Chapter Text
Wayne Manor sat under the dusky sky, a goliath of a building, even by Gotham’s standards. Sitting on twelve acres of flawlessly manicured land, with enough architectural masterpieces on the outside alone to give a designer a heart attack, one could be forgiven for thinking the daily life of its inhabitants was quiet, peaceful even.
“WHAT THE HELL?!”
Unfortunately, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“DAMIAN!”
“He’s really mad,” Jonathan Kent observed, swinging his legs from where he sat, perched on the roof. “How much longer do we have to wait up here?”
“Not too long,” Damian Wayne assured him, squinting into his binoculars. “He will have to table his grievances in time for patrol. Father will be displeased if he allows his emotions to interfere with the case.”
“So what’re you guys doing tonight?”
“There is a human trafficking ring that has been setting up its… auctions in a nearby warehouse. Commissioner Gordon will be notified later tonight, once the culprits are apprehended.”
“Oh.” Jon took another bite of his popsicle. “What’s human trafficking?”
“ Tt. He has still not found us. Amateur,” Damian scoffed, as a way of avoiding the question. He had learned the hard way that trying to educate Jon on the grittier aspects of his job only led to Clark and Lois threatening Bruce with extreme bodily harm and the separation of Jon and Damian- not always in that order.
Since Damian did not have a particular desire to have his friend taken away or his father’s bones to be broken in several places, he had refrained from answering most of Jon’s questions, even though he privately found it ridiculous that Clark had not instructed Jon on the finer points of the effects of cocaine.
“How’s school going?” Jon asked, finishing his popsicle.
Damian wrinkled his nose. “Subject change, if you please.”
“Is it that bad?”
Yes. Yes, it was that bad. It was horrendous, a unique form of adolescent torture. But Damian didn’t say that. All he said was, “I am surrounded by imbeciles who call themselves qualified teachers and brain-dead peers who seem to think watching soap being cut is an appropriate form of entertainment.”
“Yikes,” Jon winced. “I mean, school isn’t that bad for me, but I keep getting teased.”
Damian jerked his eyes away from the binoculars, momentarily distracted from watching Drake storm around the manor, swearing vengeance on him- always hilarious.
“Who is foolish enough to mock the Man of Steel’s son?”
“ They don’t know that,” Jon says dejectedly. “They just see a scrawny kid with glasses and start calling me a nerd.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“Well, and a dork.”
“Relatively tame, all things considered.”
“It still hurts my feelings!”
Right. Jon was not used to being called a waste of space when he hesitated to throw a knife into a man’s skull.
“Of course. I am sorry you must endure that.”
Jon nodded, satisfied. “Are you getting picked on?”
“No. My peers leave me alone. And I believe my teachers are frightened of me.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? You like it when people are scared of you.”
“I like it when criminals are frightened of me. Or Drake,” Damian corrected. “It is no fun to have a college graduate with no social life cower before me.”
“Is there anything good about school?”
Damian paused and considered.
“They brought a dog once. With a very polite police officer. I liked that very much.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yes, it was.”
Damian lifted the binoculars to his eyes and realized, with equal amounts of surprise and exasperation, that Drake had left the manor.
And five… four… three… two…
“Gotcha!”
Jon yelped and fell backward. Without looking, Damian grabbed his shirt to keep him from falling off the roof.
“What do you want, Drake?”
“I want you to give me my clothes back!”
Jon stifled a laugh- the sight of Tim Drake threatening his little brother in only black boxers and a pink t-shirt was funny, even to Damian, who made no effort to conceal his smirk.
“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Damian shrugged. “But perhaps they would appear in your closet if you returned my grappling hook.”
“I keep telling you, I didn’t take it!”
“Lies. I saw you on the bank’s cameras last night. You were foiling the robbery with my weaponry. So now, you shall attend your business meetings with no clothing.”
“You little- ” Drake snapped, but before he could lunge for him (as usual) a honk in the driveway caught all of their attentions.
Sitting in the driveway of Wayne Manor was a rusting truck that could not have looked more out of place next to the shining antique cars in the open garage if it tried. Damian wrinkled his nose. Tim groaned in familiar distaste. Jon’s eyes were alight.
“Who is that?” Damian asked, his hand already in his pocket for the emergency switch he frequently used to contact Oracle.
Jon grinned. “No way! He told me he wasn’t coming until next week!”
“Eh, the killer robots decided to get out of dodge. Thought I’d surprise you,” came a casual voice from above.
“CONNER!” Jon shrieked, launching off the roof to give his brother a hug mid-air.
“Hey!” The older boy greeted him, ruffling his already messy black hair. “I see you and the Bat-Brat are still hanging out?”
“Do not insult me, clone,” Damian threatened.
Conner Kent grinned down at him. “What are you gonna do? Set your old dog on me?”
“Just because your dog can fly-” Damian started hotly, before Drake interrupted, still glaring at him.
“Give me my clothes, Damian!”
“Aww, did they pull another prank on you, Tim?” Kon asked, pouting in a way Damian found nauseating.
“It was Jon’s idea,” he pointed out. Drake turned his glare to Jon, who floated behind Conner to safely glare back.
“I just said we should pull a prank on him!”
“And it was very effective,” Damian agreed. “You were an excellent lookout.”
“I’ll take Titus to my apartment,” Drake threatened.
“You will do no such thing.”
“What’s the big deal, Rob? Got a big, important meeting tomorrow?” Kon asked, landing on the roof. Jon was still floating safely above the scene.
“I will destroy you,” Drake threatened. “And don’t call me that.”
“Once a Robin, always a Robin, dude. Unless you’d rather I call you “Team Leader” again?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“That’s what I thought.” He turned to Jon. “Okay. First one to the truck gets to pick the pizza toppings!”
“Cheater!” Jon cried as Kon flew to the truck faster than any of them could blink. “Bye, Dames! See you later!”
Taking a breath and squeezing his eyes shut, Jon hopped off the roof, only yelping once before catching himself and soaring over to where Kon was waiting, still grinning up at Drake.
“Stupid, immature little…” He was muttering. His cheeks were a rather odd shade of pink.
“On that, we agree,” Damian nodded, still glaring down at Conner’s messy tangle of long black hair. Seasoned warriors kept their hair short, or at least out of the way. And they definitely did not wear studded leather jackets or have metal piercings. He was the picture of immaturity and unprofessionalism, and Damian hated it.
“If he wasn’t my best friend, I would hate him,” Drake nodded.
“Well, that speaks to your awful taste in friends more than anything else.”
“Hey! Only I can-”
“Can it, Drake. Father expects us in the cave for the case in ten minutes.”
“Enough time to kill you and hide the body.”
“Please. You haven’t the spine to murder a sick cat or the talent to take down a beginning League member.”
Drake scowled wordlessly at him, which was Damian’s way of knowing he had won.
Unless, of course, Drake still had an ace up his sleeve.
“I’ll tell Alfred.”
Damn it. Damian knew he would follow up on that, and then Alfred would give him that disappointed look that made even Damian’s stomach squirm.
“Fine. Your clothes are in a safe in my closet.”
“Why do you a safe in your-”
“Hey! Asses in the cave, now! Civvies to save? Traffickers to send to jail?”
Todd’s voice rang across the lawn, forcing the both of them to pause their fight, climb down from the roof, and run across the lawn.
“This isn’t over,” Drake snapped.
“Oh, I hope not.”
***
“Nice of you two to finally join us,” Batman scowled when the both of them were finally in the cave, suits on. Drake’s new suit had been finalized only the week before, after many other (failed) variations.
Damian found the straps across the chest showy in a way that wasn’t helpful or dignified. And choosing the name “Red Robin” only served to further Damian’s point, which he had mentioned to Tim. Several times. Very loudly.
“Sorry,” he said immediately. Damian remained silent. It was not his fault he was late, so he saw no reason to apologize.
Batman narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing.
“Now. The ringmasters of this operation have set up base in a warehouse that was sold to a business known as Crane Inc. But thanks to Spoiler’s reconnaissance and Red Robin’s hacking, we found out that Crane Inc. was a shell corporation, and the actual buyers were our culprits- Tatum Hartshorn and his thugs.”
“We have to do this quickly- the men running this operation have their buyers in mind, and the whole thing should be done in ten minutes. Which means we have to move fast, and be silent.”
Batman turned to the figure at the end of the line, in yellow.
“Signal.”
Signal snapped to attention, posture rigid. Still relatively new, he was quick to obey. Damian hoped that wore off soon- his eagerness was getting old.
“You’re with Orphan and Red Hood. Secure the perimeter and make sure to find out anything you can about Hartshorn’s buyers. We only managed to find a few names.”
Signal nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Damian kept his eyes trained on the boy, even after he fell silent. Signal’s powers of future and past had come in handy on many an occasion, and he supposed this time was no different.
It was odd, having a member of the team with quantifiable, actual superpower. Damian was used to being around exceptional individuals, but always individuals who were exceptional through merit and work.
To have someone so naturally exceptional… it was odd. And made him only more determined to prove himself. He didn’t resent Duke for it, but it was only one more thing to drive him. He should be grateful for the incentive, all things considered.
“Robin. Spoiler. Nightwing. You’re the strike force. Once the others have given the all-clear and Oracle has finished disabling any alarms or traps, you’ll move in. Red Robin, you’re with me. We’ll be taking down Hartshorn before he makes it to the warehouse.”
Drake stood a little taller at that. Damian bit his tongue to keep from saying anything.
As if Drake needed the ego boost. Just because he wasn’t Robin anymore didn’t mean he deserved special treatment.
Not that Damian cared. He didn’t. It was just unfair, no emotion involved.
“Come on,” he heard Nightwing call. Tearing his eyes away from the source of his annoyance, Damian turned on his heel and followed the purple and blue figures in front of him.
This would be fine. They would take down the ring, patrol their usual routes, and go home.
It would be routine. Ordinary, even.
So why was he so on edge?