Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night of the fire, Damian Wayne was asleep. His plush feather bed, sinking under his weight, surrounded him. The inky darkness outside his window was undisturbed, just how he liked it.

But the darkness didn’t stop him from dreaming.

He splashed around, gasping for air. The Pit was warm, almost boiling. The heat lashed against his skin, closing his wounds as pain enveloped him. He remembered it all too well. He couldn’t stop remembering, again and again and again…

He shot up, awakening from his dream, cold sweat dripping down his face and body. His pajamas stuck to him, and his hair was a sloppy mess. He slowed his breathing, brushing his flattened hair out of his face.

It seemed like he could still feel the sensation of Lazarus against his skin, hot and bubbling like a witch’s brew. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from dreaming about it, no matter how hard he tried.

He slowly got out of bed, walking down the hall for a glass of water. His vision was blurry due to his tired, half-lidded eyes. Still, he carefully crept past Dick’s room, careful not to disturb him. Grayson was the only one he allowed that luxury.

He filled a cup with ice, the water flowing from the faucet smoothly. Damian took a sip, allowing his thoughts to calm. The Lazarus Pit was nothing but a distant memory.

Damian Wayne, son of Batman, was an assassin. At least, that’s what he had done for most of his life. He had been raised to kill.

And yet, he had become Robin. 

As he stood, sipping his tap water in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, he wondered why Bruce had ever trusted him. He had been practically dropped on The Bat’s doorstep by Mother, and he was greeted with open arms.

Was Bruce really that naive? Or had he seen something in Damian that Damian hadn’t yet found?

Something to dwell on.

As he skulked down the quiet hall, he spotted Dick Grayson leaning against his doorway. He wore nothing but sweatpants and a tight t-shirt, accentuating his acrobat’s physique. His arms crossed over one another, and he half-smiled as Damian walked past, still slightly groggy.

“Nightmare?”

Damian turned to him. “How did you know?”

“I can hear you thrashing around,” Dick replied, his smile slowly fading as he held out an arm. “C’mere.”

Damian obliged, and Dick pulled them both down to the floor. He had his arm square around Damian, squeezing his shoulder. “Damian, you know I’m here to talk if you need it.”

“I don’t talk, Grayson. You should know that by now.” He tried and failed to free himself from Grayson’s grasp. 

“Well, maybe it’s time you started?”

He looked down at Damian earnestly, his dark blue eyes simmering in the moonlight, a stark contrast to Damian’s bright green. He sighed. Damian can’t resist that stupid older-brother look.

“They’ve been getting worse. The nightmares, I mean. They feel so…real.” He leaned his head into Dick, his chest warming Damian’s cheek.

“I get that. Damian, how many times do you think I’ve seen my parents die?”

The question hung in the air, carried through the halls by a draft. Damian softly responded, “A lot.” Dick nodded, looking out his bedroom window.

“The dreams don’t stop, Damian. What you and I have both gone through…it leaves a mark. Like a brand. You can let it burn forever, always aching, stopping you from moving on. Or, you can leave it in the past. Sure, it’ll still ache a bit, and it’ll always be a part of you, but, in the end…it’ll be nothing but a memory. ‘Cause that’s all these are, right? Memories.”

He turned back to Damian on that last word, who nodded slowly. “Right. Memories. Thanks, Richard.”

“What’s a brother for?”

He stood up, helping Damian to his feet. Suddenly, the soft moment was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. Dick sprinted into his room, grabbing an electric baton from his bedside drawer. They ran down the hall, finding the window of Damian’s room broken. 

On the pile of glass shards stood an intruder. His black coat blended with the night, his mask a crude imitation of Batman’s. His eyes glowed red, his black armor shimmering slightly in the starlight. An emblem shone on his chest.

The League of Assassins.

 He was still for a moment, barely even breathing. They all stood, facing one another like an old west standoff.

Without warning, he grabbed a dagger from his belt, throwing it at Dick. He moved, and the dagger slashed his forearm.

“Richard!” Damian exclaimed, grabbing a katana from the wall and lunging at the foe. He countered with a katana of his own, sparks flying from the impact. Damian gritted his teeth, quickly sidestepping the stranger, and temporarily stunning him with a swift roundhouse to the leg. 

He rushes over to Dick, breathing heavily. “I can’t feel my arm!” He shouted, desperately trying to move it.

“He’s hit you with a paralyzer. Get out of here before it affects the rest of your limbs!” Damian pushed him directly out of the trajectory of a shuriken. Dick stumbled out of the room, clutching his arm.

Damian turned back to the assassin, who lunged at him with his katana. He dodged quickly, tackling the intruder. The katana skittered across the floor, and they began an all-out brawl.

Blood splattered across the white carpet, Damian’s bedroom floor becoming a battleground. He could barely see through his fists and rage.

The ninjas crawled over him like insects, his blood seeping onto the ring. He flutters in and out of consciousness. Soon, it all stops…

He steps back, looking at his victim. He tastes blood, feeling its warmth against his fingers. 

But the intruder isn’t bleeding.

Damian is.

He feels his shoulder, blood seeping onto his pajamas. A stab wound is evident, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He tries to attack again, but the assassin disappears within a plume of smoke.

Damian looks out his open window, spotting the assassin sprinting away. He drops something, small and glowing.

A match.

The lawn was set ablaze, a message sprawled against the dying grass that Alfred worked so hard to maintain.

The Demon’s Head demands the Blood Son.

…

Damian ran into Dick’s room, where he lay on the floor, unmoving, but breathing. Damian shook him, rattling him awake. “Huh?” His speech was slurred and unnatural.  “Grayson, we have to get you to the cave. Come on!” He attempted to lift him, but crumpled under the weight. “God, how much muscle are you? Lay off the protein!”

Desperately, he grabbed Dick’s phone, unlocking it with his face. He called the most trustworthy person he knew: Father.

“Dick? What’s going on?”

“Father, it’s Damian. I need help escorting myself and Dick to the Batcave. He’s been paralyzed, and I am quickly losing blood.”

“What?! Damian, wait there. I’ll send for Jason; he’s closer. Can you make a bandage?”

Damian scoffed. “Of course.”

“Then DO IT! Look, I’ll meet you at the cave. Jason’s on his way.”

Bruce hung up, leaving Damian with a delirious acrobat and a bleeding shoulder. He takes a sheet off the bed, wrapping a large bandage around his shoulder with ease. He rips off a slice, tying it around Dick’s arm, blood still dripping down.

Jason Todd came sprinting into the room, guns held in his holsters, prepared to attack.

“Todd, help me with Grayson. He’s been hit with some powerful chemicals.”

“I got it.”

Jason lifted Dick with ease, tossing him over his broad shoulder. Damian walked beside them, Dick mumbling something about great brothers. He was clearly delirious.

“So,” Jason said, “what happened?”

“We were attacked. A member of the League of Assassins. That’s all I could discern.”

“Well, it looks like you and Dicky got pretty banged up.”

“You should see the assailant.”

Jason laughed. It was a rather unfamiliar sound around Wayne Manor. Soon, they ended up in the office.

The room was furnished, with dark oak covering the floor. It had a wall of books, floor to ceiling. Damian pulled the one in the bottom left corner, revealing a secret passage. 

The smell of mildew crept into his nostrils as they descended the stairs. This passage hadn’t been used since Batman’s early days. Tim occasionally sat behind it for a quiet reading spot, but that had been its only use for a while.

Speaking of Tim, he was the first one to be found at the bottom of the stairs. His slender frame was a stark contrast to Jason and Dick, but he made up with brains what he lacked in brawn.

“Bruce told me there was an emergency. I booted up the med bay, c’mon.”

He took them to the medical bay, where Bruce stood tapping his foot. He took Damian to another bed, where he carefully examined his shoulder.

“Damian, what happened?”

Damian huffed. “Must I explain again? We were attacked, Father! It was an assassin, clearly affiliated with the League of Assassins. They set fire to our lawn.”

“Did you call 911?”

“No, not yet.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. Damian hadn’t ever been good at asking for help. “Lemme see your arm.”

As Tim mixed an antidote for Dick, Bruce tended to Damian’s arm. Gently, he removed the bandage, examining the wound closely. Luckily, the blood flow has slowed. His torso had red streaks running down to his legs, and bruises spotted his body. He grabbed a needle and began stitching, just as Alfred had taught him.

“Father, I have reason to believe that this attack somehow ties back to me.”

“Oh? And why do you say that?” He said, the sarcasm in his voice evident.

“I believe it has something to do with the message on the grass: The Demon’s Head demands the Blood Son. As we know, I am the Blood Son, and the Demon’s Head is Grandfather. The writing is on the lawn, Father.”

“And what do you plan to do about this, Damian?” Bruce asked, his tone serious. Damian had gotten seriously roughed up that night. Bruce didn’t admit it, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Damian doing anything for a while.

He cut the thread; Damian’s wound closed with twine. He winced, barely noticeable. In the other bed, Dick was slowly coming to his senses. Jason watched from the shadows, arms crossed. Tim spoke with Dick, interrogating him about the night’s events.

Damian looked up at Bruce, his eyes full of determination. “Father, I would like to request a solo mission. The League of Assassins cannot continue to operate in Gotham. Besides, it is I that Grandfather wants.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t go,” Dick said, sitting up. He shook his arms, feeling slowly returning.

“I would argue that’s why I should go, Grayson. He wants the Blood Son? He can see what I’m capable of.”

Bruce shook his head, sighing heavily. “Damian, with your injury, I don’t think a solo mission is wise. I want you in the Manor until further notice.”

“Father, you can’t expect-”

“I can and I will, Damian. You’re grounded.” His voice was gruff, clearly upset at the night’s events.

“What? Father--”

“You heard me. Go to your room, and stay there! I’ll be up soon.”

“But--”

“Go!”

Damian huffed, hopping off the medical bed and ascending the stairs. He pushed through the bookshelf, rushing back to his room.

Grounded? How dare he? Damian Wayne did not get grounded! He wasn’t a child anymore, he could handle himself. He seethed, re-entering the bloodstained room. His hands were balled into fists, his teeth practically grinding.

He picked up a pillow, throwing it across the room out of rage. Breathing heavily, he sat on his still-soaked bed.

He wasn’t going to let being grounded stop him from doing what had to be done.

Looking out the window, he saw that the fire had been put out, but the scorch marks still formed words on the grass.

The Blood Son.

Damian was the Blood Son.

And he was going to prove it.

He donned his costume, slowly climbing out of his window with his hood up. He grappled up to the roof, katana strapped to his back.

At that moment, Bruce entered Damian’s room, wanting to apologize, maybe talk things out.

But the Blood Son was already gone.

Chapter Text

On the roof, Damian examined the poisoned throwing knife. He had picked it up on his way out, determined that he could find the assassin using it.

He ran his finger over the blade, slowly. Suddenly, his finger caught on something.

Bingo.

A short strand of black hair blew in the wind. Damian examined it closely, pulling it tight. He pulled out a small vial, placing the hair inside.

All he needed was a place to test it.

He couldn’t go back to the main cave, of course. He wasn’t going to go back there until he solved this. Instead, he decided to go to one of Father’s mini-caves.

Batman had various small Batcaves hidden under Gotham City. All Damian needed to do was find one.

Luckily, that didn’t prove too hard. 

He traveled into the city using his motorbike, which he kept in the garage. He sped down the hill, small droplets of summer rain spattering his helmet. Much to Damian’s chagrin, it was almost always raining in Gotham.

Streetlights illuminated the sidewalks as he rode into the city. Homeless people sat on street corners, begging for money or food. Damian pitied them, but he couldn’t stop now.

Quickly, he turned into the alley behind the Monarch Theatre. He had figured there would be a cave here, due to its significance in Bruce’s life, as well as the fact that it was Crime Alley, where Batman might need some extra equipment.

Lo and behold, he was right.

Damian climbed into the sewers below, where he found a miniature cavern. Sewage ran in a river below him, and there was a small platform across the bridge. He crossed to the Batcomputer, turning it on.

He navigated the menu, eventually finding the DNA analysis software. Damian placed his vial of hair into a small drawer, which the Batcomputer subsequently took.

It loaded for a moment, the soft hum of the electronics almost comforting.

Finally, answers.

DNA sequence resolved: Damian Wayne

That hair belonged to Damian.

But it couldn’t have. He had never touched that knife. It couldn’t have belonged to Damian.

As Damian thought back on the night, one detail stuck out to him.

The assassin’s mask.

He had recognized that mask.

In his half-asleep state, he hadn’t quite put the pieces together. Now fully awake, he knew where he had seen that mask before. 

Those glowing red eyes haunted his dreams. That misshapen face kept him awake.

Those were the eyes of the man who killed him.

That was the mask of the Heretic.

…

Back at the mansion, Bruce decided to call an emergency family meeting. In the living room stood Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Barbara via video call.

“Listen up,” Bruce said, his voice bellowing in the mansion’s large living room. They sat on the leather couches, all staring at Bruce.

“Damian…is no longer with us.”

Duke gasped. “HE’S DEAD?!”

“What? No. He ran away.”

Duke shrank into the couch. “Oh. My-my bad.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m calling a search squad. I don’t want him out there on his own.”

Dick stood up. “With all due respect, Damian can hold his own, Dad.”

“I know that, but this is unfamiliar territory. We don’t know who this mystery assailant was. Until we know more, I don’t want him out there alone.”

“Batman and his prep time,” Tim muttered.

“I have a picture,” Barbara chimed in, pulling up grainy security camera footage of the front lawn. They all examined it closely, huddled together around the screen like a football team.

Dick’s eyebrows raised in shock. “That’s Heretic.”

“Heretic?” Duke looked at him, a puzzled look on his face. He hadn’t been around very long, so he didn’t know much about the Batfamily’s numerous deaths.

Jason responded, “Heretic killed Damian, and then we killed him. He was an adult clone of Damian, but that guy doesn’t look like an adult.”

Tim peered closer, biting his lip. He had a ‘thinking face’, which meant that everyone needed to shut up and let him think.

For a moment, the silence in the air was thick, suspenseful.

“I’ve got nothing.”

Cass threw her hands up in frustration. “Why do we even bother?”

“It’s not my fault-”

“Well, you should’ve-”

“I vote we kill-”

“Oh my god-”

The deafening sound of shouting on shouting echoed in the grand living room, the ornate decorations practically rattling.

“ENOUGH!” Bruce shouted, intimidating his family into silence. “Search squads. Pair up. NOW.”

They got to work choosing teams, walking around like old ladies at a swap meet. Soon enough, the pairs were decided. Jason and Dick formed a group, shaking hands. Dick whispered in Jason’s ear, “We aren’t going to rat Damian out. Agreed?”

Jason smirked. “Of course, dear brother. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Cut the sass, Jason. Now’s not the time.”

“Since when were you the serious one?” 

“Ugh, never mind…” Dick rolled his eyes, opening the elevator and descending into the cave, Jason in tow.

Tim decided to call Stephanie, leaving only Duke and Cass together. “An Outsiders reunion, huh?” Duke said, holding his hand up for a high five. 

Reluctantly, Cass humored him, smiling slightly. “I suppose so.”

With teams settled, the hunt for Damian Wayne had begun. 

May the best man win.

Chapter Text

Riding under the city lights, Damian thought. 

Heretic was supposed to be dead.

To be fair, he was also supposed to be dead. It’s reasonable to assume that he had either been revived via the Lazarus Pit, or perhaps regrown by Mother. Maybe that was why he had returned to a teenager’s form.

Still, Damian didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t even want to think about Heretic. It brought back so many memories.

The sword pierced his stomach, sharp and cold. Pain flowed through him as blood flowed out, mangled breaths barely audible. Father held him, sobbing quietly. “Damian. Damian, don’t.” He kept repeating it. That filthy mask hung over him. Eventually, everything faded…

He skidded to a halt, getting off his bike, heaving. His chest felt tight, his heart practically beating out of his ribcage. Sweat mixed with the rain on his uniform.

He blinked the tears from his eyes. He didn’t even realize he was crying. He steadied his breath, looking around.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Cars whirled around the corner, nearly hitting Damian. He leapt out of the way, returning to his bike. Revving the engine, he followed the parade of criminals.

As he trailed behind them, they suddenly halted, splashing water from the asphalt. Slowly, the thugs stepped out of the vehicles, wielding guns and baseball bats. Their black masks made their boss easily identifiable.

Roman Sionis made his way through the crowd, pistol cocked in his hand. “Hello, little bird. We’ve been expecting you.”

“How did you know I would be here, Sionis?”

“Another little birdie told us.”

Damian scoffed. “I never thought the League of Assassins would stoop so low as to work with gangsters and petty criminals.”

“I am a gangster with assets, Robin. Besides, the False Facers are always willing to help anyone take down the Batman.”

Black Mask raised his gun, his eyes narrowing. Damian unsheathed his sword, holding it tight. If he was going to die now, he was going to die swinging.

Blam!

In one swift move, Damian grabbed his cape, flinging the edge in front of his body, blocking the bullet with ease. A Kevlar cape definitely came in handy.

Swiftly, he tossed down a smoke bomb, covering the street in a gray plume. Henchmen coughed and waved their hands violently. He picked off the goons one by one, leaping through the air as his fists pounded like wrecking balls.

By the time the smoke cleared, Roman Sionis was alone, surrounded by bodies with a katana against his throat.

“Where is the League?” Damian growled through gritted teeth, inching his blade closer to the man’s throat. 

The gangster snickered, his eyes maniacal. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

Damian pushed his sword into Sionis’ neck, slicing his skin. He winced, twitching slightly. The blood dripped from his neck like water. “Are you sure?”

“The fairground. They’re at the fairground.”

He let go of Black Mask, who dropped to the floor, breathing heavily. “Get out of here, Sionis.”

He skittered away like a pathetic rat soaking in the rain. Blood dripped onto the pavement below him, washing away into the gutters.

Damian remounted his bike, setting a course for the Gotham Fairground. He secured his helmet, flipping the visor down. His engine hummed as he raced in the empty streets.

…

Dick and Jason stood on a rooftop, scouting the city below. Neon lights flashed in their eyes, advertising useless products. Jason’s hood shone, the lights reflecting into an array of colors.

“You see anything?” Dick looked at Jason, hair blowing in the wind.

“Nothing.” They sat in silence, still surveying the city for any sign of their little brother.

“Dick, are you worried about him?”

“…A little. But I know that he’s an incredibly capable kid. I think he’ll be fine.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jason mumbled, inaudible to Dick. Jason knew more about the League of Assassins than Nightwing did. He knew how ruthless they could be.

The roar of an engine caught their attention, echoing along the dingy streets of Gotham. Headlights became visible, just a couple of blocks below them.

Damian rode in the empty streets, his tires creating a trail of splattering water behind him. The droplets shimmered in his taillights.

Jason stepped forward, ready to pursue the boy, but Dick stopped him. “Let’s just follow him.”

“That’s what I was doing, asshole.” Red Hood shrugged away from Nightwing’s arm, storming off the building. Swiftly, he deployed a glider, falling softly through the rain. The fire of the jets created steam in the air around him as Nightwing followed suit.

The rain created a sheet across the city as the chase went on. Damian rode, unaware of his stalkers. They hovered over him, dark figures on a stormy night.

Damian turned into an alley, scraping the side of his bike against the brick wall. The sound was shrill, yet he ignored it. He couldn’t waste time on something like covering his ears.

The alley covered Damian, causing him to fall out of view for the heroes above him. Jason groaned, landing on the street below. Dick called out to him, “What’s up?”

“We lost him!”

Nightwing cursed under his breath, landing next to Red Hood. His hair drooped, covering his eyes. Jason’s hood was dripping wet as they stood in the rain, thinking they had failed.

Farther down the road, Damian smirked to himself. Of course, he knew they were following. His keen senses alerted him almost instantly.

He skidded to a halt in front of the Gotham Fairground, home of the abandoned Haly’s Circus.

The place was where childhood wonder came to die. The circus tent was ripped and moldy, the carousel was missing horses, and the Ferris Wheel was lopsided.

It reeked of fried butter and death.

Damian pulled a small pair of binoculars out of his utility belt. He held them up to his eyes, the green tint covering his vision.

He scanned the area, the low hum of the tech ringing in his ears.

This place felt uncharacteristic for the League. Perhaps that’s why they hid here. Still, something felt off to Damian, a pit slowly forming in his stomach.

Without warning, he was taken to the ground from behind. The maneuver knocked the wind out of him as his head hit the pavement.

He elbowed his assailant in the stomach, leaping to his feet. His vision started to tunnel, most likely due to his recent head trauma. 

Damian turned, trying to get a view of his attacker, but they were already gone. In their place lay a small, green box. He picked it up, turning it in his hand. When opened, all that was inside was a small note:

Hey diddle-diddle, time for a riddle!

Laughter and shrieks fill my halls

Within this place, you’ll have a ball

I make you take time to reflect

Stay too long, and you’ll feel the effect

What am I?

Robin stared at the note, reading it once, then twice, then thrice, and still not coming to a solution. Obviously, this was the work of the Riddler. But why? Was he working with the League as well?

Were they really that desperate?

He took out a blacklight, running it over both sides of the paper. There was always a chance Riddler had hidden something in an attempt to trick him.

Alas, no luck.

Damian was stuck. He wasn’t the detective of the family. He was smart, of course, but not World’s Greatest Detective level. There were only two people on that level, and he wasn’t talking to one of them.

Damian needed help from a detective.

And he knew just who to call. 

…

Tim Drake sat in the Batcave, watching a bird’s-eye view of Gotham. Stephanie Brown stood next to him. Her long blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her hood casting a shadow over her face. She fiddled with her batons as Tim stared at the map.

“I thought we were supposed to be searching?”

“We are. This is satellite footage of the entire city. Being the son of a billionaire vigilante has its perks. Besides, this is better than going out and looking.”

“Any sign of Damian?”

“...No.”

Steph scoffed. “I thought so.”

Tim’s phone rang, Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen playing loudly. He turned red as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Drake, it’s Damian.”

Tim took a swig of his coffee. “What’s up?”

“I need help with a riddle. Come to the fairgrounds. Leave the coffee.”

“But it’s gonna get cold.”

“I don’t care! Just get here.”

He hung up. Tim looked at Steph, a smile spreading across her face. “I told you we’d be first.”

“It’s not a race.”

“Everything’s a race in the Batfamily.”

Tim opened his mouth, ready to argue, before closing it without a word. Steph chuckled, pulling her mask over her mouth. “Come on, Tim. Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

He rolled his eyes, pulling his cowl over his face and following Steph to the vehicle bay.

They both clambered into the Batbuggy, revving the engine loudly. The machinery carried them onto a path, whirring and clicking as it moved. The waterfall in front of them parted, and they sped off into the pouring rain.

Chapter Text

Damian stood inside the circus tent, tapping his foot impatiently. Tim should’ve been here by now. The smell of mold filled the air, blood slowly seeping from the back of his head. He’d attend to it later.

Tim and Steph raced onto the premises, Damian peeking his head out of the tent. He flagged them down as they dismounted. They ran toward him as he stepped back into the tent.

“Damian, what the hell happened?” Tim examined his head, feeling the wound. “This is the second time you’ve bled tonight!”

“It’ll probably happen more, Drake. Now help me.”

“Damian,” Tim said slowly, “you really should get home.”

“But I’m so close to finding the assassins!”

“I think Dad was right. You’re wounded in multiple areas, you will most likely get more wounded, and, frankly, none of us want you facing off against Heretic again.”

He reached for Damian’s wrist, but he pulled back quickly, drawing his katana out of instinct. Tim mirrored him, grabbing his bo staff. “Damian, don’t.”

“You’re either with me, or you’re a rat. Choose, Drake.”

They stared at each other, the tension palpable.

“It’s the funhouse.”

They both turned to Stephanie, who was holding the card in her hand. Damian walked over, snatching it from her hand like a child taking a toy from their sibling. “Thank you, Brown. You two can leave now.”

He left the tent, heading for the funhouse.

“Steph, what the fuck?”

“He asked for help. I trust him.”

“He’s just a kid. He’s gonna get hurt!”

“He’s sixteen, Tim. It’ll be fine.” Steph waved her hand dismissively, walking back to the buggy. Tim veered away from her, persistently following Damian. “What are you doing?” Steph called out to him as she buckled up.

“I’m saving my brother.”

Tim sprinted to the funhouse, slowing down next to Damian. “I told you to leave.” Damian shot daggers at Tim, and he swore he could almost feel them.

“Well, if you won’t come with me, then I’ll join you. Gotta keep you safe.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re leaking blood,” Tim said, gently touching the wound. A shock of pain went through Damian’s body as he slapped away Tim’s hand.

From behind, Tim heard the roar of the buggy. Steph was riding towards them, waving her baton in the air like a cowboy. Her cloak blew in the wind, the deep purple blending in with the starry night. The buggy halted in front of the Robins, Spoiler dismounting as she grabbed a first-aid kit from the glove compartment. “Thought this might be useful.”

She tossed it at Tim, who almost dropped it. He began to patch Damian up, covering his head in antiseptic and Band-Aids. He took a step back to admire his work. “There! Your boo-boo’s all better!”

“I’m not five, Drake.”

Damian turned to the funhouse. The place was absolutely decrepit. A large clown face on the front was missing an eye and a nose, paint peeled off the walls, and all the light bulbs were either shattered or burnt out. A sense of eeriness loomed over the place, like a phantom that refused to move on from this mortal plane.

Damian stepped into the building, greeted with a no-longer-spinning tunnel. Tim and Stephanie followed him inside, staying in a single file.

The next room consisted of moving floors. Spinning tubes covered the area, spinning under Robin’s weight. He held onto the wall, staying close to his comrades. They formed a human chain, slipping slowly along the garishly-painted walls.

Damian wanted to gag at the horrendous amount of color.

Finally, they made it into another hallway, a brief reprieve from the madness. After a quick stop to catch their breath, the team pushed forward.

The final section of the house was a mirror maze. It seemed to stretch forever. Damian pulled out his flashlight, pointing it to the floor so as not to blind anyone. He stepped forward, walking confidently into a mirror. Tim tried to stifle his laugh. Steph gave Damian no such courtesy.

Embarrassed, but not undeterred, he pressed on, using his free arm to feel for mirrors. Tim and Steph followed behind.

“Do you guys see that?” Tim spoke up from the back, pushing to be in front of Damian. He crouched, pointing to a mirror. A small gap separated it from the floor. Tim placed his hands under it, lifting it with ease.

An elevator sat behind the trick mirror, rusty and old. It had accordion-style gates that creaked as they were pried open. Inside, there was only one button, pointing down.

Damian pressed it, and, with a click, they headed down into the belly of the beast.

…

Damian wasn’t sure what to expect, but it sure wasn’t his dying grandpa.

Ra’s al Ghul, leader of the League of Assassins, the Demon’s Head, was strapped to life support, Lazarus pumping through him. His breaths were shallow, his chest barely moving.

Ninjas flanked his bed, prepared for a fight. Instantly, two of them came up with spears, pushing Tim and Steph against the wall.

The crowd of assassins parted like the Red Sea, holding out their arms to Damian. One ninja grabbed him by the wrist, pushing him into the huddle.

He walked to the back of the room, his heartbeat quickening with every step. The room was nothing more than a concrete box, lit only with torches. The ninjas stared at him through their eyeless masks, the glow of the fire casting an uncanny glow on their faces.

In the back of the room sat an altar. Marble and ornate, with carvings of demons and death etched into the surface. Flowers adorned the edges. 

Talia al Ghul stood behind the altar, a dagger clutched in her fist. Her flowing black hair fell to her chest, and her eyes seemed dead and pale in the torchlight. She smiled slightly at the sight of Damian.

“I knew you’d come.”

Damian stopped at the foot of the altar, looking into his mother’s cold eyes. She held no emotions, no feelings as she looked at her baby boy, all grown up. He hadn’t seen his mother in years, but her face brought back those dark memories. His breath quickened, eyes narrowing like a predator.

“What do you want with me, Mother? Why bring me here?”

“Damian, your grandfather is dying. The Lazarus cannot sustain him for much longer. He needs a new body, so he can continue his work of fixing the world.”

“Fix the world?! You’re destroying it!”

Talia tsked, twirling the dagger between her fingers. “Destroying? What has your father done to you, boy? You used to be so powerful, so…eager! Or have you forgotten all the fun times we had together?”

Fun times was an interesting way to put it. “You mean teaching me to be a weapon? Depriving me of a childhood? Killing me over and over again?!”

“It was your DESTINY!” She shouted, knuckles turning white around the hilt of the blade.

“I have my own destiny now. Besides, you have your clone. Why not use him?”

Talia scoffed, lowering her volume. “The Heretic is nothing but a weapon. All brawn, no brains. He shall be my warrior, and you shall be my vessel.”

Damian stepped forward, unsheathing his sword. The sword glinted in the torchlight, making the altar shine. “If you think I care about Grandfather after all this time, you’d be sorely mistaken.”

“Damian--”

He pointed the tip of his blade at her forehead. “I’ve learned some things since you left me at Father’s doorstep. I’ve learned about something you could never teach me: family. I love my family. That isn’t something you can say. You never loved me. I was your toy, your plaything to be trained and used against the man who had wronged you. Well, I’ve changed. I’ve grown, I’ve learned, I’ve loved. I know what I missed out on while I was being slaughtered again and again in my training. I love many people, but I don’t love you, Talia. And I’m not going to let you use me again.”

He stared at her, his eyes boring into her through his mask. He half expected her to break down sobbing, but she didn’t.

She smiled.

“Fine. If that’s how you want to be, neither of us are getting out of here alive.”

She lunged at him, teeth bared in pure hatred. He smacked her away with the butt of his sword, sending her sliding on the polished concrete. She threw the dagger, sending it whistling through the ear and narrowly missing Damian’s cheek. She ran towards him again, pulling a pistol from her belt.

The shot echoed off the walls as Damian blocked the bullet, tossing down a smoke bomb to distract Talia. She stumbled around, waving a dagger wildly as she coughed through the smoke. Robin crouched behind her, preparing to strike.

“Too easy.”

She struck him in the gullet, her elbow connecting with his abdomen and sending him down to the ground. She stood over him, her dark eyes reflecting his wounded face. He had a scrape along his left cheek, blood slowly pooling in that area.

“It doesn’t even matter if you survive this encounter, Damian. We have connections with many powerful Gothamites, and I will not let them stop hunting until you’ve been found and slaughtered!”

“As if.” He swept his leg, knocking her to the floor with him. Her knife skittered across the floor. Despite the violent scene, the ninjas didn’t intervene. Perhaps they were told not to, or they were scared of a child. Damian hoped it was the latter.

He stood up, grabbing his battered mother by the collar of her shirt. “You forget I’m still an assassin. You’ve grown soft.”

She smiled, blood trickling from her mouth. “You should be more aware of your surroundings.”

The Heretic crashed into Damian, slamming him into a wall. He heard something crack, and a flash of pain spiraled up his leg. It was broken.

He really needed to stop getting injured.

Damian swung his sword, ready to kill. Heretic met him yet again with another. The swords clashed against one another, the sound ringing through the room for all to hear. At the other end of the room, Tim and Stephanie struggled to unchain themselves from chairs, desperate to see what was going on.

Heretic landed a roundhouse to Damian’s cheek, leaving a print. Damian threw a hook, only to be intercepted. Heretic tightened his grip on the fist, twisting it hard.

Damian shouted in agony, trying desperately to get away. Slowly, Heretic prepared to kill him a second time. He punched, again and again, Damian’s face breaking more and more with each hit. Blood dripped from his nose, bruises forming everywhere. His eye swelled to the size of a golf ball.

He took each hit.

The ceiling of the room exploded, dust spewing as rubble fell to the ground. From the hole in the ceiling dropped Orphan and Signal, ready to fight.

Duke shot a blast of light through the smoke, instantly dissipating it and smashing into Heretic. He tumbled back helplessly, his face bashing against the concrete. Damian struggled to his feet, wincing. His leg was tender, the pain making him see stars.

“I see you got my signal,” he said, tiredness creeping into his voice.

“It’s what I do.” Duke smiled at him, a warm gesture that Damian wasn’t used to. 

Tim pushed through the ninjas with his bo staff, swiping them away effortlessly. He took Damian’s arm, placing it tenderly around his shoulder. His chains lay on the ground, melted apart by a small blowtorch that Steph was putting back in her pocket. Talia tried to attack from behind, but a baton to the face took her down easily.

Tim and Damian limped towards the entrance, surrounded by family.

Cass, Duke, and Steph fought off the ninjas surrounding them, flurries of punches and kicks flying so fast they could barely be seen. Assassins went down one by one, their black uniforms becoming soaked with red. From behind, Talia mustered up a few words before promptly passing out.

“He’ll have your head.”

Chapter Text

Damian was in pain.

Lots of pain.

It was that unmistakable ache in nearly every body part, the kind he only got after nearly losing a fight. It had been a long time since he’d felt like this.

Tim’s arm was still wrapped tightly around his brother, feeling the boy grow weaker and weaker by the minute.

Steph, Tim, and Damian clambered into the buggy, Cass and Duke following close behind in the Batpod. They sped through the night, Tim desperately trying to patch Damian up with the small glove compartment first-aid kit in the back seat.

They arrived back at the Manor, heading into the Batcave through the back. The ramp groaned under their combined weight. The cave hadn’t been renovated in 10 years, and the age was starting to show.

They parked hastily, Tim hoisting Damian out of the seat. He could barely walk, and his breathing was ragged.

They all rushed to the medbay, Damian’s legs practically dragging across the floor. The blood seeped through his pants. His head pounded, eyes lidded and heavy.

On the bed, looking up at the blinding light, Damian thought he was going to die. His leg throbbed. His wrist ached. His face felt numb.

Everything felt wrong.

He couldn’t die. Not now. He had a family! He had friends, and a whole life ahead of him. Yet, here he was: dying like a bitch.

The feeling was familiar. Blood pooling, consciousness drifting away like the wind. He succumbed to the darkness so many times…

This was not going to be one of those times. He had a reason to live now.

He was not going to die.

He was not going to die. 

He was not going to die.

He heard the muffled speaking of his siblings around him, frantically pacing as Duke worked his magic. He slowly ran his hand along Damian’s leg, the golden light enveloping them both. His breathing slowed, his leg feeling better by the minute. His pain fell away.

He was going to be okay.

Despite himself, Damian smiled.

Dick, Jason, and Bruce rushed down the stairs, practically sprinting to the bedside. Dick looked down at Damian, his eyes welling with tears.

“I’m glad you’re here, Richard. I told you I’d be fine.”

“FINE?! You’re the opposite of fine, Damian! You almost died!”

“I thought we weren’t worried?” Jason chimed in, giving his older brother a sly smile. His smile was received by a punch in the gut.

“What the hell happened?” Bruce leaned over, examining Damian closely.

“A mere run-in with the League, Father. We handled them.”

Bruce raised his eyebrow, giving Damian a signature dad look. Damian sighed, rolling his eyes. “Okay, maybe we struggled a little.”

“Damian, I explicitly told you that you were grounded. You defied my orders anyway. You put yourself in more danger than you needed to--”

“I need to find out what the League is up to, Father. For ‘the greater good’, as you’d call it. I was just doing what you would have, yet refused to.” Damian stared back at Bruce, mimicking his expression. 

“I see your tongue’s still intact,” Bruce said sternly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t deny that what you did was heroic, Damian. Nor can I deny the fact that you also severely disobeyed me.”

“I can handle myself, Father.”

“I’m not sure you can. Look, I want to make a deal with you. I want us to compromise.”

“A father gambling with his son?”

“Not gambling. An offer.”

Damian sat up, ears perked. He winced slightly. Jason stood with Dick, smiling slightly. “This’ll be fun,” he whispered through a mouthful of chips. Dick nudged him.

Everyone watched the intense scene as Bruce set down the rules. “You may continue this investigation, but you can’t do it alone. You need to have someone by your side, watching. Keeping you safe.” He extended a hand. “Deal?”

“A babysitter? Please.”

“More of a partner than a babysitter.” 

Damian thought for a moment. A partner could be both an asset and a liability. If he took the offer, who could he choose that wouldn’t put the mission in jeopardy?

Cass was almost as much of a lone wolf as Damian.

Duke could heal, but his combat abilities were subpar.

Tim was…Tim.

Stephanie was too female.

Jason was annoying.

That only left--

“Grayson.”

Damian clutched Bruce’s hand, the shake strong and slow. “Very well. You and Dick.”

“W--uh--ME? Why me?” Dick stammered, trying to catch his breath. He tried to be discreet, but everyone could see the tear lines along his cheeks. His cheerful demeanor had been broken by the thought of his brother in pain.

“Well, your combat abilities are on par with Father’s, which I’m going to need against the assassins. Your acrobatic abilities lend themselves to stealth. Your brawn surpasses mine, though my brains surpass yours. And, if push comes to shove, you could always distract them with your…merchandise.” He smirked as Dick turned red at the final line. 

“Oh. Uh, okay, I guess. Cool. Partners. Batman and Robin, together again, right?”

“I suppose.”

Damian hopped off the table, spry and lively. He grabbed Dick’s wrist as he speed-walked up the stairs. The sudden movement caught him off guard, allowing him to be dragged around by a child. “Pardon me, Father. Grayson and I have some planning to do.”

…

Damian opened the door to his room, finding it surprisingly blood-free. Evidently, someone had come to clean it up. He thought it looked cool, but no one bothered consulting him.

He stepped into his closet, pushing hangers along the rail to reveal a PIN pad hidden just behind them. Dick stepped in behind him, looking over his shoulder inquisitively. “What’s that for?”

“Be patient and find out.”

He input the code: 1220, or his birthday. Dick stifled a laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“I figured a hyper-vigilant assassin would have a stronger password.”

“Well, I don’t. Get over it.” A hole in the wall opened beside them, revealing a mechanized spinning fireman’s pole. Damian slid down with ease, Dick trailing behind.

The tunnel gave way to a small, brick room. A whiteboard hung on the wall next to a table. The room was lit by a small desk lamp, its orange hue barely covering the edges.

“What is this place?” Dick had to duck just to get inside. Damian didn’t respond; instead, he just grabbed a marker and wrote.

After two minutes of endless squeaking, Damian had a mind map. One central idea, connected to various small theories and questions. The main question: Where will the League go next? He had various possible locations written out as well—Bludhaven, Arkham Island, or simply underground.

It was all laid out in front of them.

And Damian still didn’t understand.

He scanned the board, over and over. Nothing here seemed right. Nothing seemed right recently. Damian was sick of it.

Dick leaned over, examining the board closely. “You missed a spot.”

“Where?”

“Have you even considered the Court?” The Court of Owls, an underground society of Gotham elites, watching from the shadows and killing anyone who interferes with their criminal empire. They had hideouts hidden throughout the city, where they held meetings and tortured victims.

“The League doesn’t work with anyone. The only constant partner they’ve taken is Slade.” 

“Maybe they were desperate. Ra’s is dying for real, they’re smaller than ever, and they had to resort to putting their base in a funhouse. Something went wrong, and the Court helped them out.”

Damian looked at his board again. He hadn’t even considered the idea of two criminal leagues, notorious loners, working together. In hindsight, it seemed obvious. “I understand it now. The League must be using the Court for both a hiding place and their extensive connections to our city’s villains. Maybe money, too, if your theory is to be believed.” 

Now, everything clicked into place. Everything felt right. Damian and Dick had a solid theory.

All they needed was to test it.

“Can’t believe I’m smarter than the great Damian Wayne.” The sarcasm in his voice was heavy. 

“Neither can I,” Damian retorted smugly. He felt along the brick wall, pressing down on the very last brick on the left. The wall parted, revealing a small tunnel. Lit only by gas lamps, the tunnel looked older than the manor itself.

“How many secrets do you have?”

“More than you care to know.” He led Dick down the tunnel, dust gathering around them. They pushed through the cobwebs and bats, ultimately reaching another room.

Dozens of pieces of memorabilia hung on the walls, masks, suits, and accessories locked behind glass cases. They were in various conditions, ranging from pristine to practically destroyed. The whole room carried a sense of unease. The room itself was furnished with dark stone floors and plaster walls, painted a matte black. It seemed as though any light would be swallowed whole.

“What is this place?”

“God, you sound like a broken record. This is my collection room. I keep pieces from every mission we go on. If I get lucky, I get things like outfits and weapons. Sometimes, it’s just something small. You wanna see what I have the most of?”

He opened a cabinet, revealing rows upon rows of Court of Owl masks. The expressionless white faces stared down at the boys, peering into their souls like…well, like owls.

Damian took two down from the rack, handing one to Dick. They tried them on, placing the cold porcelain on their faces.

“I can barely see anything,” Dick said. “The peripheral vision sucks in this!”

“Well, they weren’t made for functionality. They were made for disguise, which is exactly what I plan to use them for.”

He opened another cabinet, revealing a rickety old elevator. They both clambered in, slowly making their way back up to the main hall.

“I had the study room built after Joker’s assault on the Manor. The collection is in an old maintenance room that I fixed myself. Thought you might want to know, since you seemed so bewildered.” Damian looked up at Dick, who smiled softly down.

“I’m glad you trust me, Damian.”

“I respect you more than the rest of our many siblings. You’re the only one that’s managed to earn it.” This kind of talk was oddly sincere, but Damian didn’t mind being sincere around his eldest brother.

They stepped into the ornate main hall, the chandelier dim. “We should tuck in,” Dick said. “We’ll start the investigation tomorrow.”

Damian wanted to protest, but his eyelids were heavier than ever. “Perhaps that would be wise. Good night, Richard.”

“Good night, Damian.”

With that, they headed up the stairs to bed.

As Damian pulled himself under his comforter (also unfortunately blood-free), he felt the best he had in a long time. Sure, he had nearly died, but he had a lead.

He was going to find the League of Assassins.

He was going to succeed.

As he drifted off to sleep, a small smile crept up his face.

That night, for the first time in over a decade, he had no nightmares.

…

The sun lit the bedroom in a glowing yellow, practically blinding Damian as he groggily opened his eyes. He had survived one night since the incident, and he felt ready to investigate.

He strolled into the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. It was Wheat Chex, his favorite. The blandness was comforting.

Jason sauntered into the room, grabbing another bag of chips from the pantry. “You really shouldn’t eat chips this early,” Damian said, mouth full of cereal.

“You can’t tell me what to do. You aren’t, like, Dad.”

“I’m the next best thing.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed before he burst out laughing. “You? You’re like, 17th. No, Dick’s the next best thing, then me, then Tim, then--”

“At least I’m his biological son.”

“Oh, don’t do the whole ‘blood son’ thing. At least he chose me.”

“JASON!” Bruce stood in the doorway, his voice causing Jason to flinch. His hulking figure was cloaked in silk pajamas and a bathrobe. It was rather unorthodox for the Dark Knight. Damian almost laughed. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Jason muttered, before lumbering out of the room with his chips. Bruce turned back to Damian, his expression softening.

“I’m sorry, Damian.”

“It’s alright, Father. Todd simply doesn’t understand basic nutritional information, or the fact that I’m better than him at vigilantism.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Damian, you can’t--you know what? It’s too early for this.” He moved past Damian, filling the coffee pot with warm water before straining his grounds. “I just don’t care right now.”

Damian continued to gobble down his cereal as the kitchen filled with his family members. Tim and Bruce shared a pot of coffee, Dick chowed down on a bagel, and Duke sat next to Damian with a bowl of Froot Loops. Damian hated Froot Loops.

Breakfast came and went, and Damian decided to take a stroll down to the Batcave. He took the study entrance, dust kicking up under his sneakers as he made his way down the stone steps.

He crossed a bridge against the waterfall, making his way to the wardrobe shop. Here, hundreds of costumes sat in rows upon rows of cases. Old, new, it was all here.

Damian quickly changed into his red and green uniform, prepared to investigate. His cape flowed in the cave draft as he sprinted down to the Batcomputer. He decided to text Dick. He didn’t want to get in trouble with Father.

DAMIAN: Batcave. Now.

GRAYSON: omw

Damian waited at the Batcomputer, playing Snake as he waited impatiently for his big brother/partner in crime…or was it partner in justice? 

Finally, Dick hauled his ass down to the cave, still wearing his pajamas.

“You should’ve changed.”

“You said now. I thought I didn’t have time. What, do you want me to go now?”

“It doesn’t matter now. Geez, let it go.” Dick threw his hands up, exasperated with the nerve of this child.

“So, Master Wayne, what’re we looking for?” Damian ignored him, pulling up file after file about the Court of Owls and the members.

Falcone.

Powers.

Wycliffe.

March.

Vanaver.

Monroe.

All of these people were Gotham’s most elite. The best of the best, financially speaking. Both the Gotham City above-ground and the criminal underworld below were under their control.

And now, so was the League of Assassins. They now had the entire rogue’s gallery at their behest. And they were using that power to hunt Damian down.

Suddenly, an alert began to sound on the monitor, loud and blaring: BREACH. BREACH. BREACH.

The files began to pixelate and corrupt, fading away as purple and green question marks overtook the screen. A new window opened on its own, a video of the Riddler staring down at them. His obnoxious green suit hurt Damian’s eyes, his crooked grin maniacal.

“Ah, ah, ah! We can’t let you find out too much, can we? Hey, diddle, diddle! Time for a riddle! I tick, I tock, I’m not a clock. I have a short fuse and nothing to lose. What am I?”

He waved a gloved hand, cutting off the video. Damian’s eyes widened in fear. “There’s a bomb.” When he said bomb, a new image flashed on screen. For a split second, he could see a wrought-iron gate, guarding a massive building. It disappeared as soon as it had appeared, replaced with a timer.

Twenty minutes.

“Clock’s ticking. Better find that bomb! Buh-bye, Boy Wonder!”

…

“Grayson, did you see the photo?” Damian frantically tried to recover the picture, but it had been wiped completely from the systems, along with any reference to the Court.

“All I could see was that gate.”

That gate was their only clue to stopping that bomb. But where could it be? Gotham’s gothic architecture meant that there were plenty of grand, iron fences.

Damian replayed the scene in his head again and again as Dick talked to Oracle. She successfully reinstated the firewall, but she couldn’t retrieve the photo.

The gate was rusting, orange crawling along it like a fungus. The bars were thick and square, adorned with beetles.

Beetles? 

No, scarabs.

“Grayson, it’s Arkham. The bomb’s at Arkham.”

Dick thanked Barbara before promptly hanging up. “How do you know?”

“Just trust me, please. Let’s go!”

Damian ran over to the Batmobile, leaping into the driver’s seat.

“Are you allowed to drive that yet, kiddo?” Dick was trying to lighten the mood, much to Damian’s annoyance.

“I got my license two weeks ago, dipshit. Hurry up!” He powered up the atomic batteries, making sure the turbines were to speed as Dick got into the shotgun seat.

“Wait, didn’t you fail--” They zipped out of the cave, going far above the acceptable speed limit. They blasted into the sunlight, the sleek black paint shining with mist. Early morning fog still covered some of the city, making visibility a challenge as Damian tried desperately not to hit pedestrians. They swerved around corners, narrowly avoiding lampposts, mailboxes, and buildings.

The city looked better in the morning. Damian rarely ever noticed it in the morning. He never truly looked. Graffiti covered some walls, but, in the glimmering morning fog, the place looked almost normal.

As the Gotham Bridge came into view, Damian’s worst fear was instantly realized.

“Shit. Traffic jam.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dick asked, navigating the car’s touchscreen to find any possible solution. 

“Hold on tight.”

“What?”

Damian swiveled away from the bridge, throwing the car into the river below. He pressed a button on the steering wheel, and the Batmobile began to shudder and change.

A motor and paddle came out of the back, transforming the Batmobile into a functioning speedboat. Water flew behind them as they boated, relieved that they could skip the traffic. For a moment, Damian just listened to the water as it splashed all around them. It was soothing.

As they got closer to land, Damian pressed the button again, returning the Batmobile to its regular car form. They slowly drove up the hill and back onto the main road, merging gracefully.

The road emptied as the car neared the destination. “How much time do we have?” Damian looked over to Dick, who looked down at his phone.

“Three minutes.”

“I thought we had, like, fifteen!”

“Well, we have three! Go faster!” Damian accelerated, desperate to make it. His master plan to defeat the League was unraveling right in front of him.

Two minutes.

Rain banged on the windows.

One minute.

The fog grew thicker.

Thirty seconds.

The car pulled up with twenty-four seconds to spare. In front of the gate, there was a small box, wrapped up with a neat little bow. Cautiously, Damian hopped out of the car, inching towards it with his sword held high.

He destroyed the box, utterly tearing it to shreds. He expected to find wires, a flame, or anything related to a bomb.

Instead, there was just a slip of paper.  

Surprise!

BOOM!

Damian and Dick were knocked back, slamming into the dirt below them. The shockwave sent ripples through the crooked trees. The Hitchhikers May Be Escaped Patients sign flew off its post.

Where Arkham Asylum once stood, there was now just a pile of ash and rubble.

And every villain locked up inside was now running free.

Chapter Text

Damian watched, mouth wide open, as Arkham Asylum burned to the ground. The once-grand, gothic medical center, holding some of Gotham’s most dangerous civilians, was gone.

Inmates in straitjackets and orange jumpsuits crawled through the rubble, laughing and screaming maniacally. Some seemed dazed, others excited.

But none of Batman’s greatest foes could be found.

No Freeze. No Ivy. No Penguin. No Scarecrow.

No Joker.

Where had they all gone?

Joker had been locked up less than a week ago, yet he was nowhere to be seen. Nobody was. The only people left were half-wits and schizos.

And they were all rushing towards the Batmobile.

Dick pulled out his escrimas, crackling them to life. Damian raised his fists, prepared to take down as many crazy people as possible. He was determined not to use his sword. After all, these people weren’t supervillains.

They were just crazy.

Damian leapt into the fray of psychos, taking them down one by one. Dick kept them away from the car, electrocuting anyone who got close.

He felt fingernails, sharp and piercing, against his skin. Straitjacket arms swung wildly, smacking him across the face. They gnawed at the Batmobile, desperate to get in and escape this awful place. Damian barely kept them back, his fists clenched as his green gloves became stained with red.

Dick had struggles of his own. The shock therapy some patients had received made them practically immune to his escrimas. They kept coming, hundreds of people in a blur of orange and white.

The swarm only seemed to grow, more and more people piling onto the heroes. Desperately, Damian thrashed around, his breathing getting heavier as the inmates consumed him. He couldn’t let them get to Dick. He had to keep him safe from the inmates.

Suddenly, they were no longer inmates.

He felt the cool mountain air chilling the ring as the ninjas crawled over him, beating down like bulldozers. He felt his teeth dislodge from his skull, his face slamming into the floor. Every muscle in his body ached and groaned, blood seeping from every possible place.

In a moment of desperation and terror, he grabbed his sword.

He had to kill the ninjas.

He wanted to kill them.

“Damian!”

He returned to reality, his breath shaking and heavy.

His face was cracked into a smile.

And his katana was stained with blood.

“No. No, no, no! What did I do? I ju--just blacked out! There were ninjas! Where are the ninjas?! They were all over me…” He repeated this sentence over and over again, as if it would erase the fact that he had just killed a man.

He was middle-aged, thin glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. His brown hair was disheveled.

He might have had a family. He might have been close to being released. Maybe they were waiting to pick him up, just across the bridge.

And he was bleeding out on the grass.

All the inmates stepped away, running from the scene. They didn’t want to suffer the same fate as their comrade. Some climbed trees, others ran along the empty road, trying to return to the city and the life they knew before.

Damian looked back at Dick, tears running wildly down his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

He stepped towards Nightwing.

Nightwing stepped away. His eyes were wide with shock and horror, unable to process the fact that this was the same kid that he had seen grow from a soldier to a brother. 

That was his Robin.

“What have you done?”

…

Damian ran into the forest surrounding Arkham, tears streaming down his face as he left a trail of blood. Arkham Island wasn’t big, but it was dense. He could hide for days and no one would find him.

He ended up at a large pine tree, sitting down and resting his back on the sturdy trunk.

He couldn’t stop watching the scene in his head, playing it over and over like some sort of sick VHS tape he was constantly rewinding.

So much blood…so much fear.

And then he saw Grayson.

His eyes consumed with fear, his body avoiding Damian.

What have you done?

The words seemed to echo through the forest, bouncing off the trees and surrounding him. His voice was filled with anguish, so scared and hurt.

“What have I done?” Damian whispered to himself, curling up into a ball and crying into his sleeve. He was a murderer. He thought he had left that behind. That was the first person he had killed in five years.

The worst part was that he had meant to do it. 

He had deliberately taken his sword with the intent to kill. Of course, he hadn’t meant to kill an inmate. He meant to kill the ninjas!

But there had been no ninjas.

They felt so real. The memory wasn’t a memory, but the present. He really thought they were there, but…they weren’t. He had let his anger and fear get the best of him, and he paid the price. He was left with an innocent body lying in the rubble of Arkham and a guilty conscience.

Damian was going to stay under this tree forever. He would let the roots consume him, pulling him into an arboreal grave. Slowly, the world would forget about him.

And he would deserve it.

Suddenly, he heard the rumbling of an engine inching closer to him, the sound shaking the ground and trees.

The Batmobile came to a screeching halt, and Nightwing deftly leapt out of the cockpit.

“How did you find me?” Damian asked, trying to regain his composure in front of his brother.

“The car’s got a tracker. Damian, why? Why did you do it? Why would you…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Look, I’m sure there’s some reason for your actions. Talk to me, please.”

“I don’t talk, Grayson--”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me. You and I both know that you get through your problems best when you have someone to talk to, so why do you still refuse? Are you afraid that you’ll actually open up to someone for once? Are you afraid that we’re going to take advantage of you? Because that would, frankly, be utterly stupid. So, what? Why won’t you talk? What are you afraid of?!”

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you!” He shouted, his face turning red. He turned away, refusing to look at Dick. Finally, he sighed. “Look, I’ve done so many things that I regret. I have more blood on my hands than there are cars in the Batcave, and…I’m worried I’ll scare you away, or get you killed. I mean, the rest of you are pinnacles of morality, that earned what you got. I’m just the blood son. The brat. I don’t feel like I earned this, especially not after all the things I’ve done, and all the people I’ve killed. I’m not like the rest of you, and I’m worried that someday, I’ll let something slip, and I’ll lose you forever. I guess that finally came true.” 

“Damian, c’mere,” Dick pulled him into a tight hug, kneeling down to his level. “You may not be a ‘pinnacle of morality’, but the important thing is that you’re trying. I watched you grow from a bloodthirsty kid to someone who saves lives. You took the risks, you did the work, and you’re a better person because of that. You don’t have to be us. Just be the best version of you, no matter what you’ve done before.” He pulled him in tighter, practically suffocating him. “Your past doesn’t define you. Remember what we said about memories?”

“That’s all that they are.”

“Exactly. Besides, you could never lose us. You’re attached.”

“Like a fungi,” Damian said, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Richard. That helped a bit. I just--I’m worried that what happened today might happen again. I’ll slip back, and more people will get hurt. You’ll  get hurt.”

“I’ll be there to keep you out, bro. Don’t worry. Look, we both know this’ll be a hard mission for you. I mean, fighting your mom must suck. And I’m sure it brings back plenty of PTSD stuff, but I’ll always be here for you. And Jason, and Tim--”

“Ugh, not Tim.”

Dick laughed. “What? Jealous he’s smarter than you?”

“He’s a nerd!”

Dick can’t disagree, but he doesn’t want to diss his little brother. “Look, the point is, we’ll always be there for each other. Don’t forget that.”

Damian nodded, helping himself back to his feet. He dusted off his tunic before stepping back into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile. “Well, are you coming? We still have much to discuss.”

…

“So why did they do it?”

Damian’s mind was racing as he tried to rationalize the assault on Arkham. “Maybe they wanted to send a message.”

“Which was…?”

“That they have everyone important working for them. We’ve been outnumbered.”

They were silent for a moment. “Well, shit,” Dick said. “We are outnumbered. Do you have a plan?”

“Yes?”

“Why was that a question?”

“It’s quite a risky plan. I’m not going to ask you to join me if you don’t want to.”

Dick huffed. “Damian, I was put on this mission specifically to keep you out of danger. I shouldn’t even be hearing about this plan…so go on.”

“We need to infiltrate the Court of Owls. Get to know their true plans.”

Dick cocked his head. “I thought we already knew the plan? You know, make you their new vessel, or something?”

“How did you know?”

“Steph filled me in. Anyway, what else do we need to know?”

Damian raised his eyebrows. “You’re stupider than I thought. We know what the League wants, but we don’t know what’s in it for the Court. Making sense?”

Dick nodded, staring out the window. On the radio, a news report was playing about the attack on Arkham Island.

Officials are saying that only one casualty has been discovered, who seems to have died due to stab wounds--

He quickly switched the channel to heavy metal, the rough electric guitar and screams distracting Damian slightly.

“So, how do we do that?” Dick asked, turning the volume down slightly.

“There’s a gala this Saturday for the Gotham Charity for Impoverished People. Father’s guest of honor, and I bet we can convince him to take us. We aren’t known as Robin and Nightwing by the Court. To them, we’ll just be two rebellious kids who are willing to do what our father isn’t.”

“Damian, I’m 29.”

Damian shrugged. “Eh. Still works.”

They finally crossed back into the main city, the rays of sunlight only partially streaming through the thick marine fog that had overtaken Gotham.

“So,” Damian reiterated, “we just have to survive until Saturday, infiltrate the Court of Owls, find out their true plan, and stop them once and for all.”

The plan sounded simple when saying it out loud. The only real problem would be surviving until Saturday, which was still six days away.

Survive the week.

Sounds easy.

Unfortunately for Damian, in his family, surviving was anything but easy.

Sunday, 12:08 PM

They entered the cave through the back, ensuring no one could see them come in. Damian didn’t want to be found with blood all over.

His sword was still coated in the stuff, but it had dried, as had the blood on his clothes. It had changed from red to a shade of purple. It looked like Two-Face’s skin was crusted on Damian’s suit.

In the Batcave, he quickly changed back into civilian clothes, taking the dirtied suit and putting it in the washing machine. He put in extra detergent, just to be safe.

He and Dick entered back into the manor through an exit in the East Wing, near the library.

Damian needed to be surrounded by culture, not blood.

He sat down in a cozy wingback chair, the olive green fabric blending with his sweatshirt. He grabbed a book of verse off the large shelves, flipping through the pages until he reached his favorite poem.

Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul

In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced or cried aloud

Under the burgeoning of chance, my head is bloody, yet unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the Horror of the shade

And yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll

I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Ah, Henley. His works truly resonated with Damian. It was through Invictus that he learned that he could do what he wanted, and wasn’t bound by the needs of the League.

He, too, had an unconquerable soul.

He read through the book, filled with philosophy and culture. Frost, Poe, and Plath filled his mind with words. Slowly, he dozed off.

Dick walked into the library, making sure Damian wasn’t crying in a corner or kidnapped.

Thankfully, he found him asleep. The sun’s rays cast over Damian, shining through the window for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Carefully, Dick took Damian tenderly into his arms, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He strained slightly. Damian wasn’t ten anymore, and Dick was starting to feel the difference.

He took him back to the bedroom, laying Damian gently onto the covers. He curled up, hugging a pillow. Dick smiled softly as he closed the door.

Bruce was suddenly behind him, causing Dick to jump.

“Bruce! You--uh--well--”

“I heard about the explosion. One of the inmates died of a stab wound. Know anything about that?” He narrowed his eyes as Dick’s brow began to sweat.

“What?! Me? N--no, had no idea, not a clue, why do you ask?” He smiled nervously, hoping Bruce wouldn’t catch on.

Instead, he pulled out the bloody katana from behind his back.

“Shit.”

“Dick, I sent you on this mission so this wouldn’t happen. Don’t you remember our conversation?”

“Yes, I remember, but it wasn’t Damian’s fault. They were all over us, and he had, like, a flashback or something.”

“A flashback?”

“Yeah! He said there were ninjas, only there weren’t actually ninjas.”

Bruce sighed. “PTSD can cause hallucinations, especially during intense moments. It seems like he had a trauma response, but--”

Dick grabbed his shoulder forcefully. “Bruce, please. You and I both know he didn’t mean to do it.”

Batman shrugged away, his voice becoming more gruff. “I don’t care. Someone is lying dead in the dirt right now because of Damian, and I won’t tolerate that.”

“Don’t you think he’s already beating himself up about it?”

“If he’s slipping back into old habits, I don’t want him in the field!”

Don’t you trust him?” Dick asked, raising his voice.

Bruce matched his volume. “Of course I do, he’s my son! But right now, he could be a liability!”

“Your son’s a liability?!”

“Yes! For God’s sake, Dick. Right now, in this state of mind, he’s dangerous.”

“You don’t even know what his state of mind is!” By now, they were both full-on shouting. “You didn’t talk to him! You didn’t comfort him under a tree in the middle of the woods, did you? I didn’t think so! He may be your son, but I don’t think you know him very well!”

They were both breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment heating the hall.

“He’s not finishing this mission.”

“Bruce--”

“It’s my final answer, Dick. I’ve been too lenient. I’m putting my foot down.” He turned to walk away, sighing deeply.

“I think you’re scared.”

He turned slowly, looking back at Dick. “What?”

“I think you’re scared of Damian.”

Bruce chuckled. Dick couldn’t be serious, right?

He was absolutely serious.

“Why would you even think that?”

“You know exactly what he’s capable of, and you don’t want him out in the world. You think he’s the same kid he was five years ago. Guess what? He’s not. You might have been too busy to notice, but I’ve watched that kid grow a lot. He’s changed for the better, learned from his mistakes, and grown into a damn hero, Bruce. You’re too scared of who he used to be that you can’t focus on who he is now. Damian grew up; when will you?”

Dick pushed past Bruce, slamming the door to his room shut. Bruce just stood there in shock. He needed a moment to think, alone and unbothered.

Sunday, 12:35 PM

The darkness of the cave provided the perfect place to reflect. The gentle rushing of the waterfall calmed his nerves as he strolled among his memorabilia. 

The T-Rex was too judgemental for his tastes.

Was he really afraid of Damian? Dick was out of line, but he wasn’t wrong. Damian’s skillset made him a perfect weapon, one that Bruce didn’t want to risk losing control of.

But Damian isn’t a weapon. He’s just a kid. Maybe he’s both.

Can he be both?

Of course, child weapons weren’t a new concept, especially to Batman, but this one was…different.

Despite how much he had changed, in the current situation, Damian could be a threat to the people around him.

He could even be a threat to himself.

Bruce didn’t want to lose another Robin. He didn’t want to lose another son. If Damian went on this mission, the chances of that happening would skyrocket.

He absolutely hated to admit it, but Damian was a liability.

This whole thing was for his safety, and for the safety of the city.

Damian couldn’t do this. Not yet.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Jason swiveled in the Batcomputer chair, watching as Bruce continued to brood. A YouTube video about the different types of AK rifles played in the background.

“Go away, Jason.”

“What happened?” Jason motioned for Bruce to sit down next to him, which he did. His tone had shifted from playful to concerned.

“I’m worried that I’m…wrong about something.”

“Lay it on me, Dad.”

“You’re my son, not my therapist. I don’t want to burden you.”

Jason scoffed. “I have plenty of burdens already. What’s one more?”

Bruce put his head in his hands, sighing deeply. “I don’t think Damian should be on this mission, and Dick is mad at me because of it.”

“Well, why won’t you let him?”

“I--I’m worried that he’ll get hurt, or that he’ll hurt someone else. He killed someone, Jason.”

Jason smiled slightly. “Sick.”

“Not sick! He’s a trained assassin on a mission that is clearly taking a toll on his health. Have you seen him recently? He’s all banged up!” Bruce groaned, leaning his head back. “I just don’t want him putting himself or others in danger.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, dude. He’s, like, 18?”

“16.”

“Whatever. Anyway, you can’t keep coddling your favorite child like he’s an infant with a body count. And before you say anything, we all know he’s your favorite.”

Bruce opened his mouth to object, before promptly shutting it. 

“You need to let him keep growing, Dad. And, sometimes, that means taking a step back and letting him get hurt.”

“How did you get so wise?”

“I learned from the best.”

Bruce took Jason into a tight hug, catching him off-guard. He stood still for a moment before returning the gesture. 

“How do I know he won’t hurt someone again?”

“You don’t. You just have to trust him, and hope that you taught him well enough.” He moved away from Bruce, putting his headphones back in. Bruce smirked. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Mm-hm. Now, go away. I was just getting to the good part.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, 6:12 PM

That evening, Damian awoke with a jolt, tossing his pillow onto the floor. Another nightmare. He shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. He watched as his father entered the room, sitting on the bed next to him.

“Damian--”

“I heard your fight with Grayson, Father, and I’d rather not talk right now.”

“I wanted to--”

“What? Tell me that I’m off the mission? Berate me? Look, I don’t want to talk, Father. Leave me be.”

Bruce sighed, attempting to pat Damian on the back, his hand promptly being swatted away.

“Look,” Bruce said, “I know I said a lot against you. But--”

A pillow smacked him in the face, cutting him off mid-sentence. Damian was breathing heavily, face red with anger. “Get out, Father. Now.”

An alarm rang through the mansion, lights flashing in all the rooms. They looked at one another before rushing down to the Batcave, Damian pushing ahead of his father.

The Batcomputer was surrounded before Batman and Robin arrived.

“It’s a bank heist,” Cass said. “Ivy.”

She pulled up security camera footage, showing dozens of thick vines ripping through the marble floors of the Gotham First Bank.

“She’s not…doing anything,” Duke mused. “Her vines are just there.”

“Regardless,” Batman said, “she’s damaged property. Tim, can you handle this?”

Tim was in the corner, texting feverishly. “Heh? Oh, I’m busy. Kon and I are going to the movies. We’re seeing that one new one.”

“I feel like a movie hardly qualifies for being busy.”

“Do you know how expensive movie tickets are, Dad?”

“We’re rich!”

“Still.” Tim removed his attention from the conversation. Bruce pinched his nose. 

“Fine. Jason, you’re on it. No exceptions.”

“Alright. See ya, losers!” Jason ran over to his bike, revving the engine and speeding out of the cave. 

“Why don’t we all go?” Duke looked up at Bruce, a quizzical look on his face. He was still relatively new to the whole-crime-fighting thing. His soul hadn’t yet been broken.

“It’s easier in case other crimes pop up.”

The alarm rang again, loud and shrill.

“Like that.”

A video of Bane rampaging through the streets, wreaking havoc and smashing property, played on the monitor. Venom pulsed through his veins, his luchador mask ripped and stretched.

“We need muscle. Cass, you’re on this one.”

She cracked her knuckles, a small smile creeping onto her pale face. “With pleasure.” She ran over to the vehicle depot, jumping into the Tumbler and zooming towards Gotham Square.

Multiple alarms shrieked as footage of destruction and chaos continued to fill the screen. Penguin in the aquarium, Scarecrow in the museum, Freeze at the reservoir.

So much chaos, so few heroes.

Batman was scrambling, assigning each member of the family to a crime. The room thinned out quickly, leaving only Damian and Bruce.

“Still don’t trust me, right?”

Bruce kneeled down, reaching Damian’s level to place his hand on his shoulder. “Damian, I need to talk to you.”

“I’d love to, but Firefly’s--”

“You made that up. Firefly’s still in Blackgate.”

Damian huffed. “Dammit.”

Bruce looked right at his son, softening his gaze. “Damian, I’m so sorry about everything I said. I’ve been so scared of you getting hurt, I’ve been trying to rationalize a way to keep you off this mission. It is a dangerous mission, Damian.”

“I know that! Why do you think I wanted to do this! No matter what, you keep treating me like a child. This mission was supposed to be my chance to prove it to you, but I made a severe mistake. Now you’ll never see me as anything but a child.”

“I know you’re so much more than a child. I’ve just been so blinded by my own fears. You aren’t a kid, Damian. You’re a fighter. A warrior. My son. You’re Robin, and it’s time I started treating you like it.” He held out his hand, expecting nothing but a shake. Instead, Damian pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, Father.”

“I love you too, Damian.”

A small beeping echoed through the cave, a softer version of the alarm. Batman sat at the computer, opening a map of the city. “Strange. I’m picking up unnatural motion in the sewers.”

“Could be Croc. Or Man-Bat, though he tends to stay in the sky.”

Batman smiled at Robin. “Ready to investigate, Robin?”

“Of course. I’ll see you at the boat.”

They rushed to the Batboat, engines roaring as they drove through the hidden exit. The rocks parted for them, revealing a thin metal corridor. They drove through it, ending up in Gotham’s sewage system.

Together, Batman and Robin rode into danger.

Sunday, 6:16 PM

The sewers looked like shit, and smelled even worse. Nobody could remember the last time sanitation had even stepped foot in the system.

It was the perfect breeding ground for both bacteria and villainy.

Damian watched through the windows as waste spewed from the pipes into the sewers. The liquid was green and chunky, barely resembling water. “This is disgusting. Can’t you send Wayne Sanitation down here?”

“Wayne Sanitation closed down three years ago. It’s hard to keep a city like this clean. Hold on tight, we’re coming up on the anomaly.”

The sewer maze began to narrow, sharp turns occurring every few feet. The boat rattled and scratched against the stone walls. 

Eventually, they came upon a crossroads. The corridors went in every direction, each path unlit. In the center was a small platform floating in the sewage. Bones bobbed around it, decaying flesh and limbs filling the air with a stench more putrid than anything Damian had smelt before. It was like a mix of rotting food and feces.

Killer Croc, AKA Waylon Jones, sat peacefully, gnawing on a corpse. It wore an orange jumpsuit, and glasses hung askew off his face.

The inmate.

Damian recoiled in disgust and fear, retching at the sight. His body was being torn apart, limb by limb. He could hear the skin rending from bones, blood staining Croc’s jagged yellow teeth. Thankfully, he remained oblivious to his audience.

“We need to incapacitate him,” Bruce whispered. “Activate the missiles.”

Damian flipped open a glass case, revealing a button marked with an image of a missile. He pressed it slowly, trying hard not to make a sound.

With a click, the missiles whizzed silently from the underbelly of the boat. They traveled through the water at breakneck speeds before exploding beneath Croc. 

The force sent both him and the body diving into the water. He surfaced quickly, orange eyes squinting. His teeth were bared into a smile. His scaly skin dripped with green and red, tail thrashing in the liquid.

“Well, if it isn’t Batman and his Bat-brat! I’ll tear you to shreds, Bat!”

He lunged for the boat, pulling it under. Batman and Robin quickly ejected, landing on the concrete. Croc looked around in confusion before ripping the Batboat in half.

“Look, just give me the kid, and I won’t rip you to pieces.” His rough voice bounced off the walls. He sounded like a chronic smoker.

Bruce’s eyes widened. “You’ve never been one for bargaining.”

“Your kid’s got a bounty on his head, Bat, and I’ve come to collect. So has everyone else! They’re offering a pretty penny just for him!”

“Who’s they?” Damian knew the answer, but he needed more time to stall.

“It doesn’t matter,” Croc replied, smiling again, “because you won't be around to remember!”

He leapt up, revealing his full monstrous form. They dodged deftly, Damian battering him with a barrage of Batarangs. Batman grabbed his explosive gel, jumping onto the beast and covering his back in foam. He grappled to the ceiling, detonating the gel with a BANG!

Croc roared in pain. It was deep and guttural, shaking Gotham’s foundations.

“Robin, run!” Batman shouted across the sewer before being swatted like a fly. He flew into the wall, cracking his ribs.

Naturally, Robin ran.

Towards Croc.

He swung onto his back, pulling his jaw open. It slammed shut just as he dropped a small pill into Croc’s mouth. The monster swallowed, unaware of what he had ingested.

A moment later, he began to thrash around like a drunk, arms lazily swinging in a pathetic attempt to attack. His eyes were heavily lidded, his words jumbled and slurred.

“I’llll get yyyyou, kiiiiiii--”

Croc went down with a THUD! His limp body rolled into the sewage, being carried away slowly by the current.  Robin helped Batman to his feet as he groaned in pain and clutched his torso.

Bruce managed to turn his neck, looking at Damian. “Nice job not listening.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to take down that beast alone. Batman without Robin is like a Pop-Tart with no frosting: sad and bland.”

“Says the one who hates anything sweet.”

Damian smiled. “I happen to enjoy Pop-Tarts. I’m calling Oracle, she can send down an extra boat.”

He dialed Barbara, demanding that she send down a boat.

“No problem, Little D, just let me grab your location, and…the boat’s on its way! So, what happened to the last one?”

Damian shrugged. “Run-in with Croc. He wasn’t happy.” He stayed silent for a moment. “Gordon, can you send me a map of Gotham’s underground, if you have one?”

“No problem! What for?”

“Just a project.”

She clicked a button, and the schematics entered his inbox a moment later. He gave her a brief “thank you,” before hanging up.

Minutes passed before a new boat arrived, sleek and blue. Damian helped Bruce into the passenger seat, grabbing hold of the steering wheel and speeding back to the Batcave.

Sunday, 6:29 PM

Back at the cave, everyone was gathered by the dock, eagerly awaiting Batman. Dick and Jason helped Bruce to his feet, taking him to the medical bay. Tim examined his wounds quickly, his diagnosis just being broken ribs and blood loss.

“He’ll be fine, he’s Batman. Besides, we have Duke!” Duke was already healing Bruce, waving his hands over Bruce’s abdomen. He gave a measly thumbs-up.

“Status reports,” Bruce managed. He sounded weak.

Dick started. “Penguin got away. Once he saw that I wasn’t Damian, he just…left. Sicked his goons on me and ran away.”

“Same with Bane,” Cass said. “He told me he only wanted the hijo, no one else. He retreated into the sewers, where I tried to chase him, but lost his trail.”

The rest of the group shared similar experiences, villains becoming uninterested the moment Damian was no longer involved and just leaving.

It was strange, but not surprising. He had suspected Mother would pull something like this, especially with the help of the Court of Owls. They could offer criminals wealth, supplies, and status all in exchange for catching Damian.

She wasn’t going to stop until she had her son.

Bruce struggled to his feet, limping up the stairs. Tim objected.

“You really should rest, Dad.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead. Right now, our main priority is finding the League of Assassins. We need to find--ARGH!”

His knees buckled, throbbing with pain. Stephanie and Cass rushed over, trying and failing to lift him up. 

“What the hell, Duke?!” Dick exclaimed.

“You didn’t let me finish!” Duke retorted, rushing over to help the girls. Together, they dragged Bruce back to the bed. He heaved, rough and low. 

“I thought it was just my ribs?” Bruce looked up at Tim, who refused to make eye contact. 

“I must have missed something,” he replied, feeling the injured leg. Batman yelped in pain. “Yup. It’s broken.”

“Broken! Goddamit, Croc!”

“I thought only Bane could break the Bat,” Jason snickered, receiving a mean glare from his ailing father. “Uh, I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

“He should be fine, with rest.”

Bruce groaned, a sound of both anguish and annoyance. “I can’t rest, Tim! We have to find Talia! We have to--”

Tim stabbed him with a needle, anesthetic pumping into his system. Within moments, his face relaxed as his body slumped. Soon enough, he was snoring.

“Tim, that was badass!” Jason held his hand up for a high-five, which Tim gleefully returned.

“Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to relax on his own.” Tim smirked, a small laugh escaping his lips. Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s illegal. I could call the police.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t going to, because you know he wouldn’t have rested otherwise.” Tim and Damian stared intensely at each other. The youngest eventually retreated with a huff, leaving the older brother victorious.

“Just make sure he wakes up, or this house will be covered in your blood.”

Damian ascended back into the study, leaving Tim speechless. “Did he just…?”

“He didn’t mean it,” Dick said, trying to deescalate.

“Man,” Steph pouted. “That would’ve been a crazy scene.”

Tim looked at her in disbelief. “Steph, what the fuck!?”

She shrugged, following Damian’s path into the study.

“Wait,” Duke said. “What about the rest of the villains?” He turned to Dick, the role of leader falling to him in Batman’s absence.

“We can’t do much now. They’ve effectively disappeared into whatever hideout the Court of Owls is holding them all in.”

“Shouldn’t we at least try to find them?”

Murmurs of agreement spread among the family, Dick nodding his head along. “I guess we could have a scout team do an emergency patrol of Gotham’s underground. Any volunteers?”

Crickets.

“Fine. Duke, Steph, and Cass, you’re on it.” Groans arose from the team before they all shuffled to the Batboat. “Great! Now that that’s settled, the rest of you can just, uh…relax, I guess.”

They all rushed up the stairs, leaving Bruce to rest in the medbay. Dick took one final glance at his dad.

“We’ve got this, Dad

Chapter Text

Sunday, 8:00 PM

Damian stood in his secret study room, poring over pages upon pages about the legend of the Court of Owls.  He was determined to solve this case before Saturday so he wouldn’t have to go to that wretched gala.

The society had been active in Gotham for decades, hiding in the shadows and pulling the strings like twisted puppeteers. 

He also looked at the map of Gotham, circling potential hideaways in red marker. City Hall, the Gotham Library, or perhaps the docks. 

Among the stacks was a dusty old journal. The leather cover was aged and wrinkly, the golden initials on the front faded nearly entirely. 

A.W.

Alan Wayne.

His paternal great-grandfather had many qualms with the Court. He was once their main 

architect, installing their hideouts in buildings across the city. When Alan was unfortunate enough to discover their true intentions, the Court drove him insane, dragged him into their secret maze, and brutally murdered him.

The story made Damian’s skin crawl. 

He continued sifting through the pages, watching his ancestor decline through the words. Was this their end goal with Damian? Drive him insane and then kill him? It was certainly on-brand.

In the back of his mind, he still worried for his father. They had just reconciled, then he breaks his leg?! Someone out there was out to get him, and he didn’t appreciate it. Besides the fact that Father was bedridden for the time-being, he also wouldn’t be able to help Damian with the case.

He would have to rely on the rest of them. 

Tim was the only true detective of the bunch, but Damian didn’t want to talk to him. Besides, he had his own problems to work out.

His other option for detective work was Barbara. She wasn’t Tim, and that was a good enough reason to call her.

“Damian? What’s going on?”

“Gordon, I want help. The map of the city has been helpful, but I need more. I need any information you can give me on the Court of Owls.”

“I wish I could, but there’s practically nothing. I mean, there’s no public information about them except the old rhyme, and the only private files I had were--”

“Erased.” Damian sighed. Yet another dead end. “Can you at least help me look over what I have?”

“‘Course. Let me just…” Her face popped up on Damian’s phone, smiling softly. “There we go! Uh, where are you right now?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stared intensely, yet expressionless. It was an intimidation tactic learned from Father.

It worked. “Um…okay then. Anyway, I’m assuming you’re looking for a hideout?”

“Precisely. According to my great-grandfather’s journals, he would often build these ‘meeting rooms’ on the thirteenth floors of buildings.”

Barbara nodded. “Superstition. Makes sense. Okay, so we need to rule out any buildings below thirteen stories.” Damian crossed out City Hall and Queen Industries.

“Next,” Damian said, “we should eliminate any buildings constructed after 1937, when Great-Grandfather died.” Lexcorp, Wayne Industries, and various other modern skyscrapers were X’d out. They were left with Gotham Library, Gotham Cathedral, and the March Tower. 

All three buildings were gargantuan and gothic, with connections to the Court in one way or another. 

“Do you have a way to narrow it down?” Barbara inquired.

“Of course. God, you underestimate me.” Damian commanded his keyboard, using Wayne satellites to access the security systems of the potential locations. He had eyes everywhere.

He stared for minutes, watching as people came and went. Children hauled bags of books from the library, business associates hurried through March Tower, and people kneeled in the pews at the cathedral.

Finally, he came upon something suspicious. An older man in a suit and tie came to the library in the dead of night. He placed some sort of device on the wall, and all the footage turned to static. When it returned, he was gone.

Damian rewound again and again, but nothing appeared. All he was left with was static and questions. “Can you un-break it, Gordon?”

She typed feverishly, trying to undo the effects of the jammer. “It’s gone. Whatever was there has been completely and totally erased.”

Damian watched the footage again, paying close attention to any possible lead. “Stop.” He paused the footage, zooming in on the man’s face.

He knew him. The man was CFO for a rivaling company, BrightTech. He wasn’t important enough for Damian to remember his name, but he knew he had to pay him a visit.

He thanked Barbara for her help before leaving his room, preparing for another daunting mission:

A business meeting.

Monday, 7:17 PM

The next night, Robin strolled into BrightTech HQ, the white LED lights practically flashbanging him. At least it made sense thematically. The walls were floor-to-ceiling white, TVs playing constant ads in the lobby.

He hated the corporation aesthetic. Drake was the business one, not him. As he sauntered up to the front desk, the secretary smiled nervously. “Robin! What a surprise…”

“I need a meeting with Raycliffe. Now.” He cocked his head, anticipating her response.

“He’s in a meet--”

“Did I stutter? I said NOW.” She jumped at the last word, speaking quickly into her telephone. “Mr. Raycliffe, you have an urgent visitor.” She waited for a moment, before a gravelly voice responded.

“You can go on up.”

Robin stepped past her, entering the executive’s elevator. He rode to the 35th floor, soft R&B playing in surround-sound.

The lift dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a lavish office. Furnished with marble floors and walnut walls, paintings, books, and tapestries adorned the walls. It was the size of an apartment, with a large wooden desk as the centerpiece.

It was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. The large window in the back showed the setting sun over the city, orange and red adorning the clouds.

A small door to the left opened, revealing Marcus Raycliffe. Dressed to the nines with his hair slicked back, he was the definition of a rich asshole. His veneers were blindingly white as his mouth split into a toothy grin.

“Ah, Robin! Gotham’s loyal protector. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Damian didn’t beat around the bush. “Take me to the Court’s hideout.”

He laughed, his businessman facade cracking slightly. “Well, the courthouse is just down the way.”

“You know I mean the Court of Owls, Raycliffe. I saw you last night, in the library. You’re hiding something, and I need answers.”

Raycliffe gulped, tugging at his collar. “I assure you, I have no idea what you mean. The Court of Owls is nothing but a nursery rhyme.”

“Your stutter says otherwise.” Robin smirked, his eyes staring into Raycliffe’s soul. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, well I--I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave, or I will be forced to call security.”

“You mean the dopes that I took out before coming up here?” He hadn’t actually done that, but he needed Raycliffe afraid. By now, he definitely was. Sweat dripped from his forehead, eyes darting all over the room. 

“Fine. I’ll take you. But you have to leave me out of whatever you decide to do.”

“Deal.” They shook hands, walking back into the elevator. Raycliffe called for a limo, and it arrived minutes later.

They sat in silence, the library still about ten minutes away. “How did you know about us, anyway?” Raycliffe’s slightly cocky demeanor had returned.

“The Court and Batman have had a long-standing relationship.”

“Then you would know that we don’t fight fair.” Raycliffe opened the door, jumping into the oncoming traffic. The glass separating the back and front seats slid down, revealing a Talon.

It was a trap.

He swerved into the opposite lane, crashing into the oncoming traffic. Damian unbuckled as the car flipped, narrowly escaping with a quick grapple out the car door. He watched as the car exploded in a fiery blaze.

“God, not another explosion.” He hadn’t gotten over the last one yet. Images of the corpse flashed in his mind as he rushed to the wreckage.

Two other cars were flipped, though thankfully not on fire. Damian ran towards the first one, yanking the front door open. A young woman hung, her arms limp. He unbuckled her seatbelt, dragging her away from the wreckage and into the crowd of videotaping civilians. “Someone call 911!” He shouted into the crowd, looking at their panicked faces.

In the next car, he found an older man, blood dripping down his beard. In the backseat, a little girl was still awake, sobbing.

“Daddy! WAKE UP!” Her screams pierced Damian’s eardrums, but he still persisted. He removed the father, placing him next to the woman. He pulled the back door open, the girl turning her head, terrified and worried.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“Robin…? Yay, Robin’s rescuing me!”

He groaned. “Please be quiet.” He pulled her from her booster seat, letting her wipe tears and snot on his cape. She placed him next to her father, who groggily opened his eyes. “Bella?”

She squealed with delight, holding her dad tightly. “Daddy! Daddy, Robin saved me!”

The father looked up at Robin, smiling. “Thank you, Robin.”

Damian couldn’t help smiling, tears welling up in his eyes. “Of course. Paramedics should arrive shortly.” He took a seat next to the family, exhaustion replacing adrenaline in his system. The other woman was out, but alive.

Damian sighed with relief, tears flowing slowly from his eyes. Silently, Bella hugged him, her doe eyes staring up at him. He smiled back down at her, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Thank you, Bella.”

“I love you, Robin.”

They sat together for a few more minutes, until the paramedic arrived. As Bella and her father were taken to the ambulance for examination, she waved goodbye to her hero.

He waved back.

Monday, 7:53 PM

Damian stumbled into the cave, a thin layer of gray covering his suit. Swinging all the way across the city was not fun.

He was still smiling, remembering Bella’s excited face when she saw Robin. She looked hopeful.

He was a symbol of hope to her, a light in the dark, a savior.

But how could a murderer be a savior?

His smile faded, letting doubt and disgust creep back into his mind. Saving someone didn’t make him any less of a killer. He had to remember that.

He headed up into the mansion, the sliver of a moon shining through the grand windows. He navigated the hallway before returning to the living room. Still in his costume, Damian plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV, trying to find a good movie to watch.

Bruce peaked his head into the room, silently joining Damian on the couch. He had decided on Taken. The noise attracted more and more people, until it became a full-blown family movie night. Dick popped popcorn for the group, and everyone snuggled under blankets.

Damian leaned his head on his father’s shoulder, shutting his eyes for a moment.

When he woke up, everyone was gone. He had missed the ending, and someone had set him up on the couch with a blanket. He was still in uniform, but his mask was removed, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

Damian swiftly grabbed it before heading back to the cave to continue his work. The Court of Owls had evaded him this time, and he couldn’t let it happen again.

He stood on the catwalk, overlooking the river below. The rush of water soothed his mind and calmed his nerves. As the stillness of night washed over him, his mind returned to his moral conundrum.

The thought of his mistake still clawed at him, eating him alive. He still couldn’t decide what he was. Was he still an assassin? Or had the day before been nothing but a bad case of circumstance?

For years, there had been two sides of him: the assassin and the hero. The assassin was who he was raised to be, poised to be a perfect killer. The hero was who he had become, the symbol of hope that everyone but himself saw.

Who was he now? Was Damian the hero, or the assassin? Which one was real?

He fought to keep that assassin at bay, when so many things stood against him. But through all the adversity, he’d never faltered.

“So why now?” He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud. Still, it was a poignant question.

What made this the mission that broke Damian Wayne?

He couldn’t let this go unanswered. Something seemed wrong about this whole mission, like it was designed to destroy Damian. Maybe it was. Maybe that was exactly what his mother wanted, so she could use his broken psyche as a vessel. Maybe this was the Court’s plan, plucking off the Batfamily one by one, starting with Damian.

No matter what, he would get answers, and he would come out on top.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 5:43 PM

Damian leapt across rooftops, his patrol shift going smoothly. Since last night’s attempt on his life, the city had been oddly quiet. He had spent the day lounging, playing games with Duke, training, and trying to keep his mind off of the mission, just for a day.

He had a plan. He could afford to take a break.

In the evening rain, Gotham was almost picturesque. The layer of drizzle created a curtain of haze along the horizon, not even the rising moon visible against it.

Damian stopped as his police scanner crackled to life. “All officers, please advise. An incident has occurred on the corner of Dull and Gray. I repeat, please advise. Fear toxin appears to be in play.”

He rushed across the city, grappling along the buildings like a spider on a web.

As Damian got closer, he saw the plume of green vapor rising into the air. The unmistakable odor of fear toxin filled his nose. He pulled a small filter out of his belt, placing it in his mouth and breathing through it.

He landed in the noxious gas, his vision becoming cloaked in awful fluorescent green. He heard the screams of civilians, watching as they writhed on the ground in agony.

In the fog, Damian could barely make out the silhouette of a man. He was tall and lanky, a scythe perched on his shoulder. His hat was wide-brimmed and skewed, sticking up at the top.

As he moved closer, the details of the figure became more clear. His face was leathery and brown, his eyes glowing green. Straw poked out from under his hat. His face was affixed in a smile.

Scarecrow.

“Hello, young one. Tell me, what are you afraid of?” His voice was raspy, like he smoked a pack a day. Damian shook his head, unable to remove his filter from his mouth.

“Very well. We’ll find out.” He swung his scythe, knocking the filter onto the ground.

The fumes instantly filled Damian’s lungs, his vision beginning to swirl and twist. Scarecrow disappeared into the cloud of gas, laughing maniacally.

Damian’s surroundings faded away, giving way to total darkness.

When he could finally see again, his scenery had shifted.

Cold air blew across his face, turning his cheeks red. Snow drifted to the ground around him, covering the rough edges of rocks with powder. All he could see was white.

He trudged through the snow, searching for any sign of civilization, secret or otherwise. 

Finally, he came across a monastery. The grand temple in the center was carved with stone, adorned with a red banner. The logo showed a jackal with long, silver horns.

He had arrived home.

His mother and grandfather stood above him, a flight of stairs keeping them apart. 

Damian was so focused on his relatives, he didn’t notice the bodies until Ra’s pointed down.

Blood stained the white snow as red as strawberries, besmirching the once-clean landscape. Batman lay in a pool of it, his cowl removed to show his glassy eyes. 

As he looked around, more began to appear. Dick, Colin, Nika, Tim, Steph, Duke, Jason, Cass, Kate, Selina…

More and more bodies piled up, these ones unfamiliar. These were his victims, the ones he had killed blindly. The patient was among them, his glasses still askew as blood spurted from his torso. They surrounded him as Talia and Ra’s laughed maniacally.

The corpses became to twitch and crack, standing upright. Their eyes glowed green, skin melting off their faces as blood continued to drip.

They closed in on Damian, crawling over him like a pack of predators over defenseless prey. He reached for his sword, but there was nothing to be found. They consumed him as he shrieked in fear and pain.

He heard a bang, and saw a door at the top of the stairs, wide open. He sprinted towards it, where Nightwing was holding out his hand.

Damian grabbed his wrist, Dick pulling him into the door.

Tuesday, 6:03 PM

His eyes flickered open. He was laying on the sidewalk, watching as a van sped away with an open back door. Nightwing stood over him, smiling. “You’re alive!”

He grabbed him, hugging Damian tightly. “Grayson? How did you find me?”

“I saw your katana at the crime scene, then tracked the tire marks to this warehouse. They had kept you in the back, but I nabbed you right as they left to take you to the Court.”

Damian sighed, relieved. “Thank you. Without your help, I would most likely be on my way to an early demise.”

“Did Damian Wayne just thank me?”

He scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.” He stared at the street where the van took off. “Should we trail them?”

Dick shook his head. “You just got blasted with fear toxin, kid. You need rest.”

“I don’t want rest.”

Nightwind sighed. “Damian, I can’t force you to do anything. But, I strongly recommend you take a break. Let me handle this one. Please.”

Damian sighed. “Fine,” he said, “but just this once. Please report back to me. I’ll call for a ride.”

Dick nodded, satisfied. He leapt onto a building, swinging on a flagpole before backflipping to the roof. Such a show-off.

Damian called an Uber, tapping his foot on the sidewalk impatiently. When it arrived, the driver’s mouth sprang open.

“Yo--you’re--”

“Just drive.” The driver obliged, speeding off towards Damian’s chosen location.

He dropped him about a mile from Wayne Manor. “How much?”

“I couldn’t ask for--” Damian slipped two hundred dollars into his hand and walked away, leaving the driver in shock.

He trudged up the hill, entering through the Batcave. Despite how much he didn’t want to, Dick was right. Damian needed rest.

As he roamed the halls, he came across Tim lounging in the theater. He stepped inside, taking a seat next to him.

“Rough day?”

Damian nodded silently. He didn’t feel like talking, especially after he had just seen him as a zombified corpse.

“I get that…Damian, listen. I know there’s been something going on with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tim scoffed in response.

“Really? You’ve slept more in the past two days than I think you have in the last two years, and you’ve been way more distant than usual.” He leaned over to Damian. “I wouldn’t ask you this if I wasn’t concerned.”

Damian thought for a moment. He knew that talking could sometimes help, but did he really want to talk to Tim? 

Screw it.

“Drake, there have been some…issues with my ongoing mission.”

“You mean the Court of Owls one?”

Damian raised his eyebrows. “How did you know about the Court?”

“I figured it out.” Of course he did. Despite his many flaws, like his stupid haircut and his cookie-cutter boyfriend, Tim was the second-greatest detective in the family. He chose the Robin mantle, and Damian both admired him for it and was a little self-doubtful because of it.

“Well, then, if you’re so smart already--”

“C’mon, Damian. Please.” This was a rare moment of compassion for Damian. Despite their sibling rivalry, there seemed to be some semblance of empathy between the both of them.

“I just feel like I’m drifting away. I tried so hard to unlearn everything I had been taught about assassin life, and I got so far. But, in the end, it doesn’t seem to matter at all. I am…scared.”

“Of what?” For being a genius, he was acting awfully dense.

“I’m afraid that one day I’ll snap and kill you all. I’ve already killed one innocent person. How many more will follow?”

Tim tilted his head. “Huh. Have you ever considered that you have an entire family and support system that would absolutely help you if you stopped pushing us away?”

Damian was taken aback. “I don’t push you away. I just prefer to work alone.”

“Uh-huh. How many times have you run off to go on patrol or solve a mystery alone this week? Can you even count it?”

“No…”

Tim nodded. “Exactly. We’re a family, Damian. You can’t do everything on your own, especially a mission like this. Your traumatic memories you once suppressed are now being brought to the surface due to high-stress situations, and that’s not something you should deal with alone.”

They sat together in silence for a moment, looking at the blank movie screen. “Please, just consider letting us help. You already get help from Dick, why not the rest of us?”

“First of all, I was forced into a partnership with Grayson. Second of all, a familial outing is the exact kind of scenario where my worst nightmares could potentially come true. It would be both deranged and idiotic to put you all in such danger.”

“Do you think you’re dangerous?” The question hung in the air.

“I am dangerous, Timothy. Always have been.”

Tim sighed. “Why are you being so illogical!? Do you not understand that you aren’t a danger to us? When was the last time you hurt any of us to the point of serious injury?”

The truth was, Damian hadn’t done anything like that since he was twelve, when he sliced Tim’s abdomen open.

“Exactly,” Tim said. “You have this notion in your head that you have to push us away right now because you’re going to kill us all. You’re so blinded by your own fear that you can’t even see the people trying to help you.” With that, he got up to leave. “Damian, I want to help you, I really do. But you have to let me in.”

Tim, the golden child, the perfect detective, was offering to help Damian. Why would he help him? Tim was the least likely to help him.

His brother cared for him, and he couldn’t handle it. Tim’s perfection made him so upset.

“Timothy, wait.” He lingered in the doorway, but Damian had nothing to say. He shut the door, leaving the teen alone again.

Wednesday, 8:12 AM

Damian entered the bustling kitchen, watching his family cook pancakes while chaos ensued around them.

He surveyed quietly from the corner as Jason somehow burnt the syrup. How does one accomplish that?

Finally, stacks of pancakes filled their plates, misshapen but delicious. Tim sat far away from Damian, side-eying him from across the room. Damian took his plate to the couch, opting to eat in front of the TV.

Eventually, Bruce gathered the whole family together in the back courtyard. He now had a proper brace, though he was in a wheelchair. “With rising crime in Gotham, I figured that we should review some combat techniques.” Everyone pumped their fists and jeered in excitement. “Each of you will be given a partner, and we will run a tournament. Whoever comes out on top gets first gym privileges for the rest of the week.”

Jason smirked, prepped to fight whoever he could for that precious gym time. They were paired up according to age. 

Dick and Jason.

Tim and Cass.

Steph and Duke.

Damian tried to sit out, but Bruce caught on quickly. “Damian, you’ll fight whoever wins from the youngest bracket.”

The horn blew, and the fighting began. Anything from shoves to jabs were used, tossing one another around like ragdolls. Dick easily got the upper hand on Jason by somersaulting under him before punching him in the groin.

Tim took down Cass with a swipe of his staff, pinning her to the floor after she tried to take him down with her legs around his neck.

Duke tried to blast Steph with light, but he was still inexperienced combat-wise. She brought him down with a pressure point, causing him to seize up before she kicked the back of his knee in.

Dick and Tim.

Steph and Damian.

Dick and Tim went hard, constantly one-upping each other. Dick dodged every single one of Tim’s hits but he refused to back down. Thinking quickly, he dodged a backflip attack before using his bo staff to knock Dick over while he was slightly off-balance after landing.

“Dammit, Tim!”

“Center of gravity, man. I don’t control it.”

Steph was an easy opponent, taken down by a swift punch to the jaw. The final two had been decided. Tim versus Damian.

Jason and Steph whispered about bets while Dick cheered for them both. Duke and Cass played rock-paper-scissors, not paying attention to the battle that awaited.

The brothers squared up, prepared to duke it out. 

The horn blew.

Chaos was unleashed.

Damian grabbed the end of Tim’s staff, throwing it across the lawn. In response, Tim jabbed him in the face, nearly breaking his nose.

Still, he didn’t go down.

Determined, Damian came close to Tim, trying to land a roundhouse to the face. Tim grabbed his leg, knocking him to the ground.

He kicked up, smacking Tim in the face and sending him stumbling. He wasn’t going to lose to this detective.

They escalated into a thoughtless brawl, throwing punches and kicks like no one was watching. In such close proximity, Damian was forced to look at Tim’s face.

His stupid, smug, face.

Without consideration, he swept Tim’s leg, knocking him to the ground as the beatdown began. Damian saw red. Tim made him so angry.

“Damian, let me help you.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Damian!”

He hadn’t even noticed that Tim’s nose was bleeding heavily, or that his father was yelling at him to stop. He looked down at his brother as the blood pooled on his face.

“I told you.”

Damian ran into the house, leaving the rest of the family to worry and wonder.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 8:37 AM

Damian needed to cool off, somewhere away from everyone else.

So he sat on the roof.

He looked over the city, a curtain of dark clouds keeping the sunlight away from the skyscrapers.

God, why was he feeling like this? Tim had made him so angry, and he had no clue why. What about his offer irked Damian so badly?

He heard the squeaking of boots behind him, and (speak of the devil) Tim sat down next to him, still icing his nose. “I’m sorry, Damian.”

“For what?”

He paused. “I don’t know.”

Damian sighed. “Drake, I apologize for my behavior. I acted out of blind rage.”

Tim waved his hand, dismissing the whole incident. “I just want to know why. What did I do?” He seemed genuinely hurt.

“I couldn’t tell you. It’s just…you. You’re so perfect all the time, so smart and so right. You chose to be Robin, and then I pushed you out of it. You should absolutely despise me, but you don’t. You want to help me, and I don’t understand it!” He buried his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes.

Tim awkwardly patted his back, unsure of what to say. “Look, I don’t hate you, because you’re my brother. Honestly, I used to dislike you. I mean, you tried to kill me. But, as we hung around more and I realized you were here to stay, I grew to love you. We became brothers.” He moved his hand away, looking out at the city.

“We’re a family, Damian. Families help each other.”

Damian was silent for a moment. Families help each other was the most common-sense statement anyone could make. Damian had a family. They worked together, helping one another.

Why was this time any different than all those past missions? He had worked with them before, so why not now?

Because he made a mistake that he didn’t want to repeat around his family. Because he felt vulnerable.

“Drake, this mission has pushed me to my limits. I have been gassed, manipulated, and thrown out of a moving car. I am sick and tired of being afraid of what I might do. I’m done pushing people away because of it.” He took a deep breath. “Help me. Please.”

Tim smiled, his teeth shining. “I thought you’d never ask. Should we make this a family affair?”

“I would appreciate that.”

Wednesday. 9:00 AM

The Batfamily all stood together in the cave, surrounding Damian. “Hello, family members. I have been keeping something from you all. I am done letting my past and my fear control me, and I am willing to ask for your aid in my fight against the League of Assassins.”

He looked around expectantly, and they all smiled up at him.

“What do you got?” Dick asked, coming to the forefront.

Damian briefed his family on his mission, his revelations, and his final plan. They listened intently, hanging onto his every word. Dick looked at him like a proud father. That was his Robin.

“Any questions?”

Steph raised her hand. “How soon can we start kicking ass?”

“When another major threat arises, we’ll attack it. Until then–”

The alarms sounded in the cave, bouncing like rubber off the walls. “Like that.”

Bruce commanded the group’s attention. “Grab a vehicle, and get out of here!” Everyone mounted various cycles, cars, and automobiles to make it to the crime scene as quickly as possible.

They arrived at Dixon Dock, where Joker was stealing a shipment of diamonds via helicopter.

“Ah, the Bat’s brood, minus the Bat! I knew you’d make it! Now, where’s the little bitch?”

Damian leapt off his motorcycle. “Right here, clown!”

Joker squinted, pretending to use his hands like binoculars. “My, you’ve grown! Well, it should still be easy enough to kill you! Just gimme a smile!” He dropped a crate of chattering teeth onto the heroes, chomping on capes and uniforms.

Nightwing sent out a shockwave that fried their circuits, causing them to go limp. Joker, still laughing, mounted a bazooka.

“I was always one for escalation! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The missile blasted a hole in the dock, narrowly missing Jason. He cocked his pistols, taking aim.

As the Joker loaded up another gag, a bullet grazed his shoulder. He yelped in pain, dropping the diamonds into the ocean. “Gah! You spoil EVERYTHING! You all are no fun!” He hauled a canister onto the dock below.

“Maybe this’ll cheer you up!”

Joker gas exploded into the air. They all took out filters, desperately breathing through their mouths. Joker laughed maniacally as he raced towards the ground, aiming for Damian.

He leaned out, trying to grab Robin by the neck and catch him off-guard. Instead, his hand got sliced with a batarang. He quickly pulled back into the sky, losing his balance and falling into the ocean below. The helicopter, now pilot-less, followed.

Joker splashed, sputtering in the salt water. “You IDIOT! Do you know how much money that kid is worth right now?”

Nightwing picked him up by the collar, holding him close to his face. “If you don’t tell us where the League is,” he said, his voice low, “Then I will personally make sure you never escape Blackgate.”

“Or we could–”

“No killing, Jason! So, what’ll it be?”

Joker considered. 

“Blackgate has a great cafeteria!” 

Red Hood tossed him into a crate, sealing the lid and piercing air holes with a batarang. He cackled as they drove away, still devoid of information.

Wednesday, 3:16 PM

The mood was dim as Bruce gathered his children in the living room for an announcement.

“Two announcements in one day,” Dick remarked. “Wonder why?”

“Who cares?” Jason responded.

“Everyone, I need you sharp by 4 tonight. I was able to move the gala up a few days, so we can foil this scheme sooner. Plus, my best suit just got dry-cleaned.”

“Tonight? Are we prepared?” Tim asked Bruce, his gaze darting around nervously.

“We’ll be just fine. Remember the plan?”

The family ran over the plan one more time before getting ready:

Dick and Damian would be the ones to infiltrate the Court’s base, hopefully finding the League. Jason would be trailing them if they left, and Tim would watch from the skies. Cass would take out any security, leaving a path for Duke and Steph. Meanwhile, Bruce would stay at the party to keep people distracted. From there, it’s all improv.

Damian got into his finest tuxedo. The dark maroon contrasted nicely with his white tie and undershirt. His cufflinks were shaped like birds. He even slicked his hair back.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, that familiar sense of doubt crept over him. This didn’t look like Damian. This was someone else.

No. Damian wouldn’t let that doubt over take him again. Right now, he is Damian Wayne, son of a billionaire. He had to hide the hero and assassin for the time being. 

Dick was dressed in a baby blue tux, black undershirt, and his hair had been tamed. They looked like brothers, two sides of the same coin.

“You look nice,” Dick said.

“As do you. Thank you, Dick. You’ve been good to me.”

Dick softly smiled down at his brother. “Of course. I’m just glad you’re opening up.”

The rest of the family were in their uniforms, prepared for action. Bruce was, who could’ve guessed, wearing an all-black suit. “Ready to go? The limo’s here.”

The father and his two sons stepped into the stretch limo, leaning back on the seats. “I didn’t have a great experience last time I was in the back of a car,” Damian said, “but this is much better.”

The gala was being held at the Wayne Botanical Gardens. Hundreds of different plants thrived in a unique ecosystem, making for a beautiful and eco-friendly venue.

The paparazzi arrived before the Waynes did, their flashes armed and dangerous. The most powerful people in Gotham were gathered in one plaza, photos being taken left and right as people chatted and drank.

Parties were never Damian’s strong suit, but he had to handle it. It was for the mission. Besides, he was here with Dick, and that always made things a little better.

He socialized, talking with adults about adult things, like stocks. The money talk bored him. He needed to find a member of the Court, fast.

He walked around the plaza, trying to avoid unnecessary conversation with anyone. Dick was doing the same, though he was a lot more talkative.

Finally, he saw John Wycliffe lounging by the bar. His olive suit blended with the foliage.

“Ah, the youngest Wayne! What can I do for you, sonny?” He looked like a kindly grandpa, hiding the criminal underneath.

Damian waved Dick over as he spoke to Wycliffe. “My brother and I would like to join the Court.”

He blinked, chuckling. “My, I didn’t expect this. The Court of Owls is a myth, boy.”

“I never said anything about the Court of Owls.” Checkmate, Wycliffe. He bit his lip, caught in a trap.

“Alright, you got me. Follow me, both of you.” He led them through the crowd to a small table in a corner covered by shrubbery. A group of men and women sat, drinking and laughing with one another. “Guys, I’d like you to meet the Waynes.” Murmurs of excitement ran through the crew.

“They know.”

The group instantly fell silent, their faces falling into quiet observation, removing the revelry masks. Damian could feel their eyes on his skin, searching for any indiscretion. Finally, a woman spoke up. “How?”

“Various old legends,” Damian brushed off the question. “We want membership.”

“Our dad has been totally lowballing us,” Dick said, his acting subpar but passable. “We could be so much more if we weren’t tied down.”

The group whispered to one another, darting their eyes back and forth between Damian and each other. He kept his composure nonetheless.

“We will consider it. We need to test you both first. If you’ll follow Sara.” Wycliffe motioned at one of the members, who led the boys into a back alley. Another limo awaited, this one adorned with an owl crest on the hood. It was tacky, really.

Damian and Dick were ambushed from behind, their heads covered with burlap sacks. “This is for security,” they heard one of the members say. They were shoved into the car before it sped away, way over the acceptable limit.

“Damian? Are you still there?” Tim was in his ear, making sure the plan went accordingly. Damian could only whisper a silent assurance before he had to go silent.

The car stopped, skittering into a parking garage. The dim fluorescents hummed as the smell of gasoline and rot filled his nostrils. Someone grabbed his shoulders, pulling him onto the concrete floor. “Where have you taken us?”

Wycliffe chuckled. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, just relax.”

A sharp pain jolted in their necks. Tranquilizer. Damian’s thoughts slowed as he dropped into stupor, Dick falling with him.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, ???

The grogginess slowly lifted as Damian opened his eyes. There was no bag over his head, and his brother was still next to him.

Unfortunately, they were both bound to chairs.

And Talia Al Ghul stood in front of them. “Welcome back to the land of the living, my boy. I hope the trip was enjoyable.”

They were trapped in a large circular room, where hundreds of seats rose over them. The members of the Court of Owls watched intently, their expressions hidden behind blank white masks.

Dick tried to reach for the help button built into his watch, just slightly out of reach. He strained, nearly able to press it.

A Talon, cloaked in black and gold, snatched the watch off his wrist, crushing it. The signal went dead. They were no longer trackable.

Damian couldn’t feel the bud in his ear. They had taken it too. They were trapped, all alone yet again.

“I must say, I was surprised you put up so little struggle, Damian.” His mother’s voice was lilting, almost sweet. “I thought you were taught better.”

“I’m not going to help you, Talia. You can’t make me.”

She smirked, leaning in. Their faces were almost touching. “Can’t I? I mean, I’ve already made so many things happen. Who do you think planted that bomb in Arkham? Who broke Gotham’s greatest villains out? Who sent Heretic to attack you? Who set off a chain of events that pushed you past your breaking point? Me. It was always me, boy. It was always about me and you.”

“What about Grandfather?”

She cackled. “He can go kick rocks, for all I care. I want you, Damian. You’re unique. Trained by both Batman and the assassins. You could use that training, that power, to level civilizations. Millions would crumble at your hands. That’s exactly why I want you dead.”

He gasped sharply, fear filling his mind. His own mother wanted him dead. She had him strapped to a chair, vulnerable and afraid.

Dick interjected. “You can’t! We have reinforcements coming right now!”

“You mean those ones?” She pointed at a wall, which opened to reveal the rest of the family in cages. “Amazing how easy it was to stop them. A child could do it!”

Dick looked up at his family in a cage, fear steadily being replaced with rage. In desperation, he thrashed around, knocking his chair into a glass statue of an owl. Shards flew, slashing his skin. They were sharp.

“Richard, you genius.” Damian lunged, knocking his chair to the ground as he grabbed a shard. It cut into his palm as he gripped it, slicing the rope holding him. He scuttled to his feet, still clutching the makeshift weapon.

“You shouldn’t have messed with my family, Talia. Now, you’ve got me to worry about!” He lunged at her frantically, glass shattering under his footsteps.

She sidestepped, disarming him with a twist of his wrist. He crumpled from pain and exhaustion. Talia left him on the floor, whistling for reinforcements. 

Heretic lumbered into the room, towering over Damian. He had grown nearly to adult size. His breathing was heavy as he lifted Damian into the air, his hands gripped tightly around his neck. His red eyes glowed with hatred and fury. It was all he knew.

“Ready to die again?”

“DAMIAN!” Dick tackled Heretic to the floor, letting Damian dropped. He gasped for air, struggling to his feet. Nightwing pummeled the evil clone, his mask cracking at the seams to reveal Damian’s own face. He stopped for a moment, letting his judgement falter.

Heretic landed a punch on his nose, knocking him backwards. Damian rushed towards Dick, lifting his now-bleeding head off the ground. “Richard! Dick! Wake up, please! Please…” He sobbed softly, Heretic still coming closer.

Dick’s breathing was shallow and ragged, his eyes barely open. “Damian…please run.”

“No.” Damian took his suit jacket, tying it around Dick’s head. The Heretic was only feet away now, his footsteps shaking the ground.

“You MONSTER!” Damian lunged, slicing the soldier’s shoulder. He screamed in agony. Damian ran to the opposite end of the room, ending up against the wall of cages. “Come and get me, freak!”

Heretic charged, screaming with rage. At the last minute, Damian jumped off the wall, letting the brute run into it full-force. The cages shook, dropping down to the ground.

Jason was the first to break out of his cage, snapping the flimsy lock. “Man, that sucked.” He walked over to Heretic, kicking his head against the wall. He was out like a light.

He helped break Tim out, who ran over with his first-aid kit, bandaging Dick’s head. It was the only thing they hadn’t taken from his utility belt. He dragged the body to the edge of the room, away from the danger zone.

Ninjas and Talons leapt into the makeshift arena, rushing the heroes. Jason continued to break his comrades out of their prisons. Duke used his powers to disintegrate the reanimated corpses under the Talon uniforms. “Eugh, so gross!”

The ninjas were nimble opponents, but the brute strength and teamwork of Jason and Cass was nearly too much. Their numbers thinned quickly.

As the rest of his family fought, Damian sprinted to Talia. She ran through a pair of doors, her son following closely.

They ended up in a dark, stone room. Lit only by torches, Talia and Damian stared at one another. “You’ve lost, Talia.”

“Have I? Last I checked, this is exactly what I wanted. You and I and the maze.”

The floor fell away under Damian, dropping him into darkness.

…

Damian landed on his feet, looking around. The walls surrounding his were rough limestone. They seemed to stretch on forever.

This was the maze where his great-grandfather died.

He stood still, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He could see nothing but the walls surrounding him, and even those were barely outlines.

He heard another soft drop behind him. His mother stood across from him, nearly invisible to Damian. The outline of her greatsword shone in what little light from above there was.

“One final confrontation. Mother versus son, a battle to the death. May the best win!” She lunged, swinging her sword methodically, narrowly missing him every time. The fight was chaotic, with Damian pushing and shoving himself away from the mighty blade. He couldn’t evade forever, though.

So he ran.

He sprinted down the maze corridors, his mother chasing after him. The lights grew dimmer and dimmer as he moved deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. Talia shouted, “WHY WON’T YOU DIE?!” He just kept running.

His legs felt like gelatin, ready to give up. Eventually, he saw a light ahead of him. He desperately zipped towards it, the light above him growing brighter…

It was the trapdoor. He had somehow made a loop.

He had no weapon, no defenses, and no way out. Damian was stuck.

But he wasn’t alone.

He pushed Talia to the ground, giving him time to run over to the trap door entrance. Then, he did the one thing brats were born to do: he screamed.

It was bloodcurdling, a shriek that echoed all over the maze. Even the corpses heard. His throat was in pain, but he had to get someone's attention.

For a while, silence. Had it worked, or was he alone again?

He saw light pour into the dimly lit room, watching as Tim dropped down into the darkness, followed by Duke’s light. The rest of the family followed, dropping into the maze one by one. Jason held Dick in his arms, now awake.

The family was assembled, fighting together. Steph chucked a rock at Talia, landing it clean on her forehead. She screamed in pain, allowing Cass to bring her to her knees. Tim disarmed her, Duke blinded her with a flash bang, and Jason kneed her in the head.

Talia was on the ground, defenseless and alone. Her breaths were shaky. Damian lifted her sword, feeling the weight in his hands. The jewel-adorned hilt felt cool, his fingers running along the shining blade. She smiled, her teeth dripping with blood

“It was a fight to the death, my son. Do what you must, and seal your fate.” She lifted her head high, ready for him to slit her throat.

He seriously considered it. This woman had been a horrible mother, an assassin, and a manipulative asshole.

He wanted to. He really wanted to. She deserved it.

But did he?

One murder had already weighed on Damian’s conscience, how could he do another? He had tried for so long to do better. If he did this, he would be no better than he was six years ago, killing in cold blood. He couldn’t seek vengeance.

He looked at his family as they watched with bated breath. Dick watched, barely breathing with fear in his eyes. He couldn’t let them down.

He had to prove her wrong.

He had to prove them right.

He let the sword clatter to the ground, the blade scraping against the rock. Talia’s face dropped.

The assassin died, and Damian Wayne rose from the grave.

Wednesday, 7:30 PM

The rest of the evening was a blur. The Court of Owls disappeared, untrackable yet again. Damian and Dick pretended to be victims of a brutal kidnapping gone wrong. They were all saved from the maze by paramedics, who burst through the doors of the Gotham Library, on a tip from Oracle, who Tim notified once he retrieved his laptop.

They placed Dick on a stretcher, his eyes wide open. Damian rode with him in the ambulance with the EMTs, questioning them about their jobs. Dick apologized for his little brother’s tangents, but they just laughed in response.

When they finally got to the hospital, there was lots of waiting involved. 

The clock ticked in the waiting room. Damian was icing his face with an ice pack given to him by the nurse. He hadn’t broken anything, luckily. His brother couldn’t say the same though.

Dick had sustained serious injuries after his run-in with Heretic. His skull was cracked, he was concussed, and his collarbone had fractured from the force. He was in a neck brace and head bandages when his brothers were finally allowed to see him.

None of them left the waiting room until they were let in.

Dick smiled when he saw them, his face slightly droopy. Damian ran up to him, throwing his arms around his abdomen. “Don’t ever do that again, Richard, or I’ll kill you myself.”

“It’s good to see you too, kid. How you holdin’ up?”

Damian shrugged. “Better, I guess. Don’t worry about me, please.”

Dick chuckled. “How could I not?”

Jason clasped his older brother’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. “Good to see you awake.”

Tim popped his head through the door. “The doctors said you should be good to go in the next week or two, with some physical therapy.” He walked over to Dick’s bed, patting him on the back. “You’re gonna be okay, Dick.”

The other members of the family filed in, even Luke and Kate. Everyone was eager to see him alive and kicking. Cass and Babs brought him cupcakes that they had baked, Steph brought a Nightwing plushie, and Duke convinced the doctors to let Haly, Dick’s dog, in to see him.

By the end of the week, his bedside table was full.

Damian visited everyday, talking with Dick about life at the Manor and on the streets. Crime had gone quieter since the last week’s scheme. Most criminals were tracked down and locked up.

“Damian, I need you to promise me something.” He clasped Robin’s hand loosely, looking deep into his eyes. He thought Dick was going to say some deep, dark family secret that he needed to know.

“Take a break. Please. Just for a week.”

Damian looked at his brother for a moment, broken and battered in both body and mind. He had gone through so much, his limits pushed and his boundaries violated.

He nodded. He needed a break, even just for a week. “Okay, Richard. For you.”

Dick smiled wide, embracing his brother.

In that moment, they were both the happiest they had been in a long time.

Chapter Text

It was a cool winter day, and Damian Wayne sat in the Kent barn, nuzzling against Batcow. Months had passed since the plot to break Robin failed, and Damian had become better because of it.

Dick had finally recovered from his many injuries. He had gone back to vigilantism only a month ago, moving back to his apartment in Bludhaven. The day he left Wayne Manor, they threw a party.

There was cake involved.

Damian had taken Dick’s words to heart. He took a break for a week, which turned into two weeks, which turned into a month. Bruce got to spend some time with his other children, and Damian got to spend time with friends.

Speaking of friends…

Jon Kent walked through the barn doors, the hinges creaking as he pushed them open. They had been friends for a long time. Jon was his Superman.

“D, you ready?” His slight southern accent echoed off the barn walls, his smile bright. Damian patted Batcow’s snout, dusted the hay off his pants, and stepped outside into the sun.

A plaid tablecloth was laid over a picnic table with a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner strung across the trees. His entire family was in attendance. Dick held a cake with seventeen candles, no doubt baked by Ma Kent, his face glowing. Bruce came up to his son, ruffling his hair. “Happy birthday, Damian.”

“Thanks, Father.” He sat at the head of the table, smiling as the cake was placed in front of him. They all gathered round the table, singing a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday.

Despite everything that had happened to him, Damian smiled. He was surrounded by friends and family. His mind was quiet, and his regrets were nothing but distant memories.

Just memories.

His happiness, though? That was real.

THE END