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Damian is still figuring out what it means to be Mikey. It’s nice, for lack of a better word, to have memories untainted by his own past.
It is also admittedly convenient. Having an entire arsenal of skills just waiting to be used. Things that don’t even necessarily have to deal with being a ninja.
One of his favorites is skateboarding. He only had to briefly mention to his dad that he wanted to try it before the two were picking out boards (He couldn’t find an agro-rilla one due to the fact it didn’t really exist here. But that’s fine, he was looking for a change anyways) which has apparently become something of a tradition with each new ward Dad takes on. Even Stephanie has her own skateboard.
Damian chose a plain orange board. Mostly because he can customize it all he wants. First he debates painting on it himself. Or maybe Jason can paint something! They could match!
But Damian also has a habit of scraping his deck. Probably the most out of all of his brothers. He doesn’t want to ruin Jason’s hard work.
So, stickers it is. A collage of any and every sticker he could find. If one gets scratched? That’s fine. He can just slap another one over it.
It took a bit to adjust to balancing in this new body. But he got it quicker than Tim. A fact that Jason has mentioned many many times.
Not without his fair share of falls, of course. He maybe, possibly, very lightly, sprained his wrist on a particularly bad fall. He just doesn’t want to have his wrist forced into a brace or whatever and probably stopped from skateboarding until it healed. So, he ignored it. He's had to keep working with worse before.
Now he can bring his skateboard to school! He still gets driven by Alfred, typically. It’s just too far away. And being a Wayne, many are looking to make a quick buck off of him. But sometimes Jason or Dick will pick him up, and they’ll go to the skatepark.
Today was supposed to be one such day. But he has been waiting here for thirty mortifying minutes. Did Jason get hurt? Did he have to stay late for something?
If he did, Alfred would be here to get him. So more likely, Jason just forgot.
The teachers keep shooting him pitying looks. His cheeks are burning, they have been since the last student left.
This is stupid. Why should he wait here, anyways?
The moment the teachers’ backs are turned, Damian slips out of the school. While it isn’t easy, Damian does have a lifetime and seven years of experience sticking to the shadows.
Instead of taking the normal path, where Damian admits that people would not only see him, but try and talk to him, he takes the sewers.
Skating in the sewers is just as fun as he remembers. This time with added interest. The wind flowing through his hair.
He only stops once he runs out of breath, taking a moment to lean heavily against the wall.
The pounding of his heart in his ears is so loud he doesn’t hear anything until—
“What are you doing in my turf?” a voice booms from behind him.
Damian jolts, spinning around to face whoevers home he intruded on. The moment he sees the green, scaly skin, he can tell exactly who it is.
Waylon Jones, alias: Killer Croc. Born with a rare skin condition, and turned to crime after a stint as an alligator wrestler.
“I’m just trying to get home,” Damian says, picking up his skateboard to show off. “It is safer to come down here, rather than risk someone swiping me off of the street.”
Jones pauses, squinting at Damian like he’s the weird one. Damian waits patiently for him to speak. Maybe he’s feeling a bit nostalgic for an alligator mutant. Sue him. “You didn’t start screaming the moment I came in.”
“You remind me of an old friend of mine,” Damian admits easily. “I suppose it’s hard to be scared when I think of him.”
“Your… friend?” Killer Croc whispers, eyes narrowed in confusion. The idea seems unfathomable to him. Though, Damian supposes if his brand is about murder, he probably hasn’t had a lot of friends.
Damian nods, leaning his skateboard against the wall. Then he sits criss-cross. “He was one of my best friends. Helped me out a lot. Helped others, too.”
“He was like me, but he was not angry?” Killer Croc leans against the wall. Likely unwilling to let his guard down. Angry how? Damian wants to ask. About his skin condition? About how he’s been treated?
“He got angry sometimes,” Damian says, thoughts trailing to Leatherhead. The people who hurt him. He muses that the best part about this new life is the lack of the Kraang. The lack of Shredder. “But he wasn’t really scary. People hurt him a lot, and sometimes he lost control. He just needed someone to help him out.”
Killer Croc hums, not responding. He looks deep in thought.
“He was an alligator, however. Not a crocodile. Large difference,” Damian tacks on, just to be clear.
Killer Croc smiles, a lithe, bitter thing, “You are wise beyond your years, little boy.”
“L.H. told me that too,” Damian smiles, though it feels more melancholy. He just ends up missing his friend even more.
The two sit in silence for a moment. Damian is too lost in thought to even try and speak with him. He misses his friends. It’s hard to make friends with people your age when you have a second life under your belt.
“You should go home, little boy. Before your family starts to worry about you,” he says, rising to his full height.
Killer Croc wanders away. No killing. No crocing.
It’s only when he’s just out of sight that Damian can hear scattered footsteps, rapidly moving towards his location. He recognizes the cadence of the footfalls.
That’s Damian’s cue to get going. No need to be caught by Timothy. He’ll be a total spoilsport about it.
“Don’t you dare!” Tim screams, just as Damian reaches for his board. “You are coming with me, mister.”
“Cowabummer,” Damian mumbles. He waits for Tim to catch up, resigned to getting in trouble.
Tim wraps his hand around Damian’s wrist, lightly pulling him back. Unfortunately, it aggravates his (very mild) injury. Damian hisses in pain, loud enough for it to echo across the sewer walls. The two freeze, making eye contact.
Tim looks down at the wrist he is holding. Then back up to Damian. Then to something behind Damian.
That’s cue enough for Damian to jump out of the way, just as Killer Croc races up towards the two.
“NO!!” Killer Croc roars, his hand coming to grab Tim’s entire face in a hilarious recreation. If Mikey had a nickel for every time Donnie had his face grabbed by a swamp reptile, he’d have two nickels. K.C. rears his arm back, ready to toss Tim into the sewer wall. “You dare harm the child? In my sewer!”
“Woah, woah K.C.” Damian jumps to grab onto his forearm before he can launch Tim’s very squishy body into the wall. “That’s my brother. He’s chill! Chill.”
“But he hurt you,” K.C. says, slowly lowering Tim, without letting him go.
Damian shakes his head. “No, no! I got this like, a week ago!”
“A week ago?!” comes the muffled scream from Tim.
“Three days,” Damian corrects himself. “I didn’t tell them I got it because they’re big worrywarts.”
Killer Croc releases Tim, his face is deadpan as Tim stumbles back. “Go.”
“Bye bye K.C.!” Damian smiles, swiping his skateboard before dragging Tim away with his uninjured hand.
Tim babbles unintelligibly for a moment, unable to find the words. That suits Damian just fine, less yelling. “Are you just going to befriend every swamp creature themed guy you come across?!”
Ah, he’s found the words. Mikey just shrugs. “I wasn’t trying to run into him! I just wanted to get home.”
“Why didn’t you wait for Jason, then?” Tim shoots back.
Damian’s lower lip juts out and he looks away from Tim. “He took too long. I thought he forgot about me...”
Tim sighs, but doesn’t refute the statement.
Jason is the first one to bombard him when they got home. He hunches over, his hands resting on Damian’s shoulders. “Dami, I got there like forty-five minutes after your class let out,”
“It took you too long.” Damian crosses his arms, looking away.
“Where did you even find him?” Dick asks, “you just said you found him.”
“And that he has apparently been hiding an injury from us,” Jason adds.
Damian straightens up. “You snitch!”
Tim sighs, deep and exhausted. “He was in the sewers, apparently chatting with Killer Croc.”
“Mikey, seriously?” Dick says, unable to hide his fond smile. “Again?”
Damian giggles, only to yelp as Jason lifts his shirt, showing a deep gashing scar. “You’re chatting with the guy who tore a chunk outta me?! How could you—augh!”
Before Damian can spiral, Dick’s hand cracks against the back of Jason’s head.
“Don’t mess with him like that,” Tim scolds. “What he actually did was goad Killer Croc into fighting him one on one.”
“Yeah, well, he still scratched my chest open,” Jason defends.
Damian frowns, winding his leg back and kicking Jason in the shins.