Archive of Our Own ^beta

Damian's not stupid or naive enough to believe that anyone could truly love him.

He's a murderer. An assassin. a demon.

He's not a child. He's not something someone can love. He's a heartless, stone-cold killer.

So why does it hurt so badly every time he's reminded of that?

Damian's eyes go wide as his father- the man who he's imagined a thousand times over-- looks at him.

His fathers footsteps on the hardwood floor of the manor stop, if only for a brief moment in front of Damian.

The youngest Wayne had been preparing himself to be sent on his first mission, or to be requested something of by his father.

His father's eyes stray on him for a few seconds more. Damian instinctively perks up, chin raising slightly higher, his back straight as he waited for the inevitable sound of his father's voice.

But, as quickly as those cold blue eyes landed on him, they moved to something else.

Like he was another shadow in the hall.

For a moment, he doesn't understand. He doesn't process it.

The distinct smell of expensive cologne slowly passing him.

It's fleeting-- retreating away from Damian who might've actually considered chasing it. 

He's doesn't understand why he would walk away.

He's Damian Wayne-Ah Ghul.

He is his son.

His blood son. 

Blood is the most important thing to ah ghuls.

His breath hitches, shoulders slumping- only for a moment as his father turns away. Not even acknowledging the newly arrived, 10 year old boy who yearns for his affection, his attention-- his acceptance.

and just like that.

There was no malice in his fathers silence.

Just absence.

Not a word spoken to the boy standing like a soldier. No warmth. No greeting. Not a word.

He had expected orders. A mission. Even a reprimand would've been something. Cruelty would've been acceptable, because he was used to it.

Despite all the years of brutal training, of discipline that would've killed others but merely burned his bones and scarred his soul-- nothing prepared him for this.

It burns more than any blade, and stabs harder than any weapon Damian has faced.

To be rejected without cruelty, without violence, without reason.

It feels as if someone had taken a piece of his heart with it as the realiz ation leaves his body. lodging it somewhere within his fathers retreating form--

and it feels like all Damian can do is watch uselessly, stuck inside his own body, rooted to the ground by his own feelings.

"Father must be busy," He told himself. Hands curled at his side, fingernails digging into his palm.

A tight ache in his chest.

This was the first, and only time it would happen. Damian's sure of it. Father would come to realize how valuable of an asset- of a son Damian is.

Yet as it happened over, and over, and over again.

He told himself, 

"Father must be busy," Every time.

It never did seem to stick to Damian that maybe he wasn't wanted. Not then, and surely not now.

In his 14 years of living, he's convinced himself that nobody loves him. The only person that he feels might actually love him just a bit is Richard, but he's hesitant to even say that.

Richard is practically obligated to be with Damian - not out of love, but because no one else will tolerate him. Not Todd. Not Drake. Not Cain. Not even Father. None of them would stand to be near him if Richard wasn’t there to babysit.

He hates the feeling of only being included because he's his fathers son. Not because they want too, but because they feel they need too. 

“Come on, Timmy. The brat’s B’s kid. You can’t just do that to him.”

“You have to bring him, or Bruce will get on us.”

“Why can’t you guys take Dami? Bruce wants you too.”

Each time, the words pierced like a cold reminder: he was only there because of his name - not because anyone wanted him.

It hurt. A cold twist in his chest whenever he heard those words. A reminder etched deep -- that without the Wayne name, no one would care. Without his last name, he would just be nobody. 

Just a broken child, who grew up to be an aggressive, lonely monster.

...

A sudden, cold lick jolted Damian from the depths of his thoughts-- Titus’s rough tongue against his jeans startling enough to make him flinch.

The room is silent, save for the distinct shift of Titus as he moved in a circle on the hardwood floor and the distinct hum of the manor. The atmosphere in the room was oddly light as he looked down, meeting Titus' eyes with a soft glare. 

Titus nudges his leg again, more insistent this time around.

"Titus. Cease this at once," He huffs tone clipped more out of habit that real irritation. It was a hollow one, and somehow, both of them knew that.

His gaze lingered, it finally softens onto the dog. Titus tilts his head, tail thumping a few times on the hardwood. His beady eyes looking up at Damian, holding none of the judgement that was usually sent Damian's way.

No assessment of his character, no pity. Just Titus in all his glory.

He rolls his eyes playfully, sinking slowly to the floor, his bones slightly aching from his stiff position he was in earlier. They relaxed only when he was close enough for Titus to lick at his hand, and He huffed half-heartedly.

"You're far too soft, Titus." Damian softly said, fingers ruffling the fur behind Titus' ear. 

"Mother would've had you replaced by now." Titus' looked unimpressed, huffing through his nose.

Damian looked down, his face unreadable, but his hands remained steady in an absent minded motion-- scratching behind Titus' ears, smoothing over the strong curve of the dogs back. Grounding himself in the motion.

"You know too, don't you?" Damian's voice was as soft as a whisper in the wind. "They don't want me." He said simply. Like it was the cold, hard, truth. No tremor, No tears. Just a breath in, and a softer one out, barley audibly.

Titus shifted, nudging Damian's rib as if he understood. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. But Titus still stayed.

Damian blinked, eyes suddenly burning, though he wouldn't allow them to water. He turned his face, pressing his nose into the side of Titus' neck, his voice was quiet when he used it, nearly inaudible once more.

"You're the only one who loves me, Titus."

... 

The warmth in the room was gone, when Damian came back to it. Not in temperature-- physically, the room was the same as always-- but the familiar sense of controlled order, of his space, felt like it had slipped through his fingers and died. And the mess? It reflected his state of mind a bit too well.

His eyes scanned the room, though slightly puffy, he scanned it. Just out of his need to make sense of the mess. 

He furrowed his brow at the sight. Not angry-- just... annoyed at himself. He’d tried to clean earlier, but his mind kept drifting. Focus had been a nonexistent thing to him recently.

He walked a few feet, picking up a drawing half hidden beneath his desk. It was an unfinished sketch of the family.

His father, then Grayson, Cain, Todd, Drake, Brown, then Thomas.

There wasn't enough room on the page for him. (Even if there was, he didn't belong on there.)

He takes a sharp intake of breath, and coughs.

His room smells of paint, both dried and fresh. It stuck to the air. Pennyworth had both folded and done Damian's laundry, but in a fit of emotion, Damian had ruined it all while by himself and never bothered to pick it up.

He wouldn't usually be this out of order but his mind has been drifting frequently, even as he tried to clean his room before.

Titus nudges his legs, and then a knock on the door snaps Damian out of his momentary trance, startled slightly once more at Titus suddenly being at his side despite Damian vividly remembering him being asleep-- his body tensing and a flicker of slight surprise in his eyes.

His eyes shoot to the door a second later, now processing the knock.

“Dami? We’re waiting on you,” came Richard’s voice.

And there it was again. His voice-- light- warm, and friendly. in a way that shouldn't affect him, but did. Like a tether Damian wasn’t sure he wanted to be, but one that Damian still instinctively clung to despite his own desire not to.

Richard never yelled, never intended to ignore him, never let others berate Damian too hard without stepping in. But Damian could never find out the real reason why he did so.

Pity? Obligation? Because he was the only one Damian listened too? Like a loyal dog?

Damian doesn't know what's worse. thinking Richard was genuine, or still melting either way.

Damian relaxes unwillingly for a moment, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His shoulders lowered, but he didn't want to leave his room. not really.

"Everybody's downstairs. Do you want me to wait for you?" His voice is light-- playful.

Damian responds hesitantly, his voice quiet and almost shy in a way.

"I'll be coming down shortly, no need to wait on me." Damian hopes he's hiding the slight cracks in his voice well enough. But living in a family full of detectives, you never could quite hide anything for long enough.

"Aw. Okay, Dami. don't keep us waiting to long!" Richard chirps.

and a beat passes. 

Retreating footsteps, fading down the hall. He followed the sound until they disappeared entirely.

Titus whined softly and nudged him again startling him from his focus. This time, Titus was attempting to move him towards the closet.

Damian tugged at the hem of his sleeve, grounding himself in the motion. The fabric was soft beneath his fingers. Familiar. Safe. Smelling of Alfred's signature detergent.

His chest ached again. 

He should've gone earlier to avoid that interaction, to avoid inconveniencing Richard.

He moved slowly, gaze scanning the room once more. His chest still felt tight.

He didn’t want to go downstairs.

Not because he didn’t care—but because he did. Because the idea of being tolerated out of obligation rather than wanted out of love felt like walking into a room and watching everyone pretend they were happy to see you.

He glanced at Titus, who looked up at him expectantly, clearly not reading Damian's mind.

“…Fine,” he muttered, not really to Titus, moreso to himself. He turned toward the closet.

The least he could do was get dressed before walking back into a house that didn’t know what to do with him.

The walk through the manor is a slow one. And one that Damian regrets taking in the first place.

He misses the chaotic mess of his room despite only having left it mere seconds ago.

Titus lies in the room, already awaiting the youngest Waynes return.

The faint creak of the hardwood floors beneath Damian's near silent footsteps is near deafening against the echoing of the hollow manor walls, and the distant sound of chatter from the first floor of the manor, no doubt coming from the dining room.

Damian shudders at the thought of going downstairs-- all eyes on him because of his (not-so)fashionably late entrance. Maybe a snarky remark or two. Maybe a scolding-or a lecture. Nothing he won't expect.

And nothing he hasn't rehearsed happening in his mind thousands of times over.

It feels like an eternity when he reaches the staircase, and he feels slightly nauseous at the thoughts of stepping into the dining room and taking a seat at a table he has no right to be at- like a trespasser.

His hand lingers on the railing, hesitant to touch but quick to grasp it like a lifeline. Below, the noise from the dining room has increased, louder laughter and voices bleeding through the air like fog.

"--can't believe you actually came this time-"

"--arrest me or something?"

"--arguing, now--"

And then--

"Where's Damian?'

That snaps him out of his trance, his knuckles white from the amount of force he was using to grip the railing. He falters, releasing his grip and letting his hand fall limply at his side. 

Damian doesn't realize he went stiff until he moves slightly, his muscles loosen just slightly. He exhales slowly, as if it might steady the storm happening within him.

He can do this. It's just dinner. Nobody will speak to him-- nobody.

The first step down the stairs groans louder than he expected, enough it makes him freeze before he tries to take another one.

It's as if the stairs are trying to announce his reluctant presence, and it takes everything in him to not turn back and retreat to his room.

His descent is slow, each step more hesitant than the last, until he finally reaches the end and turns the corner.

Damian doesn't fail to notice how it goes silent, and how all eyes are on him. 

He bites his tongue long enough to taste blood.

"Hey brat. You're late." Todd mutters, barley glancing up before his eyes return to his plate.

Damian doesn't breathe too loudly, instead silently making his way to his seat before anyone could say another word to him.

Forks scrape against their plates --- a grating sound in Damian's ears. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Drake frown.

He slips into his seat and says nothing, A shadow-- already fading into the background.

The conversation continues around him after a beat, and he relaxes. 

His eyes drift around the table, seeing the natural camaraderie they have with one another. The natural Rhythm they all follow that he will never be able to tune into.  Easy, fluid-- not meant for him.

Richard is doubled over, laughing at something Brown had commented and Todd throws in a witty comment.

It's natural.

It's order.

It's family.

Drake is cleaning up water that Thomas had spilt on him on accident (or purpose).

They're a family.

And Damian is just... there.

A biological accident occupying a seat.

As he continues to look around, his eyes meet Cains. They widen for a second and shoot down, alarmed.

Damians hands are in his lap, not single thing in front of him out of place or touched.

"Baby bat, do you want some bread?" Richard's voice comes from nowhere, and it startles Damian more than it should.

His hand brushes against Damian's shoulder and he nearly flinches. Not because it is unwelcome or rough- because its warm- familiar. and Damian has to stop himself from melting into the touch.

Just barley.

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice. Richards brows furrow, concern seeping into his expression, subtle, but noticeable for someone of Damian's caliber. He doesn't press on the matter.

Damian tells himself Richard is recalling something. Anything. to convince himself that emotion isn't for him, because nobody really cares that much.

"You're quiet today," Drake's eyes narrow, his voice cutting through the chatter at the table. 

Damians chest tightens, knowing instinctively that it was aimed towards him.

His eyes stay trained in his lap. Maybe- if he's quiet enough, he'll drop it. and no one will say anything.

"You okay, brat?" Drake continues. Damian would believe it was out of a place of good intent if it were to be Richard. But with Drake speaking, it feels prying. Like an interrogation. A challenge.

His hands tremble slightly in his lap as he weighs his options. Out of every single scenario he thought of- none of them had ever had him struggling to do anything at all.

A chair squeaks loudly, and somebody clears their throat.

"Damian. It's rude to ignore your brother." Father pauses, and Damian only freezes for a second. Yet the next words that comes out of his mouth makes him stop.

"I thought you got over your vendetta." His father finishes, his expression only shifting a bit. but not anything that Damian doesn't recognize.

Yet his tone gave away everything that his expression lacked.

Cold, Clinical. Sharp.

It was probably an instinct to speak that way with Damian. No doubt.

Something inside Damian goes still. His breath catches, his fists curl tighter in his lap. His eyes close, and don't open again.

He can vividly feel his nails digging into his skin, his head feeling as heavy as a boulder.

A hand- Richards lands on his back gently. It's comforting, but it doesn't stop him from curling in on himself.

"Dami?" but Damian can't breathe. Can't respond.

He can't do anything. Just uselessly curse his past self for not taking the opportunity to stay in his room and sulk, to stay in the comfort of his room, away from the presence of people who didn't even like him in the slightest. To stick by the one thing that actually loved him unconditionally.

The silence- excluding the sound of Damian's breathing.

It gets to the point where it's suffocating and uncomfortable. and as the quiet drags on, it gets louder.

He doesn't look up, doesn't move an inch. All he can do is just. Sit there.

"Damian." His father tries again, voice even and as sharp as a blade. "I asked you a question." He's probably glaring at Damian. The same one Damian always receives from him.

That does it.

Like a snap inside his chest.

His vision blurs, and he knows he can't respond because his voice will not work.

Before Damian can speak-- before he could press him any further- a fork drops onto a plate with a clink.

A chair screeches as it is pushed back, and it goes silent once more.

Damian can feel tears freefalling from his eyes despite his best efforts to hold them back.

And a hand lands on his back. It's not Richards this time-- it's smaller. calculated. reassuring.

It's Cain.

Damian's hand twitches once. then twice.

Cain crouches beside him-- no words, no pressure, just presence.

"Overwhelmed." Cain finally speaks. her low, calm, but somehow louder than everything Damian has heard so far. "Leave little brother alone."

There's a beat of stunned silence.

Nobody argues.

Not Father, Not Richard.

and Damian, still trembling slightly, lets himself lean into her touch.

Damian lets himself breathe. Cain's fingers calmly rubbing his back, grounding him. For a brief moment, the suffocating weight on his shoulder lightens, just enough to remind him that... maybe... somebody in this family does.. love him.

His eyes finally flicker to his side, where Cain resides silently. He meets her steady gaze.

"Thank you... Cain." He manages, his voice raw and small.

She offers a faint smile, knowing, but silent.

"Little brother. Come with me?" She offers, eyes gesturing towards the door to the garden.

Damian hesitates, but takes her offering hand and lets his big sister whisk him away from the somber dining room.

The door shuts gently behind the retreating bodies of Cass and Damian.

The dining room is still silent as it was before.

"Bruce." Dick manages, barely managing to keep his fury out of his voice, his fists clenched at his side and hidden beneath the table so nobody could see it.

"Dick." Bruce responds, voice flat. His expression's unreadable- usually, Dick would be able to read it with little to no difficulty, but currently, he's so frustrated that he can't even bare to look at Bruce for more than a few seconds.

He just can't believe- believe that Bruce couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. What he fucked up.

Dick clenches his jaw. He knows Bruce knows, but won't acknowledge what he did wrong. And Dicks not even sure this is the same person- the same person who could read body language to a tee-- but couldn't spot when Damian was on the verge of breaking down?

His body trembles at the force he's using to reel his temper back in, a force that he would love to use to scream and dig into Bruce, but he won't. because he's better than that. Because he's learned to be better than that.

"You can't keep doing that." He starts, speaking slow as if he's talking to an idiot. "You... you can't just talk to Damian as if he's done something wrong." He breathes, reeling in his temper again.

"Like he's a suspect." He stops, his knuckles turning white from the force he's clenching his fists. The cold- unforgiving and clinical tone is one that Dick's heard nearly thousands of times, against criminals, against Dick himself, but to use it against Damian?

Damian. For doing no wrong. For just... being silent. and It infuriates Dick to his very bones. The fact that Bruce can't read his own sons body language- can't read why, why he was curling in on himself, why he was staying silent, why he was fucking shaking.

Bruce doesn't answer until a few beats pass. Dick and feel the eyes of all his siblings looking on back and forth, all quiet as a mouse, clearly noticing the tension. 

and Dick's heart drops when he notices Bruce's posture- finally taking it in. His arms are crossed, eyes not fixed on him, but instead at the plate in front of him.

Dick knows that look. It's a look he always dreads to see. The look that means Bruce is building up a response because he wasn't prepared for the question asked. and the look at just made it all the more worse when he finally spoke.

"I asked him a question. It's not my fault he acted like that," Bruce almost sounded confused,  as to why Dick was berating him. His brows were  furrowed, eyes hard and still not meeting the gaze of anyone. Dick reeled back, shocked by how... clueless Bruce sounded. Like a five year old unsure of why they were being punished after pushing someone off a slide.

It went silent again, save for the sound of Dick's barely restrained, labored breaths.

The one to respond to Bruce wasn't Dick, because Jason cut in, clearly just as mad as Dick, but not hiding it in the slightest.

"God, what the hells up with you?" Jason bit, tense. Even he couldn't believe the old mans refusal to acknowledge what the fuck he'd done wrong. He should know- because everybody else at the goddamn table knew what was up. Bruce's brow twitches at the insult, but he does not bite at the bait.

"You saw the kid shaking. I know you did, yet you still decided to grill him! What the fuck, Bruce?" He snapped again, glaring at Bruce, who in return just shot him a glare.

Bruce didn't move an inch, though.

"I didn't intend to upset him." Bruce said, voice low. Not apologetic just... tired, and defensive.

"Jesus christ," Jason muttered, backing off for now, not trusting himself to say another word.

"Look, you might've not intended to, but you... still did, B," Duke interjected gently, trying a more friendly approach. He didn't want to be too... aggressive, or angry. Yet it fell on deaf ears to Bruce, who did absolutely nothing. Duke slumped back in his seat, a bit embarrassed at himself for trying. 

It's not like it would've worked, if Dick tried it and it didn't, Duke didn't know why he thought it'd work with him.

"None of this is helping." 

The voice cuts through the tension, precise, clear and most certainly, Tims.

Everyone's eyes shoot to him, surprised to having heard him speak up.

Dick inhales deeply, while Jason's leg bounces slowly, up and down, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of his leg.

Tim hasn't moved from his seat, still sitting their just as he was when the whole ordeal started. The only new thing was an added tightness to his jaw.

Bruce's posture shifts, not enough for Dick to notice over his anger, not enough for Jason to notice over his irritation, but enough for Tim to notice.

"You all yelling at Bruce won't fix this, and B," Tim finally looks up, looking slightly irritated and tired, as well as just so done. "I know you care about Damian. We all know you do. You're just... not showing it. not in the right way." 

He exhales slowly through his nose, watching closely as Bruce tightens, and seems to hesitate while looking down.

"You didn't have to talk to him like that. You know how he gets around you, Bruce." Tim sighs, massaging his temple, a bit tense.

He continues, "He wants you to acknowledge him, but when you speak to him like he's an inconvenience for you, it doesn't help at all." Tim grits his teeth slightly, shifting just an inch to get a better look at Bruce's face. In return, he finds it perfectly still, but he can see through it.

"You can't just talk to him with that tone- you know which one i'm talking about, and expect him to not be hurt, Bruce." Bruce's shoulders drop an inch. Dick doesn't catch it, but Tim and Jason catch it.

"Hell, even I felt like crying the first time you used that on me." His voice was bitter, but quieter now. He massaged his temple, trying to find the words that would make Bruce understand.

The words hang in the air for a moment, stunning everyone who heard it.

"Look, Bruce. I understand me and Damian having a rough start to our relationship, but he's gotten over it. I've gotten over it." He pauses, lets it sink in.

"Everyone knows he's gotten over that. You know he's gotten over that just as well as we all do." He continues, not bothering to mask the honest disbelief oozing from his voice.

"So why bring it up now? It's cruel, and honestly? It's immature, especially for you." He finished, waiting for an answer he knew wasn't coming.

Bruce's jaw clenches tightly, so tight that Steph thought he'd pop a joint. His hands, both visible and on the table, are clenched tightly into fists, His eyes flicker up, and hope flutters into Steph that maybe, just maybe, the old man will realize his mistakes.

But they dart away, back onto the plate as if it held all the answers in the world. Steph holds back the urge to roll her eyes.

"I wasn't trying to push Damian." Bruce says. and his response is just as lackluster as the last ones. Dick lets out an incredulous laugh, because he literally cannot believe it.

Jason all but scoffs, rolling his eyes, looking five seconds away from just straight up leaving the Manor. Tim's too defeated to even attempt to tell Bruce that, yes, he might've not meant to push Damian, but he did. and he fucked up, and needed to take accountability.

"Well, you did push him." Steph spoke bluntly. Her tone very clearly wasn't as playful as it usually was, and her face was blank. Her tone was sharp, ready to knock off any and every excuse Bruce had to offer.

"Stephanie-" The name was the only word to leave his mouth because Steph cut him off.  She obviously knew the next words to come out his mouth were only going to further dig him in his hole.

"Look, Bruce. I get the whole, 'I didn't mean to' but, you did it anyway." She huffed, obviously not the most angry, but nearly. She was just as annoyed and frustrated as the rest of them.

"You obviously need remind yourself, that even though you didn't mean to, it happened because of you," She leans forward. Surely Bruce wasn't stubborn enough to ignore the very clear, very blunt words she just said?

Tim nods, slow, and tired. "She's right, B. You need to explain to Damian. Not us." He added, his voice softer, trying to stay as neutral as he possibly can without getting to emotionally affected.

"We're not the ones who need to hear it." He finishes, eyes drifting to the wall behind Bruce.

The atmosphere is sour, and Bruce stays silent.

He doesn't make any moves to let them know that, `I understand you're upset, and I'm wrong, I'll apologize to Damian. I didn't mean to do it, and I know that even if I didn't mean to, it's my fault. I'm going to take accountability.`

Jason just scoffs. His pride got the better of him, didn't it?

The seconds stretch, as the room falls into yet another tense silence.

Finally, Dick pushes his chair back, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor, "Okay," He says. His voice calm, short.

"If you can't even say sorry, then, i'm done." Dick stands, walkin away. Tim follows suit.

Duke awkwardly stands as well, beside Steph who looks extremely displeased, her look enough to dry paint.

Jason just mutters, "Fucking unbelievable." He walks off after Tim, the others following Dick to the garden, and the door shuts behind Duke, who looks back at Bruce with conflicted emotions, but he doesn't linger for more than a few fleeting seconds.

Bruce still doesn't say a word. Doesn't move, just sits. and when the room is empty, the loudness of Bruce's thoughts echo through the dining room walls, suffocating Bruce in their mass.

The cool air of Gotham hits Dick in the face like a bullet, before he inhales the smoky polluted air he's become so familiar with.

He exhales, letting the air leave his lungs, and he opens his eyes, met with the sight of the garden.

It still maintains the beauty that it had even before Dick came to live there. The kind of beauty only Alfred could maintain in a hellhole like Gotham, a city bound to kill anything that comes to contact with it.

He shifts slightly, trying to relax but finding that he was too tense to do so.

Behind him, the door to get into the manor shuts, and Duke stands beside Dick. Duke's looking up at his eldest brother, taking note of his body language which screamed, 'I'm furious with B right now, don't piss me off more.'  Which is... surprisingly, more often than not present, Duke admits reluctantly. Though he'd never say it aloud. He's not a complete butt.

For a moment, nobody says a thing. The wind rustles through the trees, and in the distance, a siren wails. the never ending crime through Gotham never halted. because Gotham never sleeps, not even in it's tightest moments.

"That went.. well." Duke starts, crossing his arms, posture stiff. Still not really fully taking in what had happened. Jason let out a scoff, from behind him, still bitter. 

"And by well you mean it was a complete shitshow." Steph supplies dryly, voice tight, still tense from the confrontation mere minutes ago. Her hands on her hips as she takes a moment to relax herself by looking at the garden.

Dick sighed, shoulders sagged. "I just can't believe he doesn't want to say it." His hands lie uselessly at his side, and Tim's hand comes to rest reassuringly on Dick's shoulder.

"It baffles me how far he'll go to not take accountability." Dick shifts, letting Tim rub his shoulder gently in a grounding motion, to which Dick sends him an appreciative look.

"It's B, Dick. He's bound to realize what went wrong," Tim sounded as if he was trying to convince himself along with the others, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hopefully." He added for clarification, eyes darting to a particular plant he suddenly found all to interesting.

"Whatever you say, Timmy."  Jason was bittersweet, wanting to believe that Bruce could be different but conflicted because of what he had just witnessed that contradicted that belief.

"I think he wants to," Duke says softly, "He just doesn't know how."

Silence again, the kind that seeps into the mind.

"We all know, Duke. He just needs to find a way how before he loses Damian." Dick looks at Duke with soft, worried eyes. He knows Duke is right. Bruce isn't a bad dad, not at all. He's just difficult, especially with the way he thinks and how he makes decisions. 

Steph shifted, and Tim finally looks back.

"Should we go find Cass and Damian?" Tim suggests, eyeing the massive garden where the two could be anywhere. and trying to break the tense atmosphere that found its place among them.

For a moment, nobody responds and Tim regrets opening his mouth. His eyes dart to each of them, before settling on Dick.

and thankfully, Dick speaks. "Yeah, let's go. They're bound to be somewhere close," Dick smiles, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes but is genuine.

Like sleeper agents, they move in sync. Steadily and falling into a comfortable rhythm and silence as they search for their two stealthy siblings.

Dick's been looking at every nook and cranny, leaving the others wondering,  `Why does Dick think they'd be able to hide inside a small hole in the ground?`

"Dami, Cass!" Dick calls out every few minutes, and Jason rolls his eyes half-heartedly. Understanding Dick's worry and insistence, but still slightly annoyed.

Jason grunts, half amused, half confused. "That's not gonna draw them out, dickhead."   Dick thoughtfully stares for a second, considering Jason's words and stops. Jason gruffs, and just slaps Dicks back, to make sure he knows Jasons not mad at him.

Duke and Tim were a few feet away, Tim inspecting every turned leaf on the floor in search. "Dude. You looking at every track of dirt thats a color off isn't going to find them," Duke snorted, Tim glared, but it held no real venom.

"You never know Duke, anything could be a clue. especially with how sneaky those two are," He huffed, and continued, hunched over bush as if it would suddenly summon the two.

Duke crossed his arms, amusement evident on his face as he hunched over as well, trying to put himself into Tims shoes and see what he sees. "I think I'm starting to see it man." Duke squinted, looking intensely at a particular flower.

Tim looked proud, "Of course, Duke. Great minds think alike," He gloated, eyes softening as he looked at Duke's laughing.

"Are you mocking me?" He squinted, and half heartedly pushed Duke, who just gasped.

"What? No, never. I take this stuff seriously, man." Tim rolled his eyes, and just smiled.

Behind the two, Steph was searching as well, her hands pushed apart a bush and then her face lit up. "Hey! I found something!" She exclaimed, waving her hands to call them over.

Tim and Duke stopped their squabbling, turning their attention to Steph with curious eyes. "What'd you find, Steph?" Tim questioned, walking over to where she was, Duke trailing behind him.

Behind that particular bush, a trail lead into the woods, hidden from sight probably deliberately. Dick lightened with recognition, as did Jason.

"Yeah, this is probably where they went. I should've known that," Dick sheepishly scratched the side of his head, Duke shrugged.

"You couldn't have known off the bat." Duke reassured, sending Duke a sympathetic look, and Dick smiled fondly, patting his shoulder.

Stephanie grinned as she moved in front of them, standing at the entrance of the pathway, and marching in place, hands on her hip and a shit eating grin on her face.

"Onward! To Cass and Damian!" Stephanie exclaimed, marching forward. Tim stared at her as if she'd grown a second head, looking at Duke incredulously as he started marching as well, dragging Tim behind him. 

Tim rolled his eyes half-heartedly, and started reluctantly marching, they marched simultaneously, not in sync but close enough. 

"Onward," Tim says with little enthusiasm, slightly off-sync but... he's.. got the spirit. maybe. a little. not.

Dick's heart warmed at the sight of his siblings, and he snapped a quick photo. Hand clutched at his chest as he nearly shed a tear at the scene.

Dick looks at Jason, a hint of mischief behind those starry blue eyes of his as he smiles sickly sweet.

"Go on Jay, I'll be right behind you,"  Jason narrowed his eyes, knowing what Dick was planning to do.

Jason reluctantly started marching behind them after Dick nagged him for a few seconds. He was a bit less motivated and more keen on turning his face away from Dick who was taking photos, just as ecstatic no matter how lazy Jason moved.

It only took them around a few minutes to make their way into the forest, and they could hear the hushed and distant sounds of a hushed conversation, one they could automatically tell was their two bats.

They moved through the forest, the leaves crunching beneath their feet, announcing their presence. The farther they went into the forest, the more audible the sound of their siblings voices were.  Soft, urgent, and layered with love.

"Dami, Cass," Dick said softly, his voice a whisper in the wind, quiet enough to be considered a whisper, but loud enough to be audible to Cass' capable ears.His eyes dart to every tree to try and make sense of any movement.

He's nearly spooked out of his boots when Cass responds, earning a snicker from Jason, Tim and Steph. Probably Duke to, but he's polite enough to try and hide it.

"Big brother," Cass' voice responds clearly, and she pokes out from behind a tree, eyes gazing at all of them, her expression unreadable.

Her eyes land on Steph and she perks up slightly, her expression warming just a bit. Duke gawks at the favoritism, but Cass sends him an amused love-all-equally, look. Which is quickly replaced by a Steph-just-a-little-more type of look.

"Cass!" Steph exclaimed, practically hopping over to her and embracing her in a hug, arms tight and comforting. Her face buried in Cass' neck. Cass melts, and hugs her back, comforting but tight.

Steph nuzzled in Cass' neck, before he gaze shoots to Damian, who looked small. She smiled softly, "Hey, Dami." She greeted quieter, waving her hand slightly, trying not to be to energetic.

Damian was stiff, shrinking in on himself the second steph looked at him. Steph regretted her decision, feeling like crap.

"Shit, sorry Dami," She apologized, genuine worry in her eyes as she gently pulled away from Cass and crouched down, taking note of how Damian was avoiding her gaze. She turned her head, ushering for the others to come help her.

Cass softened, and braced a gentle hand on Damians shoulder, almost silently coaxing him to talk.

Dick's eyebrows furrowed, and he knelt down beside Damian as well, "Dami, what's wrong?" He asked tenderly, taking in Damian's posture, and not touching him.

"Nothing is wrong, Richard." But he couldn't quite be convinced. not with how much Damian seemed to hesitate to even speak, his hands fiddlin with the sleeve of his shirt, and his head down. Dick could see the wrong riddled all over Damian, especially in his voice.

"Damian, I know that's not the truth." Dick said sternly, but not unkind. Behind him, Tim and Duke shift slightly, and Jason leans against a tree, keeping a keen eye on the situation.

Damian remained stubbornly silent, and Cass glared without any real venom.

"Little brother. Agreed to face your fears." Cass huffed half-heartedly and Damian finally looked up.

"I..I apologize Cain." Damian practically whispered, and his fists clenched at his side. Clearly quaking in his damn boots, which was really, really unusual for Damian of all people.

"It's okay, little brother. If you don't want to, do later?" Cass thoughtfully suggested, and Damian nodded insistently. 

"I'd like that." He looked up, and Dick's heart melted at the sight of him.

"Whenever you're ready, Dami. We're always here to listen," Dick practically chirped, and Damian seemed to relax.

Jason sighed, and softened only a bit at the scene. A few feet away from him, stood Tim, who stared at Damian with calculating eyes.

He whispered something in Dukes ear, and Duke side eyed him, looking conflicted, eyebrows furrowed.

"Dude. Are you trying to get me beat up?" Duke hissed quietly, squinting his eyes at Tim in suspicion, but seemingly contemplating on whatever he said.

"For Damian," Tim whispered, clasping a shoulder on Dukes shoulder. Duke relented, shoulders slumping.

Tim grinned, pushing Duke forward.

...

Jason got up from leaning on the tree, and frankly, tripped over Duke, who'd for some reason, was lying on the floor.

He ate shit, and he could hear the sound of Duke taking in a sharp inhale, Stephanie wheezing at the absurdity of the situation.

"Narrows, why the hell are you on the floor?" Jason yelps, mortified as he spit out dirt and sat up, looking at the face of Tim with a shit eating grin- and... a camera in his hand.

click!

Jason's eye twitched as Tim clearly snapped another picture. "I was just lying here!" Duke says weakly, looking off to the side and covering his laughter with coughs, his face turning red at the force he uses to hold himself together.

"I heard you talking to little Timmy over there, and you think you're sly, don't you?" Jason narrowed his eyes, dusting off his shirt, and Duke gulped, a bead of sweat moving down his forehead at the menacing look on Jason's face.

Damian let out a small, quiet giggle, and Jason's heart skipped a beat. He could tell everyone else heard it by how they slightly relaxed, but nobody wanted to make the kid uncomfortable.

"Me and Tim were just.. talking about the new... mission. Yeah, the new mission." Duke looked up to Tim, silently pleading for aid in a war he was losing, and Tim whistled cluelessly, eyes looking anywhere but at Duke. Duke gawked at the betrayal. He'd remember this.

"Well you brought me down with you, and you're gonna pay for it," Jason grinned, and lunged for Duke who was crawling away, or well, attempting to.

Duke screeched, "Soldier down! Soldier down!" He clawed at the floor as Jason dragged his ankle, and smiling a bit when he heard the sound of Damian's nearly suppressed giggles.

The shudder of a camera was evident, but Jason was pretty keen on paying revenge to Duke, who was writhing in a fit of laughter beneath him, trying to wriggle his way out of Jason's strong hold.

Cass smiled fondly, beside a smug looking Steph.

"Rest in peace Duke, death by tickle attack," She sneered, earning a half-second glare from Duke who was lying limply on the floor, playing dead.

Jason switched his gaze from Duke onto Tim, who somehow knew his next target and bolted.

"Get back here Timmy, I just want to talk!" Jason called out, standing up and running after Tim who hadn't gotten very far.

Damian was in a fit of laughter, unable to hold it back, Dick patting his back. Dick smiled, but was slightly worried at how Damian was hardly breathing between laughs.

This time, Cass took a photo, sneaking Tim's camera away and getting everyone in the frame.

Steph posed beside Cass, a small peace sign and a huge, jovial grin. Dick was holding Damian, patting his back and resting his head on Damians. A few feet away, lie Duke, watching Tim and Jason in the near background wrestle.

Cass placed her face beside Stephs, capturing the moment, and smiling tenderly.

Click!

Damian relaxes, letting out a deep breath he never knew he was holding. He looks at his siblings, noting the way they are not as.. closed off as usual towards him. and seem to be in a way, comforting him? Perhaps because of the scene he'd made at the breakfast table. 

He flushes slightly at that, still embarrassed at his earlier behavior despite it being in no way his fault for his involuntary panic at his fathers words.

Richard pats his shoulder, seeming to notice the way he stiffened, if only slightly. Richard always did seem to keep an eye on Damian. Because.. he cares? Damian weighs his options, and... considers it.

The cold air sweeps through the forest, and though Damian has grown accustomed to the cold due to the conditions he grew up in, he shivers unconsciously, goosebumps making themselves known and the hairs on his arms standing up abruptly.

He glares weakly at nothing, as if he can tell the wind itself to stop being so harsh, but obviously, it comes to no avail. He just crosses his arms, trying to stimulate warmth by huddling closer to himself.

 Someone snorts, and his glare shoots to them, or rather, Drake. He falters slightly, but he manages to keep a weak one with no real venom in it. Drake just shakes his head, clearly amused by Damian's antics, his body relaxed, if not for the fact he looked as if he were also getting cold.

Before he can protest, or say anything at all, a large jacket is draped over his shoulders, and someone ruffles his hair as if he were dog.

He squawks, and spins around, met with the familiar shit eating smile on Todd's face. "You look cold, don't fight it kid." He gruffs, and takes his hand away. Damian nearly whines at the loss, but catches himself, if not for the bit of flush that enters his cheeks once more as he clears his throat, looking away.

Todd smirks at Damian not protesting to much, and gives his hair another ruffle (something everyone knows he wouldn't usually be able to get away with), to which Damian just sinks in further into himself, mortified by his own lack of reaction. 

Cain smiles at the display, Brown huddled up beside her, also taking in the sudden disappearance of warmth. Her hands clasped together and her arms around Cain' waist.

"Dami, do you want to go back inside? I know it's still a bit cold," Richard says softly, cupping Damian's cheek, and noting how cold it was, and how Damian's face was a bit flushed. "I don't want you to catch a cold." His brows furrowed, as he examined Damian's face.

"Don't be such a mamabird on him, Dick," Brown snorts, but she means no real harm. "Damian's gonna be fine, he's a tough kid, aren't you?" She looks pointedly at Damian, who would normally bite back at her for speaking of him as if he were just a child, but he just nods. 

"Brown is correct, Richard. I am not a weakling. I don't get sick," Damian says, even as he coughs slightly, ignoring the worried look from his eldest brother. Duke shook his head. "Let's go inside, guys. Alfred will probably let us make hot chocolate or something," Thomas suggests, clearly drooling at the idea. Damian scrunches his nose slightly in distaste.

"Yeah right narrows. Who would want that over Alfred's tea?" Todd scoffs, rolling his eyes, to which Thomas brushes him off with a dismissive wave, very clearly not driven off.

"Sure dude." He responds half-heartedly, turning his attention to the others gathered around.

"Alfred's tea is good... but you guys prefer his hot chocolate right?" Brown raises her hand at the near speed of light, and Richard beside Damian as well, but nobody else says anything, either just staying quiet or not responding at all.  "Majority wins!" He sings, beginning moving along the trail back to the manor gardens with renewed vigor.

"Only Dickwing and Steph responded, what the hell?" Todd pointed an accusing finger, but stopped once he realized Thomas wasn't going to be responding to him anything soon. He let out a long, drawn out sigh and  started following behind Thomas, moving in fast, steady steps, not quite catching up to Thomas but close enough.

Cain and Brown follow behind him, both (or rather, Brown) holding onto one another as they went on. moving eerily at the exact same pace.

Richard waited for Damian to come along, Drake as well, if though at least attempting to be more subtle with it (and failing, because he's the only other one beside the two who's still in the forest and not on the pathway yet).

Damian wasn't aware that everyone but the three of them had already gone up ahead, until he looks up, eyes darting around to only spot Richard and Drake.

"Dami, let's go." Richard smiles,  "I don't want you to walk behind me." He says, ushering Damian to walk in front of him, beside Drake who moved at pace with Damian instead of just going ahead with the others.

Drake's eyes are kept on Damian, trying to be discrete but, Damian notices of course. He can see those piercing blue eyes of his staring through his peripheral vision, staring at him as if he'd hidden an injury.

Perhaps he wishes to speak to Damian about the incident a few hours ago? About how Damian didn't speak to him? 

He shivers, his hands clenching gently at his sides as he walks slightly faster. Hoping to not draw attention. (In hindsight, he's not very good at that.)

Damian's stomach drops, if only slightly. His shoulders drop an inch, and his eyes drop onto the floor. Clear signs that he would usually be more inclined to hide that he was upset, but not finding it in him to be able to do that.

Drake clears his throat from slightly behind Damian, and Damian resists the urge to bolt. Damian falters in his fast steps, and slows down at a speed to which Drake catches up to him.

"Damian," Drake addresses. Damian internally scolds himself for thinking he could get away with much, if anything at all in front of a detective who rivals his father in skill.

"Drake," Damian responds softly, and he keeps his eyes on the clean, freshly cut grass on the pathway, nearly tripping on thin air with the amount of unwanted nervousness he was feeling for some reason.

"You're... anxious." He continues. Damian ducks his head at the observation, dead-on. He tries to compose himself, to little result. His expression lifts but his body language, not so much.

Damian still does not meet eye contact. but Tims eyes remain on him.

"What if I am?" Damian manages, the words coming out colder than expected. "Apologies." He manages, surprising himself with how quiet his voice came to sound. 

He finally looks up, to find Drake already looking back at him, his eyes filled with a.. softness Damian has never noticed before. He stops looking, and his eyes dart back onto the floor, his cheeks flushing just a bit at how cowardly he may seem. 

"It's okay to feel that way, Damian." Drake stops walking, standing still. Damian follows suit, though more reluctant, standing few feet away from Drake, who's relaxed, his shoulders low, posture open. Damian unconsciously lets himself relax as well, his shoulders resting.

"Damian," His voice was gentler this time, more considerate if somehow, His hand coming to rest in his pocket. "You know that..." Drake struggles to say whatever was on his mind clearly, and Damian looks up. Was he... going to talk to Damian about it now? 

About his disrespect? about everything from before? How father was right about him not being all the way done with his one-sided rivalry?

He bites his lip. And Damian doesn't notice the few steps made towards him by Drake.

"You're my little brother. and... everything that, Bruce talked about. it wasn't the truth. You know that, don't you?" He finishes his sentence, his hand coming to rest on Damians shoulder, taking Damian out of his trance. Damian's hands unclench from the gentle fist they were in moments ago.

Damian stays silent, but... finally looks up once more. He can practically see the sincerity dripping off his brother in waves, in his body language, in the way he spoke, and in his eyes. Maybe.. he isn't mad at him?

"Bruce wasn't... he didn't mean what he said. He knows that you're over that." Drake continues, and Damian can... find himself believing it with how his brother is speaking, the way he's rubbing Damian's shoulder as if he knows that Damian needs to be grounded at the moment.

There's something in the way that he's talking that pulls out Damian's heart strings, in a positive way of course. He... knows. his... father.. wasn't being truthful. Of course he did. (Or so he tells himself.)

Something in Damian is sated by how Drake is talking to him, being patient in... only a way one person would speak to him. A part of him that... usually, only Richard would be able, be wanting, be willing to fulfill.

"I know you're over that. and I.. just want to make sure, that... you know. I'm over it to." He smiles softly, one that doesn't reach his eyes but one that is just as sincere as one that does. He has that look in his eyes that Richard gets whenever Damian is wandering around during trips to the zoo, or when Damian shows him his art.

"And I just wanted to, to let you know Damian, that I love you."

"You're my little brother, and I love you just as much as anyone else should." Drake finishes, and... a sense of deep affection fulfills Damian's very soul. He relaxes. If he had any more after that, he no doubt would've fallen forward.

His eyes water, and he bites his lip to keep a soft cry from escaping, no matter how quiet it may be. He sniffles, not loud enough to be noticeable.

He stays still, not wanting to give away the way his eyes are starting to bubble with tears, or how he's breathing hard now. He shifts his footing, and his hands lie limply at his side. Timothy clearly notices Damian's lack of reaction, and  becomes worried.

"Did I say something wrong, Damian?" He says, brows furrowed. Damian shakes his head, and lets out a small whimper.

Timothy softens with realization. "Oh, Damian." He cooes, tenderly pulling Damian into his arms, and lets Damian wrap his arms around his waist, the smaller brother finally letting himself cry into his older brothers arms.

Damian's crying in a way that... he hasn't since he was much younger, and much less guarded. For someone to let Damian know, that they love him, even after everything he's done... it's something he'd never thought he'd experience the feeling of.

It's fulfilling, it's... it's something new, and welcome. Something he will welcome if it ever, ever comes again.

He clings onto Timothy, who soothes him with whispers in his ears. Their inaudible, but no doubt just as caring as the way his brother is holding him now. 

Timothy picks him up gently, cradling Damian as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers, and was nothing but a baby. But Damian does not protest, not at all. He sinks into the feeling, letting himself relax in his arms. 

He sniffles, and is slightly embarrassed by the wet spot he left on Timothy's shirt. But he can't find the words to apologize, especially not with how he's crying right now.  Timothy pats his back steadily, and Damian finds himself dozing off.

Tim sighs contently, and lets his brother relax in his arms.

Behind the two, Dick is... soft. At the sight of his brothers bonding, communicating like everyone should, paving their way to a healthy relationship.

Wind lightly cascades through the curtains to Damian's room. He'd left them open before he had left, not on purpose, but because he couldn't find it in himself to close them.

Titus waits quietly beside his bedside, head resting on his paws. The atmosphere in the messy and cluttered room is soft, and gentle. Something that hadn't been apparent in -- a long while for Damian.

Damian sits up, still recovering from his surprisingly long slumber. The warm blanket slips, and he feels the cold air coming from the window, raising the hair on his arms.

The clock on the wall blinked at 9:42. He'd only meant to shut his eyes for a second. But then, the comforting arms of his brother wrapped around him, protective yet soft at the same time. Fond, comforting, and loving. Feelings Damian had longed for since the day he arrived onto their doorstep, and forced his way into their already tight-knit family.

He doesn't allow himself to rest for more than a few hours typically, There's always so much to do. Always something he can do to be better, to be stronger, to keep up.

But he supposes this is the exception.

The feeling of Timothy lingers on Damian's body like a distant memory, so close, yet slipping through his fingers every time he ached to revisit the moment, to feel it again, to feel the surprise he had when he'd heard those words--

"I love you,"

When they'd first left Timothy's breath, Damian felt... sour. He felt as if he was being played, messed with and just used as a source of entertainment. But then, he really looked. And saw the soft, genuineness of his brothers words. Saw the way his posture became more open, the way his eyes softened, the way his voice had taken on a tone he'd never used with Damian.

Love was a word so scarcely used when directed to Damian. A sentence that Damian's been starved off, has been craving for so long. But it felt out of reach, it felt millions of miles away. 

The complete opposite was more believable, if you asked people who knew Damian- he was a brat who's uncontrollable. A killer who's never going to change his ways, a boy born from the bottom and never managed to get his way up. Which was the surface of it.

He believed that side, the one he thought everyone else did as well.

Until-- Timothy, his former-rival, his brother who he once despised with every fiber of his being. If... Timothy, could love Damian, if his words were sincere. if they were true, then. Maybe Damian is loveable.

The sentence repeats in Damian's head like a mantra, and he can feel himself start to relax, like a sleeper agent. It's... a cozy, warm feeling in his heart that he would not mind becoming familiar with. His chest loosens. The normal tension that rested in his eyes no longer showed, instead, replaced by something more fond.

Damian feels as if he's on a high. He.. feels an energy he hasn't experienced in a long while. He sits up, his short legs dangling off his bed as he rubbed at his eyes to better adjust to the dim lighting of his room. The bed adjusts under him, the soft mattress contorting to adjust to his new position.

Titus pants, and licks his slobber all over his leg. Damian rolls his eyes in half-hearted annoyance, in too good of a mood to be really negatively affected by it. Titus barks, his ears raised high. Damian sighs, and turns his lamp on.

He stares down at Titus, who's lapping at his leg. drool already pooling at Damian's leg. "Titus," Damian scolded, giving him a light reprimand, nose slightly scrunching at the amount of saliva on his leg. Titus whines, and nudges him.

"I should have you sleeping with Batcow." He obviously didn't mean it, not with the gentlest look in his eyes and the small smile starting to build in the corners of his mouth. 

Titus barked, and nuzzled his head onto Damian's other less-slobber clad leg, and Damian petted his head, before standing up, and stretching his arms slightly. His bones pop, stiff from lying still for so long while sleeping. It was a habit he was trying to break, playing dead and all.

As Damian glanced back at the clock which read, 9:55, he realized it was nearly time for patrol- if Damian hadn't already missed it and they went early. But he would be going either way. He'd not miss a day just for oversleeping.

He gives Titus a final pat, before turning back to the door. His hands brush against the doorknob, and for a split second, he hesitates. He doesn't know why, but. he does anyway.

Cold sweat on his palms, and a dread building in his stomach. His eyebrows furrow.

Damian doesn't dwell on it, opening the door gently. It creaks as it opens, the light of the hallway peeking in.

Despite what he thought earlier, he was wrong. He could hear the distant voices of people coming from the first floor of the manor. Perhaps they waited for him to go on patrol?

His heart swells at the thought, but his brain shuts it down, finding that to be the most unlikely reason. They were probably just going later than usual, he reasons logically, and Damian, although a bit dejected, agrees with that part of him, ignoring another part of him that hopes for a reason that maybe involved him.

It's a familiar sound as he walks down the hallway, the floorboards squeaking softly beneath his gentle footsteps, his arms swaying at his sides with every step he took forward. It was a pattern, one ordinary, but one that reminded him to breath with each step.

The voices became audible as he stood near the staircase. 

He listened in, perhaps to get a peak at what they may do during patrol.

He's in earshot, and hears the sound of arguing. For.. patrol routes? A new mission?

He perks up, getting closer.

...

"--an issue. Hell, it's been an issue since he fucking showed up!"  

"I know. I already had plans to send him back."

Send him back?

"But what's that going to do? He's fucking violent, he's goddamn unpredictable! Yet you still do nothing about him! I'm tired of it, Bruce!"

Violent, Unpredictable?

"He's right, B. Who knows what he'll do next? he's dangerous. He's hurt so many people, killed more, but you draw the line at that?"

Dangerous. Killed?

"Dick, I know. But..."

It clicks.

They're talking about him. About Damian.

Damian doesn't want to believe what he heard. He doesn't want to believe that everything from earlier had been fake. but as the words repeat through his head, he realizes that it makes sense. Why would anyone willingly comfort him anyway? Unless they pitied that--that father was sending him away.

His fingers curl around the railing. He makes no moves to leave, only frozen in place as he loses himself in his own mind. A sense of coldness rushes through his body, and bitterness. He doesn't know if he's shaking because he's angry, or because the feeling of pure, hopelessness fills his soul, replacing the sense of love he felt just moments before he was taken.

He takes in a shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. It'd been the plan since the start. Sending him back to his Mother. To the League. Sending him back after he'd believed they wanted him. After making him get attached to them.

He should've known.

The fleeting hope of them not speaking about him is crushed by the last word he hears.

"He'll be better off with them anyway."

Damian stops listening after that. Something in him is telling him to go back, to listen. To maybe see if they were really speaking about him, about his past. but his heart is squeezing, and he's begging himself to stop the tears that fall from his eyes.

He feels stupid for smiling.

Stupid for feeling warm.

Stupid for being tolerant of their false fondness, their false words.

He wastes no time spinning on his heel after that, and not bothering to conceal the sound of his hurried footsteps. He'd rather be anywhere but in earshot of that again. 

Damian foggily remembers the scenarios he'd run through. The ones he'd thought had been wiped out. The ones that just played in front of his very eyes. He'd always knew, always knew they were going to come true no matter what. But the confirmation hits harder than any injury he's ever sported.

They were all pretending. He comes to a dreadful realization. All lying to him, to make the truth sting more than it would've already.

The supposed bonding. The comforting words. Everything that made him think they didn't hate him. All fake.

It was just a trap, to dig him deeper in the hole that was the want he felt to be in the family.

He slammed the door to his room shut, Titus whining as Damian walked past him with tears falling down his cheeks and a hole where his heart used to be.

He didn't know whether to be furious at them, or at himself for falling for their lies so easily. For so simply believing he could be loved just that easily.

It should've clicked within him the second he thought Timothy of all people could forget everything he'd done to him.

Titus nudges Damian's leg, and Damian shoves his head away, to lost in his own fit of pure, unadulterated emotion. Damian's hands tremble uncontrollable as he sits on the floor, tearing at every piece of paper, at every piece of art he had left lying on the floor.

The finished, the unfinished, everything was worthless anyway. The League would never let him keep it. It'd be a weakness, a liability, and he'd never be able to draw again.

Blood fills his nostrils, a katana in hand. 

"Be faster, boy."

"You need to be strong," A hit that Damian doesn't see coming-

"Indestructible." A slash to his already sliced up arms, he bits his lip and gets in a defensive stance. She scoffs.

"I only wish what's best for you, Damian." She says, with something akin to softness in her eyes before it hardens with the look that Damian is familiar with.

"You, are not fit."

"You are in dire need of training."

Damian nods, even as his legs feel like noodles, and his hands are shaking uncontrollable. Even as he tries to ignore the body lying beneath his feet, and the blood that pools underneath it like a puddle.

His hands are stung with blisters and bruises, sweat practically engraved within them. 

But he knows that this will make him stronger.

This will make mother proud.

She spares him all but a glance as she walks away. Her heels clicking on the floor and echoing through the large walls of the training area. Damian thinks he sees something in her eyes, pride? pity? But then she was gone, already turned, already leaving him with a blade and blood spreading and staining the soles of his shoes.

The room comes back into focus as Titus' whine echoes through his room, but Damian's hands kept moving. His hands were already stained with charcoal, paint, water. But he didn't care. Only about destroying, anything to take his mind off of what he'd heard. What he learned.

Globs of tears cascade down his face, dripping onto his clothes on the paper he tore at with animalistically.

Damian’s fingers shredded another page. Graphite smeared across his palms.

Sketches of his father’s cowl, of Grayson’s grin, of Drake’s profile under a hood--ripped to ribbons. Cain mid-swing. Todd’s smirk. Brown’s ponytail.

He looks at each one with a disdain he knows that they've always felt for him, a look that he knows is common. He gives them a saddened, regretful look. Because he still loves them. 

Still loves the way the make him feel, make him want, make him need.

But Each one a weakness, a liability, a fantasy. All shredded the same way. Worthless. He repeats to himself. Almost as if trying to convince himself that.

Each one has one thing in common; a liar.

He blindly snatches around for another one, keen on ruining everything in his sight. He gives it a glance, and stops.

It's Timot-Drake.

A charcoal portrait that Damian had never gotten around to finishing. and one he never would get to finish. With those sharp eyes of his that seemed to be able to tell everything you were feeling with just one look. With the smile that disarmed Damian, the intelligence that made Father love him, the skills to make anyone behind him fall short.

He clenches his fist. Despite everything, he hesitates. if only for a second.

He slammed it on the floor, over, and over again. Tearing it apart, until it was nothing but scraps of paper on the floor. He's shaking with the force he uses to punch the tears of paper on the floor.

His hands are shaking, his head is spinning, the smell of ruined material, of different supplies mixed fills his lungs and he can't take it anymore. It's disgusting, it's horrendous and... and--

Damian doesn't realize how much he'd been holding his breath until he's gasping for it, his hiccups and sniffles all but halting the process of air filling his lungs.

All he can do is sit there and just catch his breath, and finally, stop.

Titus nudges him again, whining. Damian lets out a quiet, broken noise as Titus sits in his lap. 

Damian feels all his anger, all his pent-up energy leave his body as Titus settles. He buries his face in his danes lap, and just breaths, with the occasional hiccup .

Titus doesn't protest, instead, curling his body around Damian's as if in the form of a hug. He just lets Damian press his face further into his fur, breathing in the scent of warmth and something painfully familiar. 

It makes his chest hurt painfully. It aches, because- this-- this feels more real than anything he's gotten from them.

Drake hadn't lied, not when he said "I love you," Not with his voice-- not with his arms wrapped around Damian as if he were the most precious thing in the world, as if he were going to leave, to run away and never return.

But maybe that was the point. and... if it was, it was effective. 

Damian had let his guard down, had let himself be vulnerable in the presence of people he knew didn't love him the way he did them.

He chokes on another sob, and it rips right through him. His fingers dig into Titus' fur, like a child clings to the last thing they trust.

"I should've known," He hiccups, his voice muffled into Titus' neck.

Titus' lets out a small whimper, his head nuzzling on top of Damian's.

"I let myself believe-- believe that.." He can't finish, the words dying in his throat.

He sits there, shaking, as tears continue to slip down his cheeks. His anger- his fury, is gone. Replaced by a deep, cold hollowness that doesn't hurt less, just burns different.

Minutes pass, Maybe forever. He can't tell. He doesn't want to.

He pulls away from Titus' neck, already missing the warmth it brought him.

His room is a warzone, Sketches in shredded piles, Pencils snapped in half, A torn notebook lie on the floor in front of his bed, the sketch of.. of everyone, but him still visible. 

It hurts, even if he himself made the sketch.

Because it's right, and it's painful to see it.

He looks away, not wanting to see it. To be reminded of a time much simpler than this, less cruel, and more isolated than the harsh burn he was feeling after finally letting someone in.

Damian swipes at his eyes with the back of his hands, smearing charcoal along his cheek. Not that he cares, and not that anyone else would care.

Not anymore.

Maybe not ever.

"I'll go," He says aloud, his voice hoarse and broken. A stark contrast to how loud, and egotistical it usually is. "I'll... go back. if that's what they want,"

Titus lets out a low grumble in response, it sounds like disagreement.

Damian let's out a broken, bitter laugh, humorless and sharp.

"I don't have a choice, Titus." He pauses. Quietly. "I never did."

"He'll be better off with them anyway." Bruce says, finality in his words.

The table goes silent. 

Jason takes in a deep breath. Breathe in, Breathe out. In, out.

He keeps his eyes stuck onto his feet, he knows if he looks up-- if he looks Bruce in the eye, and sees that.. that look that he gets when he's done with negotiating, he'll lose his shit.

So he breathes,  in. out. in. out.

Dick's fists clench, feeling a vein nearly pop from how hard he's clutching.

"If it didn't work the first time. the second time, or even the fiftieth time this year, what the hell makes you think sending him to arkham is going to work again, Bruce?" Dick cuts, jaw clenched. He just can't with Bruce, especially in this moment.

He waits for an answer, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Beside him, Tim observes them, silent, but waiting to put out his opinion

"There's no other solution, Dick. Arkham is secure enough to hold him, even if it's more of a temporary solution." Bruce grunts, crossing his arms. He's dead set on his standing that the Joker is going to Arkham, in the many times they've had this... topic at hand, he's  never changed his mind once.

"Of course," Dick drawls sarcastically, his hands on his hips, weight shifted on his right leg. "You're just gonna keep on sending him back, and keep letting him escape, and break out, and hurt more fucking people." He says bitterly, staring Bruce in the eyes.

"There's no other solution." He repeats, frustration seeping into his tone as he meets Dick's glare with a steady look.

...

"We could have him executed. It's legal." Tim cuts in, helpfully. He barely flinches as Bruce turns to give him that brooding stare of his. Jason grunts, nodding.

"No. We are not doing that." Bruce growls, his eyes narrowing at Tim who doesn't look the least bit guilty. Tim shrugs, "I don't understand why we don't. It's reasonable, Arkham isn't rehabilitating him. or anyone else that gets sent there."

The room goes quiet again, the silence emphasizing Tim's point. 

"We're not doing that. We will not kill the Joker." Bruce said firmly, clearly growing annoyed quickly by the suggestion. It had been brought up before, but now is really one of the few time Bruce had addressed it instead of flat out ignoring it and changing the subject.

"It won't work like that Tim. Even though I wish it would, it won't. He's criminally insane." Tim looks off to the side, having forgotten that detail. It's stupid, really. But it's the only reason the Joker hasn't received the death penalty. It's a cruel twist of fate.

Technically, they wouldn't be breaking the no-kill rule, because well, it's not like they'd be the one taking the Jokers life. It'd be someone with experience, an executioner. But Bruce won't even accept that as a viable way to deal with the Joker.

Tim remains set on it, even though he himself knows that there's one a slim chance it'll ever happen in this timeline. Or in any one. (Unfortunately.)

Gotham's twisted nature travels through ever universe after all, and the Joker is always apart of it for some godforsaken reason.

"Or I could just put a bullet through his head." Jason gruffs, his eye twitching as he waits for Bruce to blow up. He's playing with fire, he knows. But he's not joking. He never is when he says stuff like that. and he knows Bruce knows that to.

Bruce doesn't even bother to respond to Jason's threat. It's not empty, but it won't happen. Not if Bruce has anything to say about it. Jason has said it far to many times, and meant it even more times for Bruce to not be cautious.

He's already planned for every possible scenario of Jason trying to assassinate the Joker. So he says nothing. 

Bruce doesn't flinch. That alone tells Jason what he needs to know.

Jason doesn't even know why he bothers conducting these debriefs if he's not even going to let anyone else have a say in what they do.

Especially when it comes to their rogues; especially the Joker.

"I don't understand why you insist on saving the people of Gotham if..." Dick pauses, choosing his words carefully. "If your just going to leave them to a fate worse than.. just... letting them die." He says that last part quietly, watching as Bruce's face twists into something unfamiliar.

"The Joker's cruel Bruce. The way he tortures the people of Gotham, to the way he thinks. Your letting more people die by letting them live." His brows furrow as he brings a hand to his temple, massaging it. 

`Saving` the people of Gotham, was... was noble. It was something Dick had no qualms about. But it's the fate that was left to them after, the things that they'd be left to deal with in Gotham. 

The Rogues specifically.

But Bruce is... isn't like that, Dick knows. Bruce is a protector at heart. He'll always save, no matter what. If even for just the moment, he'll dive in and rescue them. Even if he knows that he can't save them forever, he'll do it anyway.

It's one of the reasons why Dick loves him so much, but... also why Bruce makes him so frustrated.

For a flicker of a second, something passes through Bruce's expression, regret -- maybe, but it's gone before anyone can name it.

"It's not about..." Bruce stops, thinking about what to say next. It's... it's hard to convey in words, Which isn't usually an issue for him. But to describe what he's thinking in the moment? it's difficult, because it involves emotion, involves having to be vulnerable. and he doesn't usually have that issue.

"It's not about saving them forever," He continues, speaking slower. "It's about keeping them safe." He can see the pointed looks they're giving him, but he ignores it.

"Even if it's temporary, saving the people of Gotham is a duty I take seriously." He looks them all in the eye, seeing the fire lit within them. His heart swirls with love for his sons, but also a temptation to coop them up and never let them go.

For the millionth time, it falls quiet. The only audible sound a distant noise coming from upstairs that none of them can identify. It sounds like... tearing?

It's not loud, and distant. But it's still loud enough that they can hear it from the downstairs, and it's a cause for concern, even if they're in the middle of a heated discussion.

Dick shifts. He knows where that's coming from-- Damian's room. He can't help but feel a bit worried, even if right now he's really not in the state to go upstairs and talk to Damian. Not with how pissed and tense he is.

He tries to will his body to relax, but it takes a moment for his breathing to even go steady and not in quiet harsh breaths. His shoulders drop by an inch, and his hands fall at his sides.

Dick can see the others start to relax as well, the silence feeding into their state of calm. He runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head to get himself focused.

Tim sighs, the chair screeching as he pulls back, standing and pushing the chair back in, the sound draws the attention of the other three who just stare for a few seconds, awkwardly shuffling on their feet.

"I'm going to go check on Damian." Tim's already walking away, back turned towards them. He doesn't look back to see if anyone is going to go after him. Dick lets out a small murmur of agreement, and follows behind.

Bruce grunts, already heading to the cave, off to go brooding after that argument. Jason makes no sound as he walks a couple feet behind Dick.

The only sound as they all leave is the sound of their footsteps on the hardwood floor, and the wood creaking beneath their feet.

Jason's hands grip the rail as he walks behind Dick, and he can't help but feel a turmoil in his stomach beside the dread that was building up.

He tells himself it's nothing, but he has a feeling it's far more than just a warning.

Floorboards creak under the weight of three men, moving towards a specific room.

They make it in front of the door before stopping. 

Tim straightens up, hand hovering above the door before he opts to try and open it instead of, well, knocking.

The door to Damian's room is locked, and Tim fumbles with the knob for a minute before realizing (he realized. he just didn't accept it for a minute.)

He huffs, and tries it again. But to no avail. His hand twists the knob as if he can use a hidden pattern to somehow open the very locked door, but obviously, it did not work.

"Ever tried knocking?" Jason squints his eyes, looking at Tim as if he were an idiot. "And I thought you were supposed to be smart." He grumbled, knocking on the door. Tim flips him off, but Jason obviously gives no shit.

Usually, Damian would answer the door after a few moments, or even call out to them and tell them to go away, depending on who it was. But most of the time, that was the answer.

There's not even a sound, just silence from the other end of the door. Jason's brows furrow in irritation. He's already in a bad mood because of Bruce, but this is just the icing on the cake. He's annoyed something so small can make him so close to blowing up.

He steps away from the door, and just looks away. Beside him, Tim just smirks. "Clearly your way didn't work either." He said, sounding just a tad smug.

Dick looks at them, unimpressed. But he shifts his focus onto the door, and knocks a few times, earning a look from Jason. "I already tried that, dickhead." Jason rolls his eyes as Dick makes no moves to acknowledge him.

"Dami? I know you're in there," Dick says loud enough that Damian could hear him. He hears nothing, just Titus' whining. His brows furrow in worry, and concern. 

"Dami, it's just me." He says, looking directly at Jason and Tim who just deadpan at him. Dick shrugs. You gotta do what you gotta do when it comes to checking on your little brother. and Dick would do anything for Damian.

No response. 

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks at the door as if it had personally offended him.

"Can't we just pick his lock?" Jason says impatiently, already pulling out a bobby pin, ready to take a step towards the door.

Tim raises a brow. "That'd make Damian mad, Jason. Use your brain." He mocked, dodging a slap from Jason, who just half-heartedly scowled at him, crossing his arms after his attempted attack.

Dick shakes his head, massaging his temple, sighing. He lets his hands drop at his sides.

"No, Jay. We're not going to invade his privacy. He just needs a little coaxing to open up the door." Dick said firmly, knocking once more, this time more firm. His feet shift, in a more relaxed stance. 

"Can you please open the door? We just want to check on you really quick." He says softly, his tone as gentle as it can be, his ear pressed against the door to make sense of any noise coming from inside.

But no. Nothing, once again.

Now they're really starting to actually get worried. 

Tim has a hand on his hip, analyzing the door, as if he could make out what was behind it. "He's not letting up."

Jason shakes his head, eyes stuck on the door. 

Dick feels a pit in his stomach, and it churns with each passing second that goes by. He knows he's probably overreacting, that Damian is sleeping but... Damian is a light sleeper, and he'd been sleeping since earlier in the garden, and that was nearly five to seven hours ago.

Damian has never been someone who takes a long time to sleep, especially not on patrol nights. and that's a cause for concern, along with the other multitude of reasons rushing through Dick's head a mile a minute.

What if something dangerous had happened? 

No, the manors secure. They would've been alerted if anyone had managed to even breach the perimeter, let alone dodge the dozens of traps around the manor set up by Bruce, or the ones near his siblings rooms that Dick had helped set up.

But what if someone had managed to get past all of that and hurt Damian?

It's gnawing at him from the inside out, and he can feel himself start to get antsy. He's being dramatic, but he can't help it. He feel this way every time something is just slightly off about his siblings, and especially when it comes to Damian.

Damian is just so new to all of this. To family, even if it's been a few years since Damian had first shown up. and Dick can't help but feel protective, even over the top sometimes, towards Damian.

"-ck. Dick. Dick." Dick tenses, and he whips his head around, to see the look on Tim's face. He can see his brothers expression relax when he sees Dick finally respond to his words, but his grip on his shoulder is still tight nonetheless.

"Sorry, Tim. I spaced out a bit there." He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The floorboard creeks as he shifts his weight from one leg to another.

"Jason's just going to key the lock." Tim repeats, and Dick doesn't protest this time, his worry to much for him to care about privacy now. He just needed to know if everything was okay, if Damian was okay, unharmed, and safe. 

Tim waits for a moment, probably to observe Dick's information before letting Jason in front of him. "Fucking finally," Jason grumbles, pulling out his stored away bobby pins.

Jason crouches down, squinting his eyes as he worked. He was experienced in this stuff, he really had no shame admitting it. 

Dick's heart raced as Jason twisted the knob, and opened the door.

As they open the door fully, their hearts drop.

It's a scene of chaos within--

Damian's art, the things he treasured almost more than life itself, a sanctuary, his safe place-- was destroyed. Sketches that Damian had spent hours, if not days on, Paintings that he'd showed them proudly, portraits, everything, all gone.

Complete shreds, all across the floor. Dick feels anxious at the scene, taking it in with a tremendous amount of concern.

"Fuck... what the hell happened here?" Jason's brows furrowed, his fists clenched instinctively at his side. He knows Damian would never, ever do anything like this to his art, to even one piece. But to find all of his work, completely destroyed? Somethings was completely off, and he was... worried.

Tim was the first to notice Titus sitting alone. His mind raced with possibilities of what could of occured to explain the hurricane that had swept across Damian's room, and the thought of Titus doing this was shut down by his own rational mind. Titus would never do such a thing, not even in anyone's wildest dreams.

He feels a cold breeze, and his eyes slowly land on the window. The window was letting in cold air, and was opened. 

His heart drops. "The window," Tim says quietly, not quite trusting himself to heighten his volume. They can hear him clear enough, because nothing else is making a sound.

Their eyes simultaneously land on the window, and they all come to the realization. It's cracked open, enough for anyone, even Jason to fit through it.

It paints a clear picture once they connect the dots. The silence when they had initially come, everything destroyed, Titus alone.

Damian had been taken, but that begs the question.

By who?

...

It doesn't take them long to all leave the room, rushing out and heading straight to the cave, where they find Bruce.

He's listening to Duke debrief their patrol, Cass and Steph standing beside them looking relatively relaxed. Steph has an arm stretched around Cass, her hood pulled down and her mask around her neck as she occasionally added onto their debrief. Cass is beside her, standing still, before her head turns into the direction of the door, anticipating their appearance before they come.

When they burst into the cave, all eyes shoot to the three of them. It's Tim that scrambles to explain it first-

"Damiansgone!Hisroomcompletelydestroyedwindowwasopeneverythingmessedup!" Tim says impossibly fast, but before he can finish, he's silenced by a finger from Bruce. Tim's on the verge of hyperventilating with how fast he's breathing. He knows he probably looks insane right now, heaving and scrambling over his words, but he doesn't care. Damian's gone.

"Slow down, Tim." Bruce furrows his brow, confused. Beside him, Cass face falls. Her body tenses, and she looks towards Tim. Tim is still frantically sputtering. Cass puts a hand on his shoulder, patting it gently, her eyes tender as she speaks.

"Explain, slower?" She says softly, unreadable. Beside her, Steph looks in confusion, exhausted after patrol but wanting to know what has Tim's panties in a twist.

"Damian got taken." Jason cuts in, grim. His jaw is clenched and he's looking at the ground, unable to fathom how the hell Damian managed to get snatched up in the manor of all places. They all freeze. The words are unfamiliar,  and take a few seconds to register.

Bruce speaks first,  not quite believing.

Bruce pauses. "How? none of the alerts have gone off, and nothing has been unusual." He questions, sounding a bit skeptical. Jason feels his eye twitch. "But that doesn't fucking matter. He's gone." Jason growls.

"How do you know he's not just out in the garden or something?" Bruce questions, not accepting that Damian could be gone at all without him knowing.

"It's nearly midnight. Why the hell would he be in the garden when he'd usually be getting ready for patrol?" Jason massages his temple, one second away from just riding out on his motorcycle and searching for Damian himself. Bruce's face falls, and he musters up an expression of worry.

It falls silent, save for the ticking of a clock. 

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock.

The air in the cave, while always cold, feels as if any heat at all had been sucked out of it. They can all feel the tension, but refuse to outright acknowledge it.

"Who could've... done that? without setting anything off?" Steph asks the question on everyone's minds. Who could have possibly broken into the manor, taken one of their own- and gotten away without a single indication they'd even entered? It's a jarring question, one that none of them thought they would ever have even cross their mind, because it was never a possibility, not with the security of the manor, that rivals even the headquarters of the Justice Leagues.

"One of the rogues?" Duke offers, speaking up. Dick shakes his head. "No, they wouldn't do something that stupid." Duke nods, now even more worried. If none of the rogues would even touch the manor, who would be brave, or stupid enough to do it?

Normally, they wouldn't be this worried over something like a kidnapping of one of their own. Of course, they'd be worried, but not as much as this. 

The fact is, it happened directly in the manor, and nothing alerted a single person of a person breaking into the manor. And it was Damian. He was the youngest, and arguably one of the best fighters among them. What foe could outdo their baby assassin and manage to take him out of the safe grounds of the manor?

Bruce tries to think, of every possible thing that could have happened, of anything that had been off, or even remotely of place. and he finds a space in his memory, its...

Realization dawns on Bruce, and he swears under his breath, putting his head in his hands. The others look at him expectantly, hopeful that he may have found the answer.

"The League." 

His words echo through the silent cave, and everybody tenses.

"What?" Dick manages, his voice cracking at the end. Why the hell would the League take Damian? They never sent any one of their stupidly formal emails telling them they wanted him back? Unless... Unless...

Dick is the only one who looks at Bruce with a tilt of his head, and a narrow of his eyes. With a clench of his fist, and the twitch of his right eye.

"What else?" He asks, voice flat. The others look at Dick in surprise, but Cass looks as if she suspects something as well. With the way Bruce is speaking, and how defeated his body language is, it's clear that this is not something surface level.

"They've been... contacting me." Bruce admits, and Dick blinks.

He blinks once, and then twice, a small smile on his face.

"They've been contacting you?" Dick asks as calmly as he can. He lifts a hand, and Bruce looks away, guilty as can be. Tim sharply inhales. It's all going to shit, and it's barley been 20 minutes. He's seen this scene a lot, especially after Jason had... well, taken a trip to hell. or something. not that Tims got any idea where the hell he went after he died. But after he did, Bruce and Dick's relationship had taken some rocky backpedals downwards, and frequently, did Tim hear arguments that involved Dick getting like this. 

Though none would probably be quite as bad as the one about to happen. He looks to the side, spotting Jason's raised brow. Jason's used to them arguing, yeah, but usually it's just them screaming shit at one another. and Dick's way to calm for him to understand what the hell is happening. Duke stands awkwardly, and before he can watch anymore of the shitshow about to happen, Steph is taking him upstairs, to go clean themselves up.

Cass watches, not intervening.

Not yet.

"They wanted Damian back," Bruce starts, and before Dick can explode on him, he holds up a finger, which only seems to make Dick angrier, if you couldn't tell by the vein threatening to burst from his forehead. "They sent empty threats. I dealt with them." He winces slightly at the irony of his words. He 'dealt' with them. One way to put it.

and a way that Dick did not appreciate in the slightest.

"You dealt with them?" Dick took a step forward, Bruce stood up at his full height, standing just a few feet in front of Dick. Tim took a step back, and made eye contact with Cass who was staring at the two in front of them, her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, you dealt with them? You dealt with them? dealt with them?" His eldest cackles, a full on belly laugh, tears gathering at the side of his eyes. Jason side eyes Cass, who still, stays silent. She seems to be waiting for the right moment to step in. Jason thinks that she probably wants to see Bruce get mauled by Dick, but he can never tell. and probably won't ever be able to tell.

"Tell me how Bruce, tell me all about how you dealt with them," Dick laughs incredulously, gesturing wildly, his eyes wide, practically burning a hole into Bruce's own.

"I'd love to know, how you fought them all off, and kept Damian safe. Actually, why don't we ask Damian?" He practically growls, now on the verge of jumping on Bruce. Bruce has the decency to look guilty, but he's standing his ground against Dick, who's furious, for better word.

"Empty threats, you say, I dealt with them, you say, well you're a fucking liar!" Dick screams, practically turning red. Tim winces at the volume, his voice echoing across the cave. Tim understands Dick's anger, and he's frankly, not going to stop him. But he'd appreciate it if they got back on track to Damian. He's too scared shitless of Dick like this to really voice that. Dick will probably realize it soon. Hopefully.

"You take everything seriously, you have concengies for the smallest shit ever! you didn't plan for this?" Dick laughs incredulously, eyes wide and practically burning a hole into Bruce's own. Bruce's shoulders drop. He has nothing to say, not when Dick's wrong. But he can't help the glare that he sets on Dick, even as his eldest is about to jump him.

"Tell me how the hell you didn't take the fucking League of Assassins, seriously, Bruce! Tell me how you, how you prepared for this! I'd love to know all about your plans," He knows he probably looks insane, but he feels like he's going crazy at the lack of common sense coming from the smartest, yet dumbest man he knows. The dozens, hundreds of goddamn concengies he had, yet not a single one of them contained a plan for keeping his brother, his son, safe from the one place that Bruce knows Damian doesn't want to go back to with a passion.

Bruce's silence only seems to feed the fire, and Dick is still on verge, the tip of his tongue, and ripping Bruce another one. "Let me guess," Dick says mockingly, his fists clenched and his eyes hard. "You're not prepared? you didn't think of anything? did you, Bruce?"

"I'm not going to wait forever for you to answer." DIck crosses his arms.

...

...

...

Bruce finally speaks, "No," his voice is quieter than it's ever been. "I didn't."

Dick scoffs. "Of course."

"I don't know why I expected anything from you of all people." Dick bites his lip, and his eye twitches again.

"You couldn't do it the first time, the second or the third. It's not surprising you didn't save another one of your sons."

Bruce stills.

Tim winces himself, feeling the impact of Dick's words even if they weren't even aimed at him. Dick was cold when he was angry, and right now, he's beyond furious. Tim walks away, not wanting to see the aftermath.

Jason, blinks away confusion. Dick had never been this... well, scathing, any other time he and B had gotten into an argument. But it makes sense, after all, Damian's practically his son. It's a bond he'll never fully understand until he finds one akin to it, but for now, he'll stay quiet.

Finally, Cass steps between them. 

"Stop. Find baby brother." She cuts in, softly gesturing towards the batcomputer, to where Tim had backed off to.

Dick doesn't go, instead, heading to another corner of the cave to cool down. Jason, meanwhile, heads over to the batcomputer.

Cass pauses, before she takes Bruce's hand, "We find him." She assures, before she herself goes over to Dick.

Bruce breathes, and tries not to let the overwhelming amount of guilt piled on with the already tremendous load overtake him completely.

He shouldn't have let this happen. but he'll fix it.

He always does.

Damian's heart aches, because even if he has to go, even if he knows he has to leave. Just... the thought of leaving Titus is enough for him to hesitate.

Titus sits in front of him, nudging his thigh, almost as if beckoning him not to leave, but to stay in this place that he once considered his home.

Despite it all, Damian finds himself longing, for the bond that he had thought they shared. Even with all of his bitterness, all his animosity, he felt a sense of belonging before he'd found out what they were truly going to do with him.

His hands fall to his sides, and he sharply inhales. Leaving the manor-- and leaving Gotham-- would mean to leave Titus. To leave the on thing that ever left him.

A thought flashes across his mind to take Titus with him, so they can run and be free together. But that thought is shut down. Gotham is dangerous, and running away even more so. He wouldn't ever dare risk Titus' life just for his own sake.

So he won't.

He bids Titus farewell, even if it leaves him with a bittersweet taste on his tongue.

A long, drawn out hug. One that he'd been craving from anyone, and one that he received from his beloved Dane.

The air is cold, and there's a tense silence that Damian is unwilling to break as he cracks open his window.

Despite his father, and Grayson's many attempts to secure the perimeter, it's no match for the amount of time Damian has spent observing them set it up, and he's snuck out plenty of times before without being caught.

It would be just like that. Except he wouldn't come back, and they wouldn't find him.

He would be out of there lives, and vice versa. 

That leaves an odd feeling in his chest, a tightness. Akin to an emotion he will not acknowledge, but one that has come up within that past few hours of the emotional rollercoaster he has been on.

Damian easily evades the safety measures of the manor, with all the precision of the assassin that he is. Not a single trace left, but he feels as if he had forgotten something in his haste to leave. But he has no time to dwell, not when he's already so close to leaving.

His footsteps are silent, and he moves with a speed that no normal child should be able to move at. But he's not normal, and he never will be. Each step he takes feels like their is a boulder cuffed around his feet, almost calling him to stay. Despite that, he does not listen. No matter how many times he hesitates, or regrets leaving his room in the first place, what's done is done.

By the time he's at the gate, it's far easier to leave now. It feels strangely odd how simple it was for him to practically waltz out of his window and avoid all the measures.

It's as if they don't even care that he's leaving. They... had in the past. They got to him after realizing he left. Maybe they've just know realized he's a lost cause and not worth their time. It wouldn't surprise Damian.

He pauses in his footsteps, approaching the wall to climb it.

His fists clench, and he looks back at the place he had once considered a home.

Damian bit his lip, his eyes ripping away from the manor, even as his mind still lingered on it.

He'd get over it. He got over the League. He'd get over this as well.

He'll find somewhere new to dwell. He will meet new people.

People that will... love him.

And as much as he had hoped it would be them deep down, it wasn't meant to be.

With his heart on his sleeve, and a clench to his jaw, he finds his way off of manor grounds, and towards main city.

Leaving the manor undetected was easy. Leaving Gotham undetected would be a bigger issue.

Tim's fingers fly across the keyboard, and he's dead set on scouring through every single camera that the manor has before finding out why the sensors hadn't worked. 

Yes, the League were a group of assassins, trained to a tee, but there had to be a mistake somewhere. Just a slight slip, a peak of fabric in the camera, a sensor nearly set off, even a stray sighting from god knows where. That's all he needs. 

Beside him, Jason is pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath as he watches Tim, struggle to find anything. He'll admit, it scares him a bit that Tim-- a godforsaken stalker, from his very roots, can't seem to find even a single piece of evidence that points towards the idea that the League had even come in Manor grounds. 

He takes a deep breath, and looks to Tim. "Do you think they took him?" He asked, hand clenched at his side. Jason knows well enough that they would take Damian if they wanted to. They could, and they did. Ra's had always had... his sights on Damian, even despite the fact that he'd sent him to Gotham in the first place. He seemed to realize that Damian was his heir, his successor.

What Ra's failed to realize, is that by sending Damian to Gotham, by letting Damian become apart of their family, become their youngest member, is that he wasn't going to get Damian back. Not without a fight, and not ever fully.

Tim doesn't even turn his head, and just slows his tempo a bit. "I don't know." He says, truthfully. He's not sure, but it'd be the most rational explanation. Especially if... if what Bruce had said was true. The emails...

Tim could've prevented this. If he'd just checked Bruces emails, if he didn't chose to try and respect their privacy, then he could've known, and set up his own measures of safety for Damian. But no. Tim just had to be a good person, and stop hacking into Bruces email. and by doing that, he feels that it's partially his fault in Damian's maybe-kidnapping.

"But it's the most likely scenario to happen." He finishes, jaw tight and hunched over to look closer at the feed. It's just... a whole lot of nothing. Nothing is on the cameras. Nothing is spotted, and it's just ambience, the usual sound of Gotham. He doesn't know what he was hoping to see, but it certainly wasn't this.

He slouches back, and runs a hand through his hair. It's barley been 10 minutes since he started to investigate, but he feels as if he's already hit a dead end. And the more he sits here, the farther away Damian gets, and the harder it gets to track him down and save him.

He furrows his eyebrows, and his eyes dawn with realization. "Jason, can you get Babs on the phone?"

He doesn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier, but Barbara would have a much easier time navigating through it, and finding things that even his own eyes have missed. He's just been fumbling so bad for the past half an hour that it just slipped his mind.

Jason seems to be on his wavelength, because he whips out his phone and dials her. 

Within just seconds, she answers. 

"Hello?" Her voice comes through the speaker, "What do you gremlins need? We just finished patrol," She said, and Tim feels a bit of sheepishness. She was probably heading to sleep before they interrupted it.

"Look, Babs, can you come to the manor? it's Damian,"  A pause. "We think the League took him."

There's an audible silence that comes from Barbara's side of the phone. 

"I'm on the way," She says, before hanging up.

Tim lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank fuck," He groans, slouching even more in his chair.

Dick knows he needs to help, to aid in the search for Damian. But he doesn't trust himself to not do anything other than drive his fist straight into Bruce's stupid, brooding face. He's still reeling in disbelief, but it's better than how he was feeling earlier.

So, now, here he is, standing in a corner of the batcave, and with his head against the wall, unsurprisingly close to banging his head into it and leaving a dent. He turns, and yelps when he sees Cass just standing there, blinking at him.

"Big brother." She says, worry riddling her tone. "Deep breaths." 

Dick tries to listen, really. But he just can't. It's hard to focus on anything when he's just overwhelmed by so many different emotions, but rotating mainly on Worry-Anger and an aching Fear.

For Damian, for how he must feel right now. Dick hasn't heard much about Damian's time in the League, but all he knows is that it traumatized Damian enough to leave him acting so... violent, At such a young age, and to think of what they'll do to him now? Now that he's older, and more connected to his real family.

Will they torture him? Use his attachment to the family against him? It wouldn't be out of their range to stoop so low, and that's what makes Dick's blood run cold, and his hear start to stutter in his chest.

Just thinking, of all the things that could happen to Damian- his Robin, his baby brother, is making him queasy. Making him think of things that no one should ever think of. But with how fucked up the League is, and especially Ra's, the possibilities are endless. Unfortunately.

He's snapped out of his train of thought, when Cass' hand comes onto his back, rubbing circles. "Calm." is all she says, a sympathetic look in her eyes. She recognizes the feeling of worry in Dick's body language, from the way he's slightly trembling, with his hands gripping his legs in a bruising grip.

Dick breathes. In, and out. Slowly, and steady. Her touch is gentle, as if she knows how to calm him down. Which she probably does.

He can feel his breathing start to slow, and in turn, his heart stops racing. He lets out a final, drawn out exhale. It's shaky, but it's progress. 

"Calm?" She asks softly, not halting her movements. Dick nods, and lets a wiry smile onto his face.

"Thanks, Cass. I... owe you one." He turns, facing her now. She offers him a small smile, and he can feel himself start to calm down even more.

"Don't owe, Big brother." She tilts her head, hand moving away from Dick's back. Dick feels a sense of loss, but he doesn't let it linger. "Love you."

"i love you too, Cass." He responds, a real smile entering his face, and he lets himself hug her. Cass easily returns the embrace. 

It lasts a few seconds before they pull away.

"Now. Find Littlest brother." 

Jason nearly shits himself when Cass places a hand on his shoulder, "Fuck, warn me next time." He huffs, embarrassment evident. Cass just lets out a sound that resembles a giggle. Jason just crossed his arms, only a little amused.

Dick comes beside Tim, both hands on the desk, looking intently on the visible cameras. "Find anything?" He asks, glancing to Tim, who's brows are furrowed, and eyes are staring holes into the monitor.

"None. Not even a trace," Tim bites his thumb absentmindedly, and Dick nods. He gently moves Tim's finger away from his gnawing teeth. "Sorry, Dick. I... know you were probably hoping i'd find something. I just... can't seem to see anything out of the ordinary. It's like they just... vanished with him." He deflates, and looks down.

Dick feels a pang of sympathy, "It's okay, Timmy, you're trying you're best, and that's good." He cooes, lifting Tim's head. "Don't put yourself down, okay?" He smiles, and Tim lets a shaky one onto his face, hoping it'll soothe Dick's worry.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of the one of the batcave entrance being entered is heard. 

Dick's confused, "Who's here? We didn't..."

"Babs," Tim says, relieved.

Normally Babs wouldn't even come to the cave, usually operating from a secure place from wherever she pleases, but the urgency in Tim's voice had urged her to wheel herself into her van and all drive herself all the way to the Manor.

Her van parks a few feet away from the Batmobile. The back doors to her van opens, and Barbara lets the small ramp come out, before she makes her way down, stopping her wheels and turning her chair.

"Is someone going to explain what happened?" She asks, and finally, the others start moving.