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A thick fog enveloped Gotham, clinging to the buildings like a sheet draped over an antique couch. Most chose to stay inside on nights like these, too afraid of what lurked in the dark, but not Dick. He swung through the air, using the fog as cover. However, he wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the weather. Damian followed him like a shadow, matching him swing for swing as they grappled toward the docks.
They’d received the call an hour earlier: reports of strange noises, odd lights, and an unusual smell. All signs indicated something wasn’t right—the calm before the storm. But what exactly it was remained unknown. Gotham had a way of messing with one’s mind, lowering one’s defences only to strike from behind.
Sensing Dick’s growing apprehension, Damian refused to let him investigate on his own and tagged along as backup. Together, they swung down to the docks, gliding over the rotting wooden planks as silently as ghosts. No words were necessary. They had been able to read each other for years with just a glance.
As they neared the water’s edge, Dick sensed danger ahead. His skin prickled, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The docks were rundown with abandoned warehouses, making it a notorious hotspot for criminal activity. He signalled for Damian to stop, planning for them to enter from above while staying hidden in the shadows.
Dick had a hunch about what they were going to find, as several troubling events had taken place leading up to this.
The first was a massive breakout from Gotham Asylum, during which three criminals escaped into the night. Hugo Strange, Edward Nygma, and Dr. Jonathan Crane managed to evade capture, allowing them to plot Gotham’s downfall for another day.
The second involved a batch of chemicals from Gotham’s Laboratory that were intercepted during delivery. Large quantities of dopamine, yohimbine, carbogen, and corticotropin were stolen. While safe on their own, they become lethal when mixed.
And the third was the growing number of disappearances: a teacher from Gotham Academy snatched from the school parking lot, a banker abducted during his morning jog, and a football coach shoved into a van outside a pizzeria. They were all taken brazenly in broad daylight, yet there were no witnesses, and none of them had been seen since.
All the pieces pointed to Scarecrow and one of his ill-got “experiments”. Dick only hoped they weren’t too late. Prolonged exposure to fear toxin could lead to permanent insanity, and concentrated doses often resulted in death.
They searched the warehouses one by one, slipping through the cracks in the foundation and sneaking along the roof beams. Each building was more dilapidated than the last, having long been forgotten to be reclaimed by nature itself. The fog obscured any light they might’ve received from the moon as it rolled over the shore in thick waves, almost as if Gotham herself were hiding it from them.
Up ahead, a flicker of light shone from one of the larger warehouses, the only sign of life thus far. The salty sea air had stripped its once-red paint, peeling it in layers.
This was it. Dick could feel it.
He scaled the side of the building, Damian right behind him, as they searched for a way in. One of the windows, shattered decades ago, was hastily boarded up with a sheet of cardboard. Dick shifted it aside, allowing both himself and Damian to crawl through.
It was dark inside, apart from a soft glow on the lower level. Dick raised his hand, halting Damian.
“Rebreathers on,” he whispered. “As a precaution.”
Many years ago, Damian would’ve argued and refused to wear one unless it was necessary, but that was then, not now. He secured his rebreather to his face, trusting Dick’s instincts for trouble.
They dropped to the lowest level, muffling any sound by landing in a slight crouch. A thin layer of dust was kicked up, but it wasn’t the only thing in the warehouse that had been disturbed. Several footsteps marked the floor, leading from the front door to another at the back.
Someone, many someones, had been there recently, using the warehouse as a sort of base. Dick examined the footprints, noting the various shapes and sizes—some larger than others and some clearly showing signs of a struggle. Meanwhile, Damian investigated the front entrance and pointed out the newly installed chain and lock, which contrasted sharply with the weathered walls. It hadn’t been there for very long.
All that remained to investigate was the other door. Dick approached slowly, listening for voices. It was utterly silent; only a faint rattling from the breeze could be heard as the wind picked up. As he moved closer, he noticed the soft glow from earlier shining through a gap beneath the door, lighting the only way forward.
He drew his weapon, prompting Damian to follow suit. They were ready to spring into action for whatever awaited them on the other side.
Dick swung the door open, surprised to find it unlocked. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him.
Dozens of people were held captive behind glass cages, each lit by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. Dick recognised a few of them: the missing teacher, banker, and football coach were all there, looking dishevelled but unharmed. However, many more were present whom he didn’t recognise—those who hadn’t been reported as missing or perhaps lived alone.
“Who are these people?” asked Damian, feigning nonchalance at the sight. Yet his eyes betrayed him, darting back and forth as he tried to piece it together.
“The recent Gotham disappearances,” answered Dick. “Almost all of them.”
Once they spotted Dick and Damian, the captives started banging on the glass walls, crying out for help. However, the glass was too thick; it muffled any sound they tried to make.
Dick approached one of the cages and searched for an opening, but it was sealed shut. He ran his finger along the seam, noticing it was airtight, with oxygen being fed from a vent at the top. They’d have to smash the glass if they were going to set them free.
“Robin,” said Dick, causing Damian to whip his head up at his name. “Did you bring a glass breaker?” he asked.
“Of course, what do you take me for?” scoffed Damian.
By now, it had been drilled into his head to always be prepared by packing as many seemingly unlikely tools as possible.
“Good. I’ll start from one end; you start from the other. We need to free these people before anyone notices.”
Dick walked over to the cage on the far left. A middle-aged man leaned against the glass, pleading to be let out. His hair hung in greasy strands, and his skin appeared sunken and shallow, signs of prolonged captivity.
“Stand back,” instructed Dick.
He pulled a glass breaker from his utility belt and waited until the man shielded himself in the corner before swinging at the glass. It cracked with the first hit and shattered on the second, creating an opening wide enough for him to escape.
But the man didn’t make a move to leave.
“You can come out now,” coaxed Dick. “We’ll protect you.”
The man began to hyperventilate, his breaths quick and uneven. He clung to the back wall, hunched over and trembling violently. Meanwhile, Damian had freed four other captives, but none had come out of their cages.
Something was terribly wrong.
Dick stepped back and reassessed the situation, trying to figure out what they had missed. Amidst the sound of shattered glass, he could hear a faint whistle coming from the air ducts. Maybe it wasn’t just oxygen they were pumping into the cages.
“Robin, stop!” ordered Dick, but it was too late.
Those who’d been freed had already been exposed to what he assumed was fear toxin. It took hold of their systems, driving them to hallucinate their worst fears.
The man clutched his head and let out a shriek before charging forward, nearly crashing straight into Dick. He leapt to the side, dodging what would’ve been a full-on tackle. But the man didn’t stop. Whatever he saw, whatever horrors Scarecrow had concocted, had him fighting invisible demons that were directed at Dick.
At the same time, the other freed captives (now totalling ten) burst from their cages, intent on taking down both him and Damian. Dick threw himself into the fray, skillfully redirecting any attacks aimed at them. However, he refrained from hitting them. These people were innocent; he didn’t want to hurt them.
“What the—?” exclaimed Damian as the woman he’d just freed swung a fist at him. He shielded his face, deflecting the blow.
“It’s the ducts,” explained Dick. He dodged another punch and shoved the man away. But he didn’t seem to feel pain, not while in a heightened state of fear. “They’re pumping fear toxin into the air. How many vials of antidote are you carrying?” he asked.
Damian leapt over the woman, using his momentum to push her to the ground. “Two. Enough for ten adults.”
“I’ve got three. Focus on subduing them first, then administering the antidote.”
The fear toxin blinded the captives to their surroundings. It elevated their adrenaline levels and lowered their inhibitions, leading to reckless behaviour. They threw punches with all their might and kicked without restraint, straining muscles and tearing ligaments, pushing themselves beyond human limits. The toll on their hearts was immense, placing them at risk of cardiac arrest.
Dick managed to grab the middle-aged man and tie his arms behind his back, restraining him. However, before he could administer the antidote, two more captives hurled themselves at him, forcing him to let go.
“This isn’t working,” Dick called out to Damian. “We need to separate them.”
When Damian didn’t respond, Dick used one of the larger men as a springboard to flip over the others. He twisted in mid-air, landing on the other side of the cells.
Damian had his hands full. He dodged three captives while trying to tackle a fourth. It was nearly impossible to keep track of whose arm belonged to whom as they threw punches wildly, not caring where they landed. One of the men’s fists hit the ground with a crack, breaking his hand. Yet, it didn’t faze him; he just kept swinging.
Damian eventually tripped a woman to the ground and straddled her back, driving his knee into her spine to keep her in place.
“Just stay down,” Damian grumbled as he opened the first vial. “We’re trying to help you.” While preparing the needle, he couldn’t react quickly enough to the men barreling towards him.
Dick intercepted their blows, delivering roundhouse kicks that sent them crashing to the ground. They fell in a tangled mess of limbs and fury, frothing at the mouth to continue the fight. Whatever Crane had done to his latest formula had amplified their aggression tenfold.
With the immediate threat sorted, he shifted his attention back to Damian, who was struggling to keep the woman still. Dick knelt down and steadied her while Damian administered the antidote. The woman stopped squirming, but her face remained twisted in horror. Their antidote wasn’t enough to cure her.
“Are you okay?” asked Dick.
“I should be asking you that,” said Damian, quirking a brow. “Your rebreather’s cracked.”
Dick raised a hand to his face, feeling for damage. Damian was right. A thin, wiry crack had formed on his rebreather, indicating that he must’ve taken a hit at some point during the scuffle.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t seem compromised.”
Damian scowled at him, clearly disapproving.
Dick sighed. He grabbed his spare rebreather, held his breath, and switched it over. “Happy?” he asked.
“Better,” Damian nodded.
Enough time had passed for the men to untangle themselves from the floor and make a beeline towards them, completely lost in their fear-induced visions. Dick knocked them down one by one, enabling Damian to tie their arms and legs together with zip ties, temporarily subduing them.
Eventually, they injected each captive with the antidote, lessening the fear toxin’s grip on their minds but not fully eliminating it from their systems. They’d need to synthesise a new antidote back at the Batcave for something longer-lasting.
“I’ll contact Oracle,” said Dick as he surveyed the captives, ensuring they weren’t too badly injured. “You make sure everyone here is secured. I don’t want anyone getting loose and hurting themselves.”
As Dick turned to head upstairs, Damian grabbed his arm. “They’ll make a full recovery, right?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “This isn’t… permanent?”
Dick wasn’t sure. Most victims were usually fine if they received appropriate medical treatment, but that wasn’t always the case. Crane regularly changed his formula, increasing doses or tweaking effects.
He peered down at the middle-aged man he’d first freed. If he had been constantly exposed to fear toxin during his capture, there might not be anything else they could do for him. His mind might be too shattered.
“We’ve done all we can,” said Dick.
He didn’t want to lie to Damian and give him false hope. There were some things in Gotham that even Batman couldn’t save.
Damian seemed to accept his answer, yet his brows remained tightly furrowed, worried despite himself. Dick gently squeezed his shoulder, offering silent comfort. He sometimes forgot just how young Damian was and how much these things could still affect him.
He turned to leave, giving Damian space. “Nightwing to Oracle, do you copy?” asked Dick, pressing a finger to his comm piece.
“Oracle receiving,” a mechanical voice answered, speaking directly into his ear. He could hear Barbara's slightly higher cadence through the crackle.
“Could you send paramedics to my coordinates? I’ve got twenty injured, all subjected to fear toxin.”
“Roger that. Paramedics have been dispatched. Do you need backup?”
“Negative. There’s no sign of Scare—” Dick cut himself off as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Someone was watching him. Someone dangerous. “Sorry, Oracle. Gotta go. I’ll call you afterwards.”
“Wait, just a second, Nightwing. You can’t just—”
Dick muted his comm piece, cutting off Barbara. There’d be hell to pay when he returned to the cave, but he needed to keep his wits about him in case another threat had entered the building.
Damian chose that moment to ascend the stairs, quietly approaching a motionless Nightwing—a rare sight indeed. He followed Dick’s gaze, trying to see what he saw.
“There’s no need to hide, Crane,” called Dick into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. “We both know you enjoy hearing your voice too much for that.”
Silence.
Then, a raspy voice, accustomed to speaking only to himself, replied from the top railing.
“I suppose I shouldn’t keep you waiting, Nightwing, especially since you got to witness the results of my experiment firsthand.”
“You mean those people you abducted and forced into cages?” rebutted Dick. He slowly pulled out his escrima sticks, signalling for Damian to do the same.
“Delightful, isn’t it?” said Crane. “My latest formula isolates the perfect fear response, inducing agitation, aggression, all directed towards whomever I want.”
Crane stepped forward into the light, revealing himself. He was dressed in his scarecrow garb, mask and all. Behind him stood a larger man. He towered over Crane, standing at an imposing height.
“Who’s that Crane? Another one of your so-called patients?” snarked Dick.
“Hmmm, you could call him that, but I prefer to see him as my greatest success.”
The man jumped off the railing and landed in the centre of the warehouse. The concrete floor shattered beneath him, breaking into thousands of tiny fragments. He glared at Dick, baring his teeth like a rabid animal. His veins stood stark against his neck as beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Fear. Primitive fear. Channelled into aggression, just like Crane said. He could wield it, making people do his bidding, turning them into his personal bodyguards.
Damian edged slightly closer, ready to spring into action at Dick’s command. There was no way out of this without a fight. Dick tightened his grip on his escrima sticks.
“The bats, Helzinger. Get the bats,” ordered Crane.
The man—Helzinger—swung his fist in an arc, aiming to crush Dick bare-handed. Anticipating such an attack, Dick leapt backwards, landing next to Damian in a defensive stance. Helzinger’s fist smashed into the wall, showering them with plaster as he took out a chunk. He was stronger than an ordinary man; he was a metahuman, enhanced with powers beyond human capabilities.
“Where’d you find this guy, Crane? He seems more suited to Metropolis,” quipped Dick.
“Ah, you’re speaking about the meta-gene, no?” asked Crane. He watched from the top railing, gleefully surveying his handiwork. “It took a little tweaking, but I got my formula to work. After all, that’s what guinea pigs are for.”
The missing people... the glass cages… they were just test subjects for his actual project, for Helzinger.
“And let me guess, Helzinger wasn’t exactly cooperative in this experiment. Why else would you need to dose him forcefully?”
There were marks around Helzinger’s wrists and ankles, sores from being chained for too long. It was obvious to Dick that he was as much a victim as any of the captives below them.
“Enough of this,” growled Crane, his patience wearing thin. “Helzinger, attack them!!”
Helzinger charged towards them, shaking the ground beneath him. Dick and Damian darted to the side at the last moment, letting him crash face-first into the wall, but the impact did little to slow him down.
Their best chance of subduing him was to give him the antidote, but Dick only had one vial left. So, they had to make it count.
“Robin, evasive maneuvers,” instructed Dick.
Damian darted to the right while Dick backflipped to the left, trapping Helzinger in the middle. They kept him at arm’s length, only striking when he was distracted by the other. Damian hurled a Birdarang, hitting Helzinger in the back of the head. It deflected off his skull and lodged itself in the concrete floor.
With this distraction, Dick adjusted his escrima sticks to the lowest setting and sent a jolt of electricity through his back. Helzinger didn’t respond; he didn’t even seem to notice. Dick cranked up the voltage—high enough to knock out a grown man. Still, nothing. Helzinger must have some sort of durability to match his superstrength.
Dick quickly prepped a needle and then took a running leap. He slid beneath Helzinger’s legs, using his momentum to swing up and land on his back. Helzinger reached behind him, trying to swat at Dick, but he couldn’t connect. Dick jabbed the needle into the side of his neck and injected the antidote.
Helzinger screeched, spittle flying everywhere. His rage hadn’t diminished; not one bit. They needed a larger dosage.
“Nightwing, watch out!” yelled Damian.
Helzinger threw himself backwards, determined to crush Dick against the wall like a bug. Dick let go and dropped to the ground. He landed in a crouch right at Helzinger’s feet.
“Oi, ugly!” yelled Damian, drawing Helzinger’s attention away from Dick. “Over here!”
Helzinger stomped towards Robin, fury etched across his face. He swiped at Damian, who flipped over his arm in a move that Dick once taught him. However, Helzinger didn’t stop there; he zeroed in on Damian, now perceiving him as the greater threat.
Damian twisted and ducked, weaved and darted, using every skill he had to evade the blows, but he was slowly being pushed into the corner of the warehouse. Then his back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to run.
“Robin!” shouted Dick. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat trickling down his lower back. Damian was his responsibility, his Robin. He wouldn’t let him get hurt, not again.
Dick upped the voltage on his escrima sticks, beyond what was safe for humans, and shoved them into the crook of Helzinger’s knee. Helzinger shrieked. The electricity coursed through his body, burning a blackened hole where he had struck. But it wasn’t enough.
Helzinger swung wildly at Dick, his large fists slicing through the air. They narrowly missed him, but one connected with Damian, sending him crashing backwards. His body slammed against the wall before crumpling to the floor.
“Robin, no!!” shouted Dick.
He sprinted to the far side of the warehouse, where Damian lay unmoving. A pool of blood spread beneath him, staining the concrete floor a deep crimson.
“No, no, no,” Dick uttered, desperation sinking in. This couldn’t be happening.
He rolled Damian onto his back, holding him tightly in his arms. Glass crunched under his knees as he supported his head. Damian wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving.
“Talk to me, Robin. Tell me what’s hurt.”
Damian’s face stayed blank; his eyes unseeing behind his mask.
Dick’s hands trembled. Blood was splattered everywhere. On his gloves, on his costume, a stain against his heart.
“No…”
How dare he! How DARE he!
Dick stood up slowly, glaring at Helzinger. He clutched his escrima sticks tightly, his hands smeared with blood.
He threw one, smacking Helzinger in the face, then followed up with a kick to the ankle. His boot connected with bone, aiming to shatter it. To rip and tear and hurt as much as he felt.
Helzinger stumbled but didn’t fall. Dick pressed on with his onslaught, fighting dirty, not caring if his strikes caused lasting damage. He jammed his escrima sticks into Helzinger’s ribs, sending a massive surge of electricity coursing through his body. Helzinger screamed, his voice piercing through the air.
“That’s right, Nightwing,” Crane spoke from above. “Fight only when everything is lost, not when it truly matters.”
Dick slammed his escrima stick into the side of Helzinger’s face, disorientating him.
“Was Robin not important enough to you? Was he not worth the trouble?” taunted Crane.
“Shut up!” yelled Dick.
He tackled Helzinger, finally knocking him off balance. Helzinger fell backwards, crashing onto the floor with a loud thud. Clouds of dust swirled up, floating about the room.
Dick held an escrima stick under Helzinger’s chin. He had to... He had... to...
“I’m sure Batman will be understanding, knowing that you let another brother die.”
No, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t.
He didn’t—
A thought pushed its way through his clouded mind. What did Crane say? Another brother? But Crane didn’t know his identity. He didn’t know that the Robins were brothers.
Dick’s heart raced. Something wasn’t right. He couldn't… The blood. Where had the blood gone?
His gloves were clean, and so was his costume. Dick turned towards Damian. He was exactly where he’d left him, slumped against the wall on the far side of the warehouse.
“What are you doing?” yelled Crane. “Finish him.”
Helzinger was down. He wasn’t moving, but his chest rose and fell with laboured breaths. Dick left him on the floor and approached Damian, crouching low. This time, there was no crunch of glass beneath his knees. No grievous injury marred his body.
They were only visions. Hallucinations.
Oh.
He checked Damian’s pulse; it was steady. He had simply been knocked unconscious.
Dick let out a shaky breath. He must’ve been exposed to the fear toxin after all, likely when his rebreather cracked. If he hadn’t realised, if he hadn’t stopped himself…
It was fear. Fear of losing Damian, fear of being too late. The blood, the glass; they were from his memory of Damian’s death, when Heretic stabbed his brother through the heart.
“Nice try, Crane,” said Dick. He fired his grappling gun and landed on the rafters, once again concealed in the shadows where he belonged. “When did you figure out that I’d been exposed to your fear toxin?”
Crane didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He knew the game was up.
“No need to be quiet now,” quipped Dick.
He landed behind him and kicked Crane squarely in the back, sending him hurtling off the railing. Crane flailed his arms as he fell, but he was too far away to grab onto anything.
Dick grappled down, catching Crane at the last possible second. He threw him to the ground, more forcefully than usual, and secured his wrists and ankles with zip ties. There’d be no escaping, not after what he’d done.
Damian stirred and slowly sat up. His head must’ve felt tender, but he pushed through it, not wanting to seem weak. “What’d I miss?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you afterwards,” Dick deflected. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Could you check on Helzinger?”
Damian pursed his lips, irritated that Dick wasn’t forthcoming, but he didn’t argue. Something about Dick’s expression left no room for debate.
Dick held a finger to his earpiece, contacting Barbara. “Nightwing to Oracle, do you—?”
“I’m here,” interrupted Barbara, still upset that he’d cut her off. “You know that’s not the proper protocol, Nightwing. What if something had happened? What if you needed my help?”
“I, uh, shouldn’t have done that. Listen, I’ll make it up to you later, but for now, I need your assistance…”
Dick explained the situation to her, ignoring the blatant “I told you so” once he’d finished.
“Right, Batman’s headed your way. Both you and Robin will be checked in the medbay. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Barbara was like this, there was no avoiding it.
Bruce arrived five minutes ahead of the paramedics. He forced Dick and Damian into the back seat of the Batmobile and activated the auto-drive feature. Knowing Bruce, he’d stick around to collect multiple samples of the fear toxin and ensure Crane couldn’t get away. After all, his cell at Gotham Asylum was getting cold without him.
Dick sat quietly next to Damian as the car drove them back to the cave. Every time he glanced over, memories of the night he was killed flashed through his mind—the blood dripping from his chest, the sword piercing through his heart. They never got a chance to talk about it. Dick hadn’t been there when he was brought back to life.
“It’s the fear toxin, isn’t it?” asked Damian. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared.”
“I…” There was no use lying; Damian would see right through him. Dick fished out his broken rebreather and tossed it onto the seat between them. The crack was clearly visible in the light. “I should’ve noticed sooner. I’m sorry I put us in danger.”
Damian picked up the rebreather and examined it closely. He rotated it side to side in his hands and then ran a finger along the crack. “It’s nearly impossible to tell that it’s been damaged when worn.” His grip tightened, knuckles turning white. “This wouldn’t have happened if I had stayed by your side, like a Robin ought to do.”
“What’re you talking about?” asked Dick. “None of this is your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I didn’t have your back. I wasn’t there when you—"
Dick interrupted him. “It’s not your job to protect me, Dami. I’m an adult; I can look after myself.”
“But I—"
“No. It’s me who should be apologising. I was the one who failed you.” Dick took a deep breath. The fear still coursed through his veins, infecting every part of his body and dredging up long-buried memories he'd prefer to forget.
If he closed his eyes, he knew what he’d see: broken bodies and screams, bullets and shattered bones, unanswered phone calls and raging infernos.
And Damian, barely eleven years old, struck down by a clone sent to destroy him. While Dick lay incapacitated on the sidelines, glass digging into his back, unaware that his brother, his Robin, needed his help.
It was the weight of every loved one who’d died, who’d suffered, because he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t quick enough. All his failings; all his guilt.
“I’m scared of losing you,” admitted Dick. Damian didn’t say a word; he couldn’t. “The fear toxin brought those memories back, of when you had died, and how I never got to…” Dick blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “…to tell you how sorry I was that I hadn’t protected you that day.”
“Well, you shouldn't. Be sorry, that is.” Damian looked down, intently studying his hands. His cheeks burned a soft pink, embarrassed by what he was about to say. “When I was resurrected, surrounded by all those “Robins”, I was disappointed you weren’t one of them, but when I found out you’d… died. All I could think about was the fact I’d left you alone, with no one to watch your back.”
“Oh, Dami. I would’ve been there if I’d known.”
“I know. It’s just…” Damian hesitated, searching for the right word. “We’re better when we’re together. When we can look out for each other.”
The unspoken, “when we were Batman and Robin,” didn’t need to be said. It hung between them, a hurt that never faded.
“Damian, I—”
“Stop.” Then, in a quieter voice, nearly a whisper, Damian said, “I don’t want to lose you either.” He leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Dick in a side hug.
Dick quickly returned the gesture, sinking into his embrace. It was rare for Damian to hug him, and even rarer for him to be the one to initiate it.
“Never mention this to anyone. I mean it,” said Damian, his voice muffled against his chest.
Dick held him close, feeling a small piece of his guilt slip away.
“I promise.”