as he did to bring these people out of the hole they’d either dug themselves into or been thrown in. In some ways Damian hoped he would be successful. He wasn’t an absolute monster after all. 

It didn’t change his mind on the aroma though. 

Or what he was here for. 

Another night of looking for Hood, another favor owed to Drake for his cooperation. Damian would be angrier at owing the older teen anything if it hadn’t been his idea in the first place. It had worked the first time, so why wouldn’t it the second? 

He just hoped this wouldn’t become a pattern. 

The old school building looked before him. Closed for its intended purpose some thirty odd years ago, it was the location Hood had chosen as his gang’s base of operations. No one had suspected anything, not until word got around that there was free food being offered out of the old kitchen and beds available for those with no where else to go for the night. 

It was exactly what Damian would have expected from the Jason Todd he’d met through family videos and portraits, the kind of charity work he could see the teen spearheading if he’d lived long enough. 

It seemed he’d gotten his chance anyway. 

He snuck in one of the side doors, careful of the few individuals still up and milling about. It was the final Thursday of the month, which meant the building would be housing more than the homeless and those looking for a bed. Somewhere in this building there was a meeting happening, one run by Hood with his top lieutenants, about what Damian had no idea, but that’s not what he was here for. 

The kitchen was empty, cleaned only a few hours prior and left spotless for the following morning. The gymnasium was likewise vacant save for the few souls who had chosen the room as their bedroom for the night. Damian continued through the maze of old halls, hunting for his target. Surely this shouldn’t be so hard. 

The stairwell seemed to be the key. He could see a sliver of light down the stairs, the murmur of voices through the heavy doors. This must be the place. 

He cracked the door open, fully entering once he found no one on the other side to guard it. Surely Hood knew better than to leave the entrance to such areas unguarded, he wasn’t a total idiot surely. 

Then he remembered the bomb and the bridge incident. Perhaps the man was. 

He continued on, the murmur of voices leading him down the hall to a what seemed to be a large opening. He peeked around the corner, dumbfounded by the scene before him. 

A small group of men and women dotted the room, only about half a dozen or so. Hood stood to the side, listening alongside the others to the woman at the front of the room. He nodded, gesturing to the board beside her as he asked some questions. Damian watched the exchange, unable to comprehend the sheer… normalcy of the situation. 

The woman shifted ever so closer to Hood, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Hood’s shoulders dropped as he shook his head. It was as he stood up fully, head turning towards Damian that Damian knew he’d been spotted. 

“What the hell are you doing Short stack?” the man asked as he sauntered over to Damian. The others watched from their spots, wide eyes and waiting to see what happened. Damian could see some of them whispering to each other, another eating his popcorn with rapt attention, the woman at the front of the group looking on in concern. 

“Looking for you,” Damian sneered, attempting to ignore the others. “Not that it was that hard.” 

“Yeah yeah, that’s not what my security system says kid.” 

Damian scowled. “And what is that supposed to-?” 

“Are you Robin?” the man holding the popcorn asked. At Damian’s confused gaze, the man shrugged. “Isn’t it like, past your bedtime? You can’t be any older than what, eleven?” 

“Yeah,” the woman beside him piped up. “Do you need an escort home buddy?” 

Damian couldn’t bring himself to answer, too astounded at the sheer audacity of the people before him. Hood chuckled above him, adding insult to injury. 

“I am thirteen for your information,” he finally snarled, receiving a coo and nods from the group. “And no , I do not require an escort , I am perfectly fine returning home on my own .” 

Hood absolutely cackled at the outburst, the sound coming through his helmet modulator like a long patch of scratches on a record. “Let me guess,” he said after regaining his composure, “you’ve got more questions for little ol’ me, huh?” 

“Let me guess, you’ve finally grown a few brain cells,” Damian snapped back in irritation. 

“Jeez kid, calm down,” popcorn guy said with his hands raised. “Bossman just asked a question.” 

Damian stared at the man, irritation turning to frustration. Turning back to Hood, he demanded, “Where the hell did you find these people?” 

“Ow kid, that was hurtful,” someone said, not that Damian was willing to turn back to find out who. 

“Here and there,” Hood answered noncommittally. “Real question here is, how long am I gonna wait to call dear daddy Bats, ‘cause as nice as this break is, I ain’t your fucking babysitter.” 

“You wouldn’t dare ,” Damian snarled. 

“You wanna fuck around and find out kid? Be my guest.” He straightened up, turning back to the group at large. “Lopez,” he called, gaining the first woman’s attention. “Keep going over the plan with the guys, me and Batboy over here are apparently due for another chit chat.” 

“Aye aye, Boss,” Lopez said with a cheery salute, already turning back to the board behind her. The others returned their attention as well, barely offering Damian and Hood a glance as Hood walked Damian towards what looked to be an office. 

Damian entered the dark office first, quickly followed by Hood turning on the lights. Damian looked around, finding the room to be mostly plain and empty. Sure, there were the few boards along the wall, the filing cabinets and shelfs, a few knick knacks here and there, but there wasn’t much personality to the room, not like Damian would have expected. 

A spot of bright red on one of the white boards caught his eye. Walking closer, he found it to be a star, most likely a sticker, with the words “Gotham’s Greatest Dad Boss” printed across it. 

“Tt, do I even wish to know?” he asked, looking back at Hood to find the door shut and the blinds being turned so as to block the office from the others’ view. 

“No, and you have no reason to,” Hood said, the good hearted humor from earlier gone. He reached behind his head, hands working the locking mechanism until the usual hiss of release could be heard. He pulled the helmet off, revealing the familiar face with its red domino mask, and set it on what was presumably his desk. 

“How have you convinced so many people to follow you?“ Damian asked without thought. “You are clearly so much younger than the others out there.” 

Hood grumbled in frustration. “Well you see kiddo, they don’t know I’m this young ‘cause they never see my face.” He looked back to Damian, frown firmly in place. “No one does really. Guess that makes you something special. Just not in the way you outta want to be.” 

Damian watched him from his seat, meeting his eyes through the domino masks before Hood reached for a few water bottles nearby. Damian caught the thrown bottle with ease, continuing to watch the older man as he drank his water. 

“So,” Hood started, “You planning to tell me why you’re here yet? Or are we going through with calling the Bat-Uber? Which, if I have my way, will most likely be Alfie.” 

Damian remained silent for a moment longer, his earlier bravado seeping away. “...Did you really attempt to murder Father?” 

Hood paused in drinking his water, eyebrow raised at the question. “Kid,” he said slowly, leaning more fully against the desk. “It’s best you don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” 

“I may not want the answer,” Damian argued. “But I need it.” 

Hood sighed, capping his water. “Need huh? Gonna guess Dickie told you about the bomb under the Batmobile thing then.” He kicked his leg, almost hitting the table in front of Damian with every turn but missing it just slightly. “He let the clown live.” 

Damian watched on in silence, goading Hood into continuing. 

“If it had been him that the clown had killed, there’s nothing in this world that would’ve stopped me from hunting him down and tearing him apart. I would’ve thought the sentiment went both ways. Then I woke up.” He took another swig of his water, crushing the bottle in his wake. “I didn’t kill your dad that night because I realized something. I wanted to show him, needed to show him, how wrong he was, prove that his methods didn’t work. There were better ways of dealing with filth like the Joker.” He laughed, humorless and angry. “So I left your old man alive. And then I found out, not only did he let the Joker live, he replaced me too. So much for small mercies.” 

Damian saw the pain in his gaze, the wounds he’d just reopened. Perhaps it wasn’t just his father he was hurting by doing this. 

“You were in a hospital,” Damian began, “Oracle found the records. You were unresponsive, then one day you just walked out. How?” 

“That’s funny,” Hood said. “Talia said the same thing. Honestly kid, I don’t remember none of that. I remember waking up inside a box six feet under, I remember screaming your dad’s name over and over again in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he could save me this time. I remember digging my way out, then nothing...Next thing I remember is waking up in a sea of green and rage. But you already knew that.” 

“I am aware that I have asked this before,” Damian said slowly. “But you have not given me an adequate answer, if any at all.” 

“Just spit it out kid, for fuck’s sake. You interrupted my meeting, the least you could do is make this quick.” 

“Why have you not returned home? You have been working with Father for years now, why not tell him the truth?” 

“There is no home for monsters like me,” Hood answered, walking up to the office windows. Damian came up beside him, watching the group discuss their options across the way. “With everything you Bats know I’ve done over the last few years, it’s a wonder B hasn’t locked me up already. Once he finds out everything I’ve done? What I’d planned to do? I’ll be lucky if my home isn’t a cell in Arkham.” 

“I...I have killed as well,” Damian admitted, looking up to the man in question. “He still loves me. He will not feel any different to you.” 

“Daddy Bats has clearly been giving you a romanticized version of my final days kid,” Hood snorted. “And besides, all the blood on your hands? That happened before you got to Gotham and under your daddy’s batwings. And, oh, how old were you when that happened again? Oh yeah,” he snapped his fingers, smirk pulling across his lips and teeth, “ten. We are not the same, not even close.” 

Damian clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as Hood’s condescension continued. He was trying here, the least Hood could do was give him something back. “I made multiple attempts on Red Robin’s life,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Ooh, look at Robin over here being so unique in his bid for daddy’s favor. Kid, I had planned to break into Titans Tower using Dickie’s old code, ‘cause God knows he doesn’t change that thing ever , find the replacement, and paint the tower’s walls with his blood. I knew exactly what day I was going to do it, when he’d be the most vulnerable, how to subdue every one of his little teammates if they happened to be there. You tryin’ to kill Red?” Hood said, getting closer with a snarl, “That ain’t nothing special.” 

“Would you have done it?” Damian asked softly, unsure if he wanted the answer. 

Hood pulled back, eyebrows drawn and frown on full display. He looked out to his people, to the pride they displayed in their work, to everything they’d worked so hard on, everything the would work on in the future. He looked at them and saw a family, much like the one he once had. 

“I don’t know.” 

A little while later there came a knock on the office door. A peek through the blinds showed it was that Lopez woman from earlier requesting Hood’s attention. 

“Boss,” she said as soon as the door was open. “Sean said he saw the Bat topside. What do you want us to do?” 

“Nothing,” Hood answered, helmet already back in place. “He’s just here for the kid.” 

Damian squawked in indignation, realizing what he meant. “You did not call-!” 

“I’m a man of my word,” Hood replied calmly, grabbing him by his cape. “I’ll escort the kid out, don’t worry about it Mel. Let Sean know to stay down and out of sight.” 

The woman saluted with a cheeky grin. “Sure thing Boss.” 

“And for fuck’s sake stop calling me that.” 

“No can do Bossman. Rules are rules.” 

Hood didn’t answer, just continued to pull a reluctant Damian along to the outside. 

Once out of the basement Damian ripped his cape from the man’s grasp, seething in rage. “You did not actually call Father, did you?!” 

Hood shrugged, continuing in his walk up the stairwell. “Would you have preferred Nightwing?” 

“I would have preferred if you hadn’t told anyone .” Damian seethed. 

“Too bad so sad. We don’t always get what we want, and oh would you look at that, right on cue.” 

The sound of boots hitting the floor ahead of them was the only indication that Batman was present, let alone standing before them. He turned, expression blank as he took in the two before him. He pointedly looked Damian over, checking for any injuries. “Robin, care you explain yourself?” 

The teen huffed as he crossed his arms. “There is nothing to explain.” 

Batman sighed through his grit teeth at the response. He turned to Hood, freezing as he looked at the man. That’s when Damian remembered, this was the first time his father had seen Hood since they found the grave empty, the first time he was in the presence of the man who could very well be that dead son. 

“Thank you, Hood,” Batman said awkwardly, grabbing Damian by the shoulder. “I appreciate your assistance in keeping Robin safe.” 

“Of course,” Hood said lightly. “Can’t have you losing anymore.” 

The grip on Damian’s shoulder tightened to a painful level, the only sign that Hood’s words had any effect on him. “We’ll be on our way,” Batman finally said, voice coming out raw. 

“Have a good night,” Hood answered cheekily, waving as he began to walk back down the stairs. 

Batman and Damian stood there for another few moments, Batman frozen in emotional paralysis, Damian in fear of what was to come. It was like a spell had been cast over the two, keeping them there for an indeterminate amount of time. Finally the curse was lifted, Batman’s grip loosening as began to direct Damian from the building. “Come on son,” he said softly, “We need to go home.” 

“But it is only midnight. We have more to do,” Damian argued. 

“Not tonight,” Batman answered. 

The drive back to the manor was one done in silence. Neither father nor son willing to speak given the situation they found themselves in. It was painful really, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his father to finally say something, to demand to know why he was not patrolling with Drake and was instead in the Red Hood’s base of operations. But nothing came. 

The Batmobile roared into the cave, coming to a stop on its platform. The doors unlocked and opened, yet Batman remained in his seat, just looking ahead. He appeared so tired, so exhausted. Damian could only hope he wasn’t the cause. 

“Father...” 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning Damian,” his father said, reaching up to pull his cowl off. “Please, we’ll talk first thing in the morning over breakfast.” 

“But won’t Drake be here as well?” 

“I’ve already spoken to Tim. He has plans with Stephanie in the morning.” 

“I understand,” Damian said with a nod, extracting himself from the car. “I apologize for upsetting you, Father.” 

“Damian, I’m not-” he cut himself off with a grimace. “We’ll discuss it in the morning. Just know that I am not angry. I am merely disappointed that you chose the actions you have.” 

In many ways Damian would have preferred anger to...this. But he didn’t get to make that decision for his father. “Of course Father. Good night.” 

“Good night son.” 

Damian barely slept that night, his thoughts returning to his conversation with Hood over and over again. Every time he’d finally relaxed enough to sink into his mattress and feel the hands of sleep touch his cheek, it was there again. Hood’s voice rang through his head like a metal bar off a window, low thuds mixed with ear splitting scratching and cracking, before the glass finally shattered, only to move on to the next. 

There’s no home for monsters like me. 

Damian clutched his ears, willing the voice to go away, if only long enough so he might sleep. 

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. 

But he did want the answer, he longed for the answers, craved them in a way. He’d seen his father taken over by the same madness during difficult cases, knowing the answer was just out of reach and cursing as he leapt for it. He’d hoped to be done with this by now, to have brought his family closure. Surely that was a worthy cause, surely no one could fault him for such a dream, selfish as it may seem. 

Look at Robin over here being so unique...heh, that ain’t nothing special kid. 

In many ways Damian wished he could be normal. Perhaps then this misery might end. If only he could be like the other children at his school, with their normal lives and their normal wants and needs. Maybe then he could be content, just for once, instead of constantly looking for something more. 

At some point he must have fallen asleep, restless as it was. He awoke to the morning sunlight peeking through his curtains and Pennyworth’s knocking on his door. Damian contemplated ignoring the man, the lull of sleep so sweet now that he’d finally had a chance to feel her cool embrace once more, but he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be proper, for one. And for two, his father would no doubt be waiting for him downstairs in the dining room. 

As much as the man may avoid mornings like they personally offended him, if he said he’d be up in the morning to speak to you he meant it. There’d been more than one occasion where his father had made a promise to him of early morning activities, whether they be something as mundane as being the one to drive him to school, or as grand as being the first in line for the newest art exhibition at Gotham’s fine art museum. It didn’t matter how little sleep he’d gotten, if he’d had any at all, it didn’t matter what case he was dealing with, what problems he had at WE, he’d be there come hell or high water. 

Which meant he’d be downstairs waiting for his son’s arrival so they could talk about the previous night. Damian had to get up, there was no other option. 

Something bubbled in his stomach as he forced himself to his feet, calling to Pennyworth that he was up. He took his time in showering and dressing himself, he didn’t expect to go anywhere outside of school for the foreseeable future. The small clock on his desk ticked by, reminding him of the passage of time and how he was keeping his father waiting. 

No longer able to distract himself, he pulled himself from his room, walking the halls of the manor towards the dining room. The manor was silent, the only sound that of the odd clock every few rooms. It did not bode well for Damian’s future. 

Finally entering the dining room, he found only his father there, no signs of Pennyworth in sight. There was already a plate of food on the table for him, breakfast made just the way he preferred it. He pulled out his seat, grimacing at the slight screech it made as it came out from under the table, before sitting down. 

“Good morning, Father,” he greeted, keeping the apprehension from his voice as best he could. 

His father set his tablet down next to his food, picking up his own utensils. “Good morning, Damian. Sleep well?” 

Damian considered the question, wondering what he was supposed to say. Surely this was some kind of test, right? Sleep wasn’t exactly something that came to any of them easily, why bring it up? Was he meant to tell the truth? Was he meant to lie and say everything was fine? 

A hand patting his head awkwardly pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He turned to his father, finding the man chewing his food, hand still giving his head soft pats to ground him. “Calm down son, this isn’t a test, it’s just small talk. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” 

The hand was removed from his head, picking up the fork that had been set down earlier once more as he stared at his father. The man took a few more bites, expression neutral as he ate his breakfast while Damian watched. “No,” Damian answered quietly. 

“Nightmares again?” 

“No. It’s just...it’s...I do not know the words to explain it.” 

“That’s alright. We have time.” 

His father continued to eat as Damian watched him. Finally Damian picked up his own fork, working into his breakfast at a slow pace while his brain worked itself into another dead end. 

“Kal won’t stop messaging me,” his father said suddenly, his wristwatch blinking at what was likely another new message from the alien. 

“Did you not have your meeting with the Justice League the other day?” Damian asked in confusion. He did not know where this conversation came from or where it was going, but he’d follow it for the moment, if for nothing else than to humor his father. 

“I did,” he answered, chuckling at the memory. “Doesn’t mean I gave him a chance to talk to me.” 

Damian watched as the little green light nearest his father’s thumb blinked once more, a desperate attempt at getting his father’s attention. “Is it really that bad?” he asked. 

“No.” He took a swig of his coffee, leaning back in his seat with a small smile. “Doesn’t make it any less enjoyable though. Kal wants answers, or at least he thinks he wants them. But he’s also petrified of what it means if he gets those answers. After all,” he said with a shrug, “does he really want to find out that he called Batman a ‘fine piece of city ass without the braincells to match’?” 

“...do I even want to know?” Damian asked with terror in his wide eyes. 

“Just one of those fancy Metropolis galas the League was invited to.” 

“I thought you hated those.” 

“I do, that’s why I went as Bruce, had to liven up the scene at least a little. That and the others clearly had no idea what they were doing. Lex Luthor throws a gala, invites the entirety of the Justice League, and none of them think twice before agreeing?” He shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” 

Damian watched his father cradle his coffee cup, feeling more at ease as his father continued to speak. 

“If... when , you make friends, well, colleagues of the caped variety, do something for me Damian, would you?” 

“What is it, Father?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what his father wanted. 

“Don’t make the same mistakes I have. Let me be your example of what not to do, okay?” 

The turn of the conversation stopped Damian in his tracks, the wistful, almost sad tone of his father’s voice taking him by surprise. “Why?” he asked incredulously. “You have made mistakes, yes, but they are not without reason. Why would I strive to be anything that you are not?” 

He’d been raised hearing his mother speak of this man, hearing of how amazing he was. He’d been told his father should be his goal, that he should strive to be just like him. His father was his everything growing up, and while that might not be entirely the case now thanks to the other individuals present in his life, his father still took up such a large space. The idea of going against what he’d done, of finding a different path, it felt absolutely wrong. 

“Because at the end of the day, you shouldn’t strive to be me Damian,” his father said gently. “You should strive to be yourself, your own person. I’ve made mistakes, a lot more than you’re aware of, and some that I still question to this day. Keeping my identity from the League, holding them at arm's length as I have, how much time do you suppose I’ve lost? How much trust could have been gained if I’d simply been honest all those years ago. Even now I wonder if it’d be better just to rip that damn cowl off.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “This is a lonely life that I lead sometimes Damian. I just don’t want you to risk leading it as well.” 

“But you are not alone,” Damian argued. “You have Richard and Timothy and I, as well as Brown and Cain and Barbara. You even have Hood and Gordon and, as much as I may loathe to say it, that tempest Selina Kyle.” 

“Yes,” his father agreed. “And how many times have I tried pushing you all away? And even succeeded in it?” 

Damian bit back his retort, biting his lip as he forced himself to relax into the dining room chair. His father wasn’t wrong. He could remember the days after his arrival in Gotham, how little his father interacted with him. At the time Damian had taken it as a rejection. His father had finally been presented a biological child, and said child did not live up to his standards. But then he learned the truth: his father had not been disappointed, he’d been terrified. 

“If this is your way of asking for my blessing to date the alien, you do not need it,” Damian said as an awkward attempt to break the tension in the room. “But you can have it if that is truly what you want.” 

His father laughed at the joke, loud and from the chest. Damian couldn’t help but to join him, enjoying the moment as best he could. 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence. But if anyone is going to snatch that one it’ll be Wonder Woman...that or Lois Lane. That woman does seem to always be getting mixed up with him, doesn’t she?” 

Damian rolled him eyes, letting his father ramble as they continued to eat. 

The explosion had been heard halfway across Gotham, the sight of the fire and debris shooting into the sky seen for miles. Damian watched from his spot atop the high rise as the flames continued to burst, smaller explosions happening within the same structure. 

“Headcount, now!” his father commanded into the comm lines beside him, demanding everyone’s full attention. Even behind the cowl’s thick white lenses Damian could see how lost his eyes had become, the uncontrollable fear that spiked through him. It had been seven years, but the sight of a building, a warehouse especially, being blown to bits sent him reeling for the control he felt he’d lost. 

“Oracle present,” Barbara began. Unnecessary as her addition may be given her relative safety in the Clocktower, it was still needed, if for nothing else than to get the others to get into gear. 

“Spoiler here,” Brown joined in. “Red Robin’s here too.” 

“Batgirl,” Cain chimed in, voice still scratchy from lack of use. 

“Robin present,” Damian said, grabbing his father’s arm so as to offer the man some stability. 

“Batwoman here,” Kane added. “I’m getting my suit on. What the hell is going on out there?” 

Oracle began to explain the situation to them as best she could, clearly flipping between as many security cameras and networks as she could while still talking to them. Damian looked to his father, finding his eyes still searching the distance. It didn’t escape his notice that Richard hadn’t responded to the call, or that Hood was likewise unaccounted for, which meant his father noticed as well. 

His father began running, trusting Damian to follow right behind him as they traversed the rooftops, heading for a specific alley way where they’d left the Batmobile. Barbara continued her live commentary as they ran, giving as many updates as she could given how little information she actually had at her disposal. 

“Oracle, do you have a trace on Nightwing or Red Hood?” Batman demanded once they were safely inside the car. 

“No,” Oracle answered with clear frustration. “Hood’s comm is completely out, no signal whatsoever. Wing’s comm line seems to be functioning, but it’s not actually on. Trackers wise is a little jumbled, like they’re pinging off of nearby electronics, but it looks like they’re near the docks.” 

“Which would place them near, if not right in, that giant explosion just now,” Drake said with a strain in his voice. “Fuck.” 

“Language,” Batman chided out of reflex, hands gripping the steering wheel ever so tighter the longer this went on for. “Robin and I are en route to the site. We need you all to continue patrolling. There is a very good possibility this could be a diversion tactic to pull our attention away from the main threat. Keep your guards up.” 

A chorus of confirmations came through the comm line, and with that the line went dead again. 

His father switched the line so only Oracle would hear them as he sped through Gotham. “Do we have any idea what could have caused this?” he asked. 

“Hood was tracking some new powder that Cobblepot had imported, that’s all I know. The manifest is as good as bread crumbs though. Without some kind of document actually labeling what the stuff is, we wouldn’t know if it’s a drug or ammo or some new-fangled spice.” 

“We can assume whatever it is, it’s highly flammable.” 

“That it would be.” 

The car fell silent, the city flying past them in their haste to reach the scene of the crime. 

Oracle’s voice crackled through the speaker a minute from the location, worry in her computer overlayed tone. “Batman, they’ll-” 

“They’ll be fine,” he cut her off. “I’ll find them. They’ll be okay.” 

Damian didn’t need to look to know his father’s hands were shaking. He did so anyway. 

The dock was an absolute wreck when they arrived, the fire raging on before them. Damian could hear sirens in the distance, fire engines having been dispatched to handle the blaze. Whatever warehouse once stood in 2A’s spot was compete rubble. The building was collapsed, its structural beams torn and twisted where they’d been thrown. Nearby containers, vehicles, and other buildings had remains of that old dead warehouse sticking out of them, leaving gaping holes in their sides for the flames to spread towards. 

Damian and his father stood atop the nearest building, watching the flames progress across the dock. There wasn’t much they could do here, wasn’t anything really, but his father refused to move from his spot. Batbinoculars practically glued to his face, Batman looked as best he could for the missing duo in the wreckage. Damian left him to his devices, aware of the precarious state his mind was in. If he said anything, let alone to indicate there was nothing they could do here, his father would hunker down even more, if not run right into that fire. It was the last thing Damian wanted to see. 

They could see bodies among the flames, or what remained of them anyway. It was hard to tell if they’d been dead before or after the explosion, not that it really mattered now anyway. But the colors they wore, their uniforms, those were Penguin’s men down there. It gave precedence to what Barbara had said earlier. Perhaps Hood had come to investigate and got tangled up with Penguin’s goons, maybe he’d even brought Richard with him, who knows. 

All Damian knew was that they weren’t leaving that spot until his father got his answers. 

The fire engines arrived only moments later, clearly unprepared for the work ahead of them. They worked tirelessly to end the fire, yet it only seemed to cause more to ignite. The hours drug on as they worked, as Batman and Robin stood watch for their colleagues. 

It was only when the moon left the sky and the sun began to rise that Damian’s father put down his binoculars, eyes red rimmed and painted with heavy set shadows. They couldn’t stay out here, not for much longer, which meant they wouldn’t have their answers, might never have them. 

They made their way down the building, Damian careful to ensure his father did fall and hurt himself. The way to the Batmobile wasn’t far, only a few streets, but they felt like a lifetime away. 

“Perhaps we should have the car come to us,” Damian offered as the neared the street level. 

“No,” his father answered solemnly. “I need the walk.” 

And the walk needed him, as a few blocks over they caught sight of shifting manhole. Damian watched with fists raised, ready for whatever fight might be coming out of the sewers. His father merely kept walking, crouching down as he neared the manhole. Here they could hear a voice, could hear the grunting as the manhole was lifted ever so slightly. 

Finally, it shifted just enough, a hand pushing up to continue moving the lid and Batman sprung to action. Grabbing the lid he practically flung it across the street, finding Hood at the top of the ladder carrying Nightwing on his shoulder. 

“Heh,” the man coughed, pulling himself out of the hole. “Fancy seeing you two here.” 

Nightwing was slid off his shoulder as he pulled them from the hole, form laid out on the pavement. Batman ripped his glove off, checking the unconscious man for a pulse. Clearly finding one, he pulled him into his arms, cradling his eldest son. 

“Call the Batmobile,” he instructed Damian as he pushed Richard’s hair back from his face. He turned to Hood, clearly noting the lack of a helmet for the first time since he’d emerged from a literal hole in the ground. “We need to get you two back to the cave, get you checked over.” 

“No thanks,” Hood said, pulling himself to his feet. “I’m perfectly fine to make my way home.” It didn’t escape Damian’s notice how much of a struggle it was for him to stand, how much load he was putting on his right leg instead of his left. Never mind the lack of a helmet, meaning either one of two options had occurred: either Hood removed the item himself, likely to detonate it, or it had been broken in whatever scuffle occurred or by the explosion. Either option was unfavorable and not one Damian planned to remind his father of. 

Batman grabbed his soot covered hand, holding as tight as he dared while his eyes plead with the man. “Please.” 

Hood looked down at him, struggling to keep his eyes open as he studied the older man. He turned his with a huff and a “Fine,” and it was decided. 

The Batmobile roared around the corner in no time, stopping right in front of the group. Damian’s father clearly struggled between the idea of letting go of Hood’s hand and needing it to properly carry Richard, but he acquiesced soon enough. He laid the man across the backseat, allowing Damian to squeeze back with him so as to leave the front passenger seat for Hood who got in the car without a word, head bobbing ever so slightly. 

Batman was the last to get in, hands gripping the steering wheel as tight as possible as he set the car to autopilot them home. The drive became nothing but a blur of motion and sound, his father’s voice letting Oracle know they’d found Hood and Wing, telling Alfred to prepare the cave’s medical wing for their arrival. If it weren’t for the worry and the adrenaline spike, Damian might’ve followed Hood into unconsciousness, the man’s head finally thunking against the car window. Beside him, Damian’s father held on to his self-control just that little bit harder. To an outsider he looked unresponsive to the situation, stoic in his drive towards the underground tunnel to the Batcave. To Damian? The cowl could only cover so much. 

Damian awoke to the smell of antiseptic and the low beeping of a heart monitor. Peeling his eyes open, he found the jagged ceiling of the Batcave laid out above him and the uncomfortable hardness of the cave’s cot beneath. Checking himself, he found his gloves, boots, mask, and belt removed, now sitting on the chair to his right alongside a fresh change of clothes. He must have been moved, the last thing he remembered was sitting at the Batcomputer, mindlessly typing up the report of the night’s events as his father and Pennyworth worked to check Richard and Hood over, the smell of copper tinging the air as they cleaned and stitched up the various cuts, gouges, and burns on the two.

He hadn’t seen the two figures once his father had carried them from the Batmobile, hadn’t dared to follow the man once they were laid out in the medical wing. He’d seen enough when Hood emerged from that manhole, had seen the blood that matted Richard’s hair, the way Hood’s jacket and top had been shredded across his back. Between that, whatever head injury caused his helmet to no longer be present, and the hip injury that fought to keep the man down, Damian had to wonder how he hadn’t lost consciousness while down in the sewers. Those injuries were bad enough, but to also carry another person while doing so? Richard might not be as heavy as Hood or his father and most definitely not as big, but he was anything but light when he was dead weight.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His muscles ached, his throat even more so. He and his father must have been closer to the fire than they’d realized, inhaling the smoke as they’d watched the carnage below. Damian was sure he’d be coughing up a lung in no time, no doubt his father would bench him for the foreseeable future, which Damian could understand. They needed to be in top shape if they were to protect the city, they couldn’t afford to be out of breath every other step.

Sliding off the cot, Damian tested his footing on the cold floor below. His feet throbbed, no doubt from staying still for hours on end the night before, and he was slightly off kilter, but that was to be expected. Grabbing the stack of fresh clothes, Damian began to make his way towards the cave’s shower room, keeping his pace slow and steady as he went. There was no need to rush, that would only lead to injuries, and there had been enough for the month last night.

He turned towards the medical wing at the thought, stopping stare. The privacy walls blocked most everything from sight, giving the occupants some peace. If Damian didn’t know any better, he’d think the space was empty, the only tell-tale sign that it wasn’t being the cart of bloodied medical tools waiting to be dealt with. He walked closer, the earlier antiseptic smell mixing with a sour copper, the heart monitor’s beeping joined by low snores and breathing. There were two distinct sets of tones, indicating Hood and Richard were likely both still asleep. Good, that meant they were still here and not galivanting across the city. 

A splash of black in the plain gray and white environment caught his eyes, pulling him towards his father. The man was seated, eyes trained ahead, exhausted and looking ready to collapse yet fully aware he wouldn’t let himself do that. His hands and arms were a splotchy red, as though he had rubbed them raw once it came time to clean himself of the blood and sweat and soot he’d had to work around.

As Damian got closer his father clearly took notice, looking at Damian through his peripheral vision as he approached. “You’re awake,” he observed, voice barely above a whisper. 

“As are you,” Damian stated right back. 

They fell back into silence, his father continuing his watch over the two injured men. It took all his willpower, but Damian finally allowed himself to turn to look. The two’s figures were mostly covered by the sheets kept in this section of the cave, keeping their visible injuries to everything above the collarbone or whatever might be sticking out. Their faces were covered in bruises, Richard’s head sporting the expected bandaging where he’d been struck. Curiously, Hood’s bruising appeared to be at a farther stage in its healing, yellows and greens dancing in the blues and purples of his face, while Richard’s remained an angry red and blue. 

“They’re both heavily concussed,” his father reported, clearly noticing his gaze on the two. “Granted, by the time they wake up Dick might be the only one still affected.” 

Damian made a questioning sound at the statement, trying to understand what his father could mean. 

“It seems you’re correct about his accelerated healing,” his father answered, and it didn’t pass Damian’s notice that he neither referred to the man as Red Hood, nor Jason. He was at a mental crossroads, unable to determine if his son was right in everything, or just in this. “I don’t know if it’s a meta gene,” the man continued. “We had to take a blood sample to ensure we had bags ready in case of a transfusion, nothing came up in the test beyond the traces of Lazarus Pit you mentioned.” 

“Then what could explain this?” 

“I don’t know son. All I know is when Alfred and I did our initial x-ray of his hip, his femur wasn’t just dislocated, the head of it was also fractured, almost shattered in a few spots. By the time Lesley got here and we ran another x-ray before attempting to relocate it, the fractures were gone.” He sighed, frustration coating the sound as much as his face. “I rechecked the x-rays, redid their negatives, did another round of x-rays with Lesley, everything. When we got to the cave that bone was fractured, but when we relocated it, it was wasn’t. It makes no sense.” 

“...does it need to?” Damian asked lowly.

“No...no it doesn’t,” his father answered, slouching in his chair ever so slightly. He finally turned to look at Damian fully, taking in the change of clothes in hand and the Robin suit he still wore. “You should go wash up,” he said. “Get the suit off. It’ll need to be deep cleaned along with mine. Once you’re done, we’ll need to check you over, make sure you didn’t get any smoke inhalation from last night. I put us far too close to the sight for us not wearing any kind of respiratory gear.” 

Damian considered arguing. Sure, his throat didn’t feel the best, the constant scratching every time he spoke an annoyance he could live without, but surely, he’d be fine in no time. 

He chose not to though, aware that this was as much for him as it was for his father’s peace of mind. 

“Of course,” he answered before turning to leave. “I shall find you once I am done.” 

“Thank you, son.” 

The shower did him some good, the fresh change of clothes even more so. He took his time in leaving the cave’s locker room, making sure his suit was properly sealed in its bag so it would not risk contaminating anyone else’s clothes or belongings. The last thing he needed was Brown screeching about someone getting soot in her makeup. Although that would be hilarious now that he thought about it. 

Voices could be heard in the distance as Damian left the locker room, familiar despite their roughness. He could see two figures nearing the Batcomputer, large and imposing even as the one seemed to walk with a slight limp and the other dragged himself alongside the first, clearly attempting to reason with him yet not being near stern enough to get anywhere in the non-argument. 

“...hurt..shouldn’t...on your feet,” Damian heard his father say. Making a split-second decision, Damian rushed to the backside of a nearby support structure, hoping the location would offer him a better chance at hearing the conversation. 

“Like that’s ever stopped me before,” Hood answered before flopping into the main swivel chair with a groan. “Fuck.” 

The sound of pills rattling around in their bottles could be heard. “Here,” his father said, no doubt holding whatever it was out to Hood. “Alfred said these should help at least take the edge off. We’d likely have to give you morphine or something similar if we were to really eliminate the pain.” 

Hood sighed, long and deep as he slouched further into the cushions of the chair. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled. “They don’t do me much good anyway.” 

His father looked like he wanted to argue. Even with Hood’s history with drugs, a few painkillers wouldn’t be the end of him. Unless Hood meant his words literally, that the pills would actually offer no relief due to whatever healing factor he seemed to have gained, or as a result of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. Those waters were unpredictable after all, and their effects were damn near impossible to study. Given their proclivity to heal and alter one’s mental state, it wouldn’t surprise Damian if they’d created some kind of intolerance to certain medicines. 

He made a mental note to check in on that later. Surely there must be something that could help ease the man’s pain when needed.

The pills were put back in their bottle and set on the console. Damian’s father shifted from foot to foot, mind running a mile a minute in a clear attempt at figuring out what he wanted to say. Hood beat him to the punch. 

“You ran the DNA test while I was out, didn’t you?” 

The cave seemed to grow colder around the two, echoing outwards and impacting Damian even behind the metal beam he was using to hide. “No,” his father answered, hands held in fists as he sought to keep them at his sides. “That would be a breach of the trust we’ve built over the years. I had to run a blood test to ensure we did not risk harming you if a blood transfusion was needed.” 

Hood looked at him with suspicion, lips pulling farther down. “You say that like you can’t find things out via a blood sample. And with your tech? You’ve basically got everything you’d ever need to ID me with just a wee little prick of my finger, wouldn’t you? You’re a paranoid son of a bitch like that, always needing to be in the know on everything. So tell me, Brucie, what did you find in your little test?” 

“Traces of the Lazarus Pit,” his father answered truthfully. “Which confirms Damian’s theory that you have been healed by their waters.” 

“Really now?” Hood continued mockingly, clearly trying to get a reaction out of the older man. “Tell me, what else is the demon spawn claiming? Come on Bruce, I’ve just gotta know.” 

HIs father hesitated at the words, seeing the challenge for what it was. Damian did not envy him, not one bit. Hell, it took everything in Damian to remain in his spot, to not either run out to join the soon to be argument or to leave the cave entirely. But he needed to stay, his father needed someone there whether he realized it or not. 

And, if Damian were being honest with himself, he needed to see this conversation through, if for nothing else than his own peace of mind. 

“He claims to know who you are under the helmet. He claims...he says you’re my son.” 

Hood had the audacity to start laughing, loud and deep and ugly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that Bruce. You’ve got, what, three sons after all? And one of ‘ems laid out in the medical wing right now.” 

“ Four ,” his father corrected, voice losing its confidence as it dropped into an uneven gruffness. “I have four sons. Dick, Tim, Damian...and Jason.” He stopped, leaning on the console before him for stability. Hood simply sat there in the chair beside him, swiveling from side to side as he watched the man.

“So what you’re saying,” Hood said slowly, “is that your kid believes, and by proxy you now believe, me to be the long dead Jason Todd, is that right?” 

He received a weak nod in return. 

“That’s a load of bullshit, you and I both know it. People don’t just come back from the dead, figured you of all people knew that.” 

It was moments like these that Damian remembered how much he could hate this man, how deep the desire ran to wring his neck. Hood was a master at deflection, much in the same way all the Bats were, but he took it up a notch. He knew all the right buttons to press, all the right words to say to keep you from remembering what you were originally asking. It was infuritating. 

“Superman came back,” his father said, voice regaining just that little bit of confidence. 

“Kryptonian,” Hood answered with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Dude’s an alien powered by the sun. Different anatomy, different bodily setup, doesn’t count.” 

“Green Arrow.” 

“Didn’t that guy get help from the Spectre?” 

“Green Lantern.” 

“You mean the pilot, Hal Jordan? Funky alien ring tech combined with the Spectre thing again.” 

Damian could hear the desperation rise in his father’s voice just as it rose in volume. “R’as and Talia.” 

“Dip in the murder pool beneath their compound.” Hood leaned forward, grin stretched fully across his face. “And just between you and I? Neither of them were actually dead when thrown in. Wounded? Yeah. Dead? They’re not even crazy enough to try that shit.” 

Damian’s father remained silent for a moment, eyes stuck on Hood as though looking for something. Finally, he straightened up to his full height, the desperation in his voice no longer present. “And how would you know of this compound of theirs?” 

Hood’s grin slowly fell, realizing the trap he’d fallen into. “None of your fucking business.” 

“You have the training of the League of Shadows,” the older man admitted, voice calm in such a way that it sent chills down Damian’s spine. “Yet, you aren’t one of their assassins.” 

Hood sighed, slouching in his chair once more. “And even if were, not just any assassin knows of the Lazarus Pits and their location, blah blah blah.” 

Silence stretched out between the two, with Bruce continuing to stare at Hood, waiting for him to continue. By this point he’d perched himself on the console of the Batcomputer, was leaning over so he could meet Hood’s gaze on near even ground. It didn’t take long for Hood to cave, turning his head so as to avoid the older man’s gaze. 

“Fine, your ex threw me in R’as’s personal jacuzzi, so sue me.” 

“Why?” Damian’s father asked, voice getting quiet, as though he was afraid of the answer despite knowing what it was. 

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to , rang through Damian’s skull like a bell announcing the turning hour

Hood turned back to the older man, meeting his gaze once more as he pulled himself to sit upright. Voice falling almost as quiet as the older man’s he finally answered. “She thought she could fix me,” he said, echoing what he’d told Damian all those months prior. “She thought she could fix the braindead boy her informant had found wandering the streets of Gotham. She’d hoped to fix me under the pretense of bringing me home so you would love her or something. She didn’t expect certain...complications to arise.” 

“You were angry.” 

“I woke up to my murderer continuing to do as he wished. I woke up to find I’d been replaced, and that the world had moved on and acted like I hadn’t even been there. Once street trash always street trash, just like all those rich cocksuckers used to say when you took me to those stupid galas. And like the street trash I am, I was fucking forgotten.” He voice had become unstable, turning rough and haggard as his speech became impassioned, growing louder with every forced breath. “Of course I was angry. Who the fuck wouldn’t be?!” 

There was a pause, a lull as Damian's father absorbed the words being said, before he finally answered, quiet and unsteady. “And the remains of the Lazarus Pits in your system only amplified that.”

The words were damn near whispered, and it took everything in Damian’s power to hear them. He looked around the beam he stood behind, trying to get a view of the two men as he struggled to hear them. It took a minute, but he found just the right angle, turning his head just in time to find his father’s face contorting in pain. The sight caught Damian by surprise, and it was only thanks to his training that he did not to rush over to his father. His initial thought was that Hood must have stabbed him, the man had a talent for hiding sharp objects in the most unhinged of places. But no, the pain was not physical, not in the way that it was caused by physical injury.

“...ould never replace you,” he heard his father say, words coming out broken. He reached for Hood’s, for Jason’s, hands. When no resistance was offered, he took them in his own, pressing their knuckles to his forehead. His words were incoherent, far too low and wrecked by sobs for Damian to make them out.

Jason said something, head tilted in indication towards Damian’s position, and he realized he’d been noticed even before this conversation began. Damian’s father shook his head, cupping Jason’s face as his shoulders shook and his tears fell.

He shouldn’t be here, Damian decided, a wash of guilt spearing through him. He shouldn’t be witness to this.

Mind made up, Damian backed up, trailed the outskirts of the cave, and made his way upstairs. Father could do his checkup later, after he and Jason had shed their tears, or Damian could have Pennyworth do it instead. Yes, that would be the better option.

Making his way up the old cave stairs, he only stopped at the top for one final look down at the scene below. His father was practically crushing Jason in his embrace as Jason seemed to be giving what he could currently handle back. Damian reminded himself that this was what he wanted at the end of the day, that this is what he’d strived all these months for. He couldn’t be upset at this turn of events. 

Not that he’d ever expected to. 

“You what?!” Damian screeched, disrupting the others from enjoying their lunch. 

His father looked back, features pulled back in what Damian could only assume was some level of guilt. Damian couldn’t believe this. How many months had he spent, how many nights had he laid awake thinking his father didn’t believe him, when the man had the exact same suspicions. 

“Was I that obvious,” Jason said in disbelief, staring down at his sandwich like it had personally wronged him. 

“No, not at all Jaylad,” Damian’s father was quick to say, hand finding itself on Jason’s back. “You did an amazing job at hiding your identity from us son, if you didn’t it wouldn’t have taken us three years to get here. I couldn’t be prouder.” 

Damian rolled his eyes at the display. Ever since the two had their heart to heart down in the cave, his father had been damn near glued to Jason’s side, raining down praises at every opportunity. Damian understood the reasons for it, after all his father finally had his son back, the son whose body he’d held all those years ago. Of course he’d be reluctant to separate from him for the foreseeable future. I didn’t make it any less aggravating to witness though

Evidently Brown felt differently, eyes trained on the two men from her spot next to Drake, eyes sparkling as she saw Bruce fawn over his son. She’d forced her way into the manor that morning, reasoning that she needed visual confirmation that Bruce, Dick, Damian, and Hood were alright since they hadn’t actually seen any of them in almost a week. Drake tried to hold her off as best he could, but there was only so much he could do given his size and her stubbornness. It’s not like Cain was there to assist them, having taken up residence with Barbara for the moment.

Richard had found the scene hilarious from where he’d been sitting in the foyer, absolutely cackling as the woman caught sight of him, Jason, and Bruce squeezed onto one couch so Bruce could keep his eldest two as close as humanly possible. His cheeky grin and Jason’s half-assed, “Surprise?” hadn’t helped matters either. 

Damian could have strangled the two if it didn’t mean his father would have an absolute mental breakdown.

In the dining room, Damian threw himself back into his chair with a huff, crossing his arms with a pout as his father explained to everyone that yes, he’d had his suspicions that the Red Hood must be someone they knew, but he hadn’t wanted to press the issue. Good allies were hard to come by, why would he jeopardize that? And to accuse the man of being Jason? That was like asking to be thrown into Arkham. 

The others nodded in agreement, eating their lunch as the conversation continued. As time progressed, Damian noticed Jason clearly becoming more and more uncomfortable, his eyes growing greener as they swept the room, body rigid and stiff, only to settle down once more with a quick glance up to Richard from across the table. Curious now, Damian continued to watch the two, finding no signs that anything was amiss. What the hell had happened in that explosion? Surely, whatever head injuries they’d both acquired wouldn’t affect them like this. Or had it been during their meeting at the cemetery?

Damian forcefully stopped that train of thought. He did not need to know. The last thing he needed was to fall down yet another rabbit hole involving Jason.

“We’re just glad you’re home Little Wing,” Richard said as he raised his cup of orange juice.

Jason sighed in annoyance at the nickname, already tired of correcting the man. 

“I will admit,” Drake lamented from his side of the table. “I will miss Damian’s antics at the galas. How are you supposed to owe me favors now that I’m not covering for you to talk to Jason?” 

Damian’s father, Richard, and Jason all froze at the comment, the cogs in their heads spinning

“Hold up,” Jason exclaimed, “are you telling me your little rampage that night was a favor ?” 

Richard burst into laughter across the table, wiping tears from his eyes, groaning at the little twinges of pain his joy brought to his still healing injuries. “This is amazing. ” 

Damian’s father looked like he’d been struck, slack jawed as he looked down at his youngest

“And here I thought you threw Suzzie Monroe into that fountain of your own free will,” Richard said with false sadness. “Will I ever get to see such work again?” he asked dramatically, eyes to the sky in a blasphemous bid to god for answers. 

“Maybe if you pay him enough,” Jason answered, shaking his head. “I mean, what’s a favor but just another form of payment.” 

“Tt, please,” Damian sneered, looking down on the two. “I have more than enough money, like you could afford me.” 

“Correction twerp, Bruce has more than enough money,” Jason said with a pinch to Damian’s cheek. “That ain’t gonna be your money for a good long while.” 

Damian growled, swatting the man’s large hand away from his cheek lest he attempt a second such attack. Damian sighed as the conversation finally moved on, focusing now on Richard and his recovery. They still didn’t know exactly what had caused the explosion, Richard and Jason both refusing to explain what had happened. Given Richard’s still injured state and Jason’s fresh reintroduction to the family, the questioning was nowhere near the interrogation they would usually get. 

Damian shook his head as Richard once again evaded the question. They’d learn the truth one day, he was sure

He just hoped it didn’t take another explosion to get there.