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“Drop it, Red Hood. Or I'll drop you.” Damian’s hand tightened around the handle of his short sword in emphasis. Robin tensed beside him, feet already in a fighting stance.
In the center of the crumbling warehouse a high-powered flashlight was tossed on the floor to illuminate a bloodied and unconscious Black Mask chained to an office chair. Standing ten feet away, Red Hood laughed.
“Aw, Nightwing, you came. I’m honored, really.” Hood pressed a hand to their heart, the other still aiming a gun at Sionis, “I didn’t even think you’d remember my name!”
“We could never forget you, Stephanie.” Tim, earnest as always. Still not completely crushed by the seventeen years of tragedies life dealt him. This one might be the final straw.
“You don’t even know me anymore!” Stephanie snarled.
Without moving a muscle, Tim seemed to shrink back. He’d warned the kid, tonight was going to be rough. Tim insisted on coming anyway. “You need someone watching your back and we both know Bruce isn’t an option.” He’d insisted.
Not for the first time, Damian thought that neither he or Batman deserved the kid. But it did feel better having someone with him.
“You’re wasting your time. No big fight happening here, just need to take care of this dirtbag and I’ll be on my way.” She jabbed the gun in Black Mask’s direction.
“I won’t let that happen.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Dami,” The once affectionate nickname was tainted with bitterness as Stephanie’s tone veered towards condescension, “You never were. You were only ever a sad little kid desperately following in daddy’s footsteps, begging for a crumb of affection.”
Brutal. But not an entirely inaccurate description of the majority of his life. At least…before Stephanie popped up seemingly overnight, taking his newly vacated spot in the Batcave and Robin suit. Despite leaving of his own free will–needing more than Robin or the cave could give him at eighteen–it stung to see someone else by his father’s side so soon. His first visit to the cave was agonizingly awkward as he watched Stephanie struggle to reach Bruce’s demanding requests in the sparring ring, all of them pretending Damian’s presence wasn’t killing their focus.
He let a month pass before coming by again. Only Stephanie was in the cave that night, grumbling angrily as she flung batarangs at moving targets.
“You’re dad’s an ass,” was the thirteen-year-old’s version of a greeting. Damian, headed stoically for the microscope, came to a halt, struggling to find the right answer. Too much time was passing. If he waited any longer to reply it would be weird, so he blurted out one of his first thoughts.
“Yes. He can be very frustrating.”
It was Steph’s turn to halt as they blinked at each other in surprise. “Total understatement. I see why you left.”
“That’s not why.” Not really. “Why are you here?”
Steph smirked, “Here on this planet? In this cosmic miracle we call life? Or here in this swampy cave and not out patrolling?”
Damian couldn't help but wonder what possessed his father to pick this girl as the next Robin. Maybe the appeal was her utter lack of similarity to Damian. Erasing any trace of his son from the uniform.
His hesitation was answer enough. “Bats said my aim was ‘subpar and recklessly dangerous’ because I ‘caused property damage’ .” Steph said, using copious air quotes. “So here I am. Trying and failing to be perfect, like every night. All because I’m me and not–” Her eyes flicked to Damian then back to the target as she took aim. “Whatever. He’s not getting rid of me that easily.”
Looks like he was wrong; maybe they did have stubbornness in common. As well as struggling to keep up with Bruce’s demands. His expectations were high, almost as high as Grandfather’s. But at least in Gotham Damian would receive a nod of admiration, an impressed grunt, a proud hand on his shoulder. This girl…she didn’t have league training. And Father could be a poor teacher.
He set his box of chemical samples down on the table and cleared his throat. “If you’re interested, perhaps I could…assist you. Father showed me optimal ways to throw batarangs to account for their shape.” It was practical, he told himself. Robin had a reputation to maintain. Batman needed a capable partner to watch his back. Bitterness could be pushed aside for the greater good.
Stephanie tensed, eyes narrowing. Damian tried his best to appear at ease. He knew it wasn’t working. It never did.
“Sure.” She stepped aside and held out the metal bat. “Knock yourself out.”
It didn’t happen overnight–in fact it took nearly seven months of awkwardly offered and suspiciously accepted lessons–but Damian gradually found himself visiting the manor more, crossing paths with Batman on patrol, all to see Stephanie. Blame it on his upbringing but he didn’t realize why until Stephanie said it while hanging upside down from a flagpole.
“Y’know Dami, you’re like my big brother which is really cool because I’ve always wanted siblings.”
He hadn’t know what to say besides, “I’m glad.” Because the truth was he’d longed for siblings too. Someone to make the manor less empty and understand this strange world. Now he had one. Someone who’d snuck into his life and heart despite the pain their mere existence used to bring. He’d treasured that title, big brother , as a marker of how far he’d come. How cared for he was.
Wayne Manor wasn’t so lonely anymore.
Until the gang wars.
Until he became an only child once more.
Now, three years later Stephanie's existence once again brought him pain. He’d hoped she was at peace in death. Her emergence as Red Hood showed how wrong he was.
“You were following those footsteps too,” Damian challenged.
“That’s what got me killed! Trying desperately to live up to inhuman expectations! Truth is, it’ll kill Tim sooner or later.” In one slick move, Stephanie drew her second gun and aimed it at Tim. “I’m willing to make sure it’s quick and painless. Spare my replacement the hell I went through.”
Tim jerked back even as Damian stepped in front of him. It’d been almost impossible to look Tim in the eye when he’d put on the Robin uniform. He’d done it out of honor and duty, Batman was a hero and Stephanie his girlfriend, but Damian hated him for it. Hated that he was barely older than Stephanie when she took the mantle. Hated how much Tim cared.
Hated that despite himself…Damian came to care for this new Robin too. It would never be like his bond with Stephanie but Tim was his partner. Taking a bullet for him wasn’t even a question.
“Steph, what happened to you was wrong but this won’t make it right!” said Tim, “I know you. The Stephanie I loved wouldn’t do this.”
Her chin jerked up, nostrils flaring. Damian could hear Tim readying his collapsible bo staff behind him despite his heartfelt plea. When Stephanie spoke, it was more subdued. “Walk away, Tim. Or else I kill two people tonight.”
“He’s right.” Damian blurted out, risking a small step forward. If it came to blows, Tim would need space to deploy his staff and react. Emotional attacks seemed to be disarming enough for now, he might as well continue what Tim started. “You and I mastered our anger as Robins. You can do that again. Tonight doesn’t have to end with death.”
Her eyes flashed, no domino lenses hiding them. He’d misspoke. “You think you’re sooo good now, don’t you? The perfect little prince, high and mighty,” Stephanie cooed, quickly warping into a snarl, “all because you don’t slaughter people like livestock anymore!” The words tore the breath straight from his lungs. All his vulnerability was being flung in his face.
“News flash!” Stephanie threw her arms wide, fingers still hovering beside the triggers, “We’re not the same! The criminals I’ve killed will never amount to the innocent blood on your hands and in your veins. Do you think your father will ever forget what you are?”
Damian couldn’t catch a full breath. Couldn’t hear what Tim was saying in his defense. He couldn’t even think beyond… she’s right.
“Batman is the only reason we never killed and that made him weak. He failed me because he was weak!” She screamed, “He let me die and never mentioned me again, none of you mentioned me again!”
“I mourned you,” Damian’s voice cracked, “I mourned you, Steph.”
“Yet, for the past two years I never saw a single flower or tear on my grave,” She blinked rapidly, “I expected that from Bruce. And Tim, we were dumb high schoolers, I wouldn’t have blamed you for moving on. But Dami…you were my best friend,” She swallowed hard, voice turning small, “My big brother.”
The words almost drove him to his knees. Damian wanted to beg and plead for forgiveness, as if it would untangle this entire mess. Because he’d been devastated. Drowning in unexpected grief with no one to help pull him out. Bruce had gone silent. His grief and guilt was neatly packed away. After two weeks the excessive silence and punishingly long patrols were regulated and the status quo reinstated. Meanwhile, Damian was struggling to even look at the Robin uniform.
So he did what he’d done his entire life. Emulated his father. Shoved all that pain down, down, down until it was smothered. Until he couldn’t even feel the numbness.
‘It was about survival.’ He wants to cry, ‘no one told me having a little sister might carve my heart from my chest.’
Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” She said and for the briefest moment his heart lifted as she met his eyes, “you can go back to forgetting about me after I kill this sack of shit and get the revenge no one thought to take on my behalf.”
“Steph–” Damian warned.
Tim lurched forward. “Don’t!” He extended his staff but it was too late.
The gun fired with a bang.
The batarang left Damian’s fingertips.
Crimson exploded from Sionis’s left shoulder and Stephanie’s neck. Pain flared a second after, a long burning strip. She clapped her left hand over it, warm blood rolling onto her fingers.
He…Damian, he…
He was still standing there, one arm extended, fingers gripping the ghost of a batarang. But Tim was racing towards Sionis, who was starting to stir. Should’ve hit the bastard harder.
“Leave him!” She aimed the gun at Tim, each word igniting fresh pain in her neck. Tim froze, white lenses staring, before finishing his sprint to Black Mask, grabbing bandages from his belt.
He used to love me.
Her finger curled around the trigger. A hand seized her wrist, shoving it up as she fired. Rusted metal screeched overhead.
Damian was right in front of her now, mouth set into a frown. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
She couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “But you’ll let Sionis live after he tortured me to death? You know this is right! He should die! You should’ve slit his throat before my body was cold.”
White lenses slid up. Green eyes that used to look at her with such fondness now glared back. “Slitting his throat would have been a mercy compared to what I wanted to do. But I couldn’t. I can’t. Maybe it’s in my veins and I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning but I cannot go back.” There was a plea in Damian’s tone, as if begging for mercy, “that’s not who I want to be. Or who I need to be.”
She knew that. He’d told her as much back when their rooftop meetups weren’t brawls. It was selfish and cruel of her to bring it up now. But, God forgive her, that was all she wanted from him. Cruelty visited on those who hurt her. A lethal shadow like the stories he’d told with a shameful look. She didn’t want him to be better for Bruce or Tim, not even for her.
“I know.” Blinking didn’t stop the tears from gathering this time.
At last, Damian’s eyes softened. His hands shifted down her wrist he was still holding, fingers curling around hers. “I’ve never stopped loving you. Or telling people I have a kickass little sister.”
A small laugh escaped. She always demanded he introduce her that way, delighting in his exasperated eye rolls. Back when it was them against Gotham, Bruce’s annoying moods, the world itself. She’d let Black Mask live if it meant she could get all of that back. If everything could go back to the way it had been then Stephanie would never kill again. Hell, she’d even hang up the cape. Seconds stretched into years as she let herself briefly consider giving in. Trying to find her place in the cave again.
Damian’s hand went from cradling hers to sliding between her fingers and the gun.
Subtly attempting to disarm her.
Her heart sank. Right. Because the world won. It broke them apart, broke her apart, and nothing can ever be the same.
She can never go back.
With a sharp sniff, Stephanie smiled at Damian. A real one too, her final gift. “I wish…we’d never met.”
His eyes widened, lips parting soundlessly. Whatever might have been said was lost forever when the smoke pellet in her boot heel exploded.
Stephanie ran. As silently as she could while tossing two more pellets to flood the warehouse. Tim shouted for her, each plea like a thorn catching in her skin. Damian’s silence rang in her ears.
Grappling with one hand was tricky. Letting go of her neck even for a second let loose a fresh stream of blood so one-handed it was. It took twice as long but she made it to her hideout without being followed. Which was almost disappointing.
The window rattled as she slid it open, the same way the first aid kit shook in her hand as she hauled it out of the empty kitchenette cupboard. Mechanically, Stephanie began mopping up the blood covering her neck. The cut was deep but not enough for her to bleed out. Fucking perfectionist Damian. But the thought made Steph choke on a sob so she went back to task mode, not letting her thoughts stray past bandaging her neck. Stitches would likely be needed but butterfly bandages would have to do. A sloppy bandage would always be better than a needle in her jugular because of unsteady fingers.
She was light headed by the end and weakly shoved the supplies back into the box. Bed. Now. Cleaning tomorrow. But when she stood, the room began spinning. It was too much. Too much in only a few hours. Stephanie didn’t bother trying to stumble or even crawl to her mattress. Instead she crumpled to the crappy linoleum floor, Damian’s broken-hearted shock burned into her eyes, and sobbed.