Chapter Text
There was nothing remarkable about a rainy day in Gotham.
Damian had come to learn over the last three months that Gotham was wet more often than it was dry. Drake had once explained that coastal areas received more rain than further inland areas because of the moisture from the ocean, which was a perfectly reasonable geographic explanation. It did not explain why the rest of New Jersey received a well-distributed amount of rain, while Gotham seemed to be perpetually drowning. When Damian brought that up, Drake had said 'the curses' were to blame for that and refused to elaborate. Damian, of course, thought that was a foolish thing to believe, and had expected better from someone as logically inclined as Drake.
Now, as the rain thundered across the tops of their umbrellas as they all stood around Bruce Wayne's freshly dug grave, Damian was starting to understand. The only thing that could explain such awful circumstances was some sort of cosmic interference.
The world at large was not allowed to know just yet that Bruce Wayne was dead. As such, the only people assembled for his funeral were those with the privilege to have known him as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. The Justice League and various other heroes had shown up dressed in their finest mourning attire. Damian himself was wearing a suit that Father had just taken him to get tailored the week prior. Words were exchanged, eulogies were read, and then Father was lowered into the grave.
Damian found himself unable to focus on the mound of dirt for reasons that escaped him, so he found himself examining the other members of his family. Brown was standing with her arm around Cassandra—who Damian had learned the hard way to never, ever call by her last name. Cassandra had not spoken a word since Father's body had been recovered, but her tactileness had increased. Damian assumed she was comforted by Brown's presence, though it was hard to tell what she was feeling at all. Her face seemed a mask of indifference, but Damian could see the brokenness in her eyes.
Drake was similar to Cassandra in that way. He had gotten his poker face from Father. According to the others, Drake was 'excellent at hiding his emotions,' though Damian was unsure why they said it like an accusation rather than the commendation he would normal perceive it as. Damian thought the family gave Drake too much credit in general, but he could respect his emotional control.
Todd had also shown up, despite concerns that it may be too upsetting for him. He was staring at the grave, his back hunched and his hands in his pockets, tears falling down his face. Of all of the members of the family, Damian had expected that Todd would be the least likely to express such weakness, especially in front of other heroes. Perhaps Grayson, who Damian had always perceived as more sensitive and emotional. Perhaps Brown, who was prone to outbursts. Definitely not Todd. Yet there he stood, sharing an umbrella with Drake, his shoulders shaking as he mourned.
Damian was unable to watch Todd for too long, the raw emotion unsettling him. His eyes wandered to Commissioner Gordon and Barbara. Apparently, Commissioner Gordon and Father had pretended for many years that Gordon did not know who he was, though they both knew that he had worked it out near the beginning. Grayson had done away with the long-running farce to invite Gordon to the funeral. The Commissioner was dressed in his normal trench coat, head tilted down low as he held an umbrella to cover himself and Barbara, who was wringing her hands, eyes flickering over to Grayson on occasion with a worried expression.
Grayson had already shed his tears, Damian knew that. He had seen it himself, the way Grayson had crouched over the dead body of Batman, tears falling out of his eyes as he begged his father to wake up. There had not been time for more tears since. As Father's eldest son, it came down to Grayson, with the help of Pennyworth, to make all of the arrangements. Grayson had coordinated the cover story, finding a person willing to stand in as Bruce Wayne for the foreseeable future. Grayson had picked out the plot of land, somewhere discrete on the Wayne Manor's grounds. Grayson had invited all of Father's friends and colleagues, personally meeting with each of them to make sure they knew the time and place.
Grayson had gotten a grave marker made by someone who would not expose them. Picked the wood of the coffin. Talked Todd through a panic attack upon the sight of their father in it. Helped Damian lay his hair back properly the morning of. Intercepted every person who tried to talk to Cassandra. Despite having some aversion to the rain that Damian did not understand, Grayson stood there in it with the rest of them. Grayson had taken on the burden of holding them all together, keeping himself calm and composed throughout the process.
Mourners had started to disperse. People that Damian had only ever heard tales of walked past, offering their condolences to the un-moving collection of Bats. Eventually, only one person remained: Superman, also known as Clark Kent—who had been Father's best friend, to Damian's great confusion. The Kryptonian walked over to Grayson, clapping his hand on his shoulder.
"You did a great job pulling this all together," Superman complimented him.
"Thanks, Clark," Grayson responded. "I figured… ya know… he deserved something nice."
"Yes, yes he did," Superman said, glancing around. "The work he was doing here… it was important. Gotham will be worse off without him. Without Batman."
There was something loaded in the words, and Damian watched as Grayson squared his shoulders.
"I don't want to rehash this, Clark… not here, not now," Grayson insisted, his voice steely.
Grayson and Superman must have argued sometime in the past week, though Damian could not fathom what it may have been about.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't… I wasn't trying to restart that conversation," Superman said sincerely. "You just buried your father. You shouldn't have to focus on anything but mourning with your siblings."
Grayson relaxed, and he nodded.
"Right, sorry," Grayson said, his voice quiet.
"Don't be," Superman said, and the two shook hands. "He was proud of you, Dick. All of you. I hope you know that."
Grayson gave him a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, before turning to Damian.
"C'mon, Dami, let's get the others and head inside."
It became apparent to the low-life criminals of Gotham that Batman was not returning two weeks after his death. That was when the worst crime surge that Gotham had seen in years began, and the Bats and their associates became so busy that they did not have time to mourn.
Grayson, Todd, and Brown started living at the manor, with no time to return back to their own apartments in between sleeping and patrolling. Todd and Pennyworth's shared birthday had passed with little fanfare, with Todd insisting that 'nineteen was nothing special, anyway.' Damian got the impression that Todd did not feel like celebrating a birthday without Father.
Barbara, on top of interfacing with other heroes across the world, dedicated more time than ever before to monitoring and running their communication lines. Damian, who was rapidly approaching the time he would have to return to school, put all of his spare time into trying to make a dent in crime before he had a curfew—a ridiculous notion that Pennyworth and Grayson would not back down on.
However, no one dedicated themselves to the work quite as much as Cassandra. Damian did not see her in anything but her uniform. She did not speak a word to any of them, even through sign language. When Damian asked Grayson, his expression dropped and he explained to Damian that Cassandra had not learned to speak until recent years, and in moments of great stress, it stopped being her first instinct. Damian understood. He had been trained to be silent, too.
It was that training that allowed him to move quietly through the halls as he searched for Drake, the only person who was harder to locate than Cassandra, those days. Damian was… intrigued by Drake's behavior as of late. Not worried, of course, Damian did not feel such worthless emotions.
Drake did only two things: patrol Gotham city and obsessively research something in his room. Damian had once passed by the door on one of the few occasions Drake had it open, and had seen a mystery board that had not been there previously, covered in photos and theories and red string. When Damian had asked Drake what case he was working on, Drake had brushed him off.
Now, Drake was not in his room. Damian knew because they shared a wall, and he had not been able to hear anything for quite some time. It was also nowhere near time for Drake to patrol. That meant that Drake was somewhere else in the mansion, which was a strange change in routine. Naturally, Damian felt the need to investigate the disturbance.
Drake was not in the kitchen, where Pennyworth was working on dinner. That was reasonable, as Drake was banned from attempting to use any kitchen appliances for reasons unknown to Damian… the family had yet to break and tell him the story that inspired the rule. All that he had gathered was that it also involved Grayson, who was similarly banned. He would be more likely to find Drake there after dinner, when he helped Pennyworth wash the dishes every night without fail.
He was not in the library, which was Todd's usual domain. He did not find Drake in any of the living rooms. Drake was not in the Batcave. There were no other places to check than the portrait gallery, which was where Damian decided to end his investigation. That was where he found him, staring at a portrait. It was surrounded by other portraits of the Wayne family, stretching back in time to the founding of Gotham. Puzzled by Drake's behavior, Damian walked forward silently to get a better view of the painting.
The portrait was painfully familiar, and it took Damian a second to realize that the subject of it looked exactly like Father. The plaque under the portrait said 'Mordecai Wayne.' His garb suggested that he was from a time long gone, likely the early years of America, when the continent had originally been colonized. Damian turned to Drake, who was staring at the portrait as if it held all the answers in the universe. He was so entranced that Damian was unsure Drake had even noticed his presence.
"What are you doing, Drake?" Damian asked.
Drake did not respond. He did not give any outward reaction that would indicate he had even heard Damian.
"I know that you are fond of wasting your time instead of providing some benefit to the cause, but this is idiotic, even for you," Damian said, but was summarily ignored. "Drake."
Damian crossed his arms then stormed off, perturbed that Drake was not responding to him. Usually, Drake was the first with some witty comeback. Damian almost enjoyed their exchanges. It was… unsettling for Drake to not even give an inclination that he had heard Damian.
Grayson was in the Batcave doing a gymnastics routine on the uneven bars. Apparently Father had them installed so that Grayson would stop swinging on chandeliers when he was first taken in.
"Grayson, why is Drake acting so strangely?" Damian asked, and Grayson grunted before finishing his routine early.
Being a talented gymnast, he stuck the landing.
"What do you mean?"
"He's standing in the portrait gallery, staring at some old painting," Damian said. "He did not even respond when I cleverly insulted him."
"Ah," Grayson said, grabbing a towel to pat his neck dry. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. "Today is the one year anniversary of the death of his father."
"Father died three weeks ago."
"Not Bruce," Grayson elaborated. "Jack Drake. He was murdered by Captain Boomerang last year. That was why Tim came to live with us full time."
"Oh," Damian said eloquently, unsure of how to respond.
"Yeah," Grayson responded. "The, uh… the first year anniversary is the hardest, plus losing Bruce so recently… just, be nice to him? He could probably use some kindness right now."
"Understood," Damian said, his hands wringing behind his back.
Perhaps he would avoid antagonizing Drake further that day… not out of kindness, of course. Simply self preservation.
Just a couple of days after finding Drake staring at the portrait, Damian was attempting to sleep before his first night of school. The Bats had not made any substantial headway on crime. Without the Dark Knight—the embodiment of vengeance—the criminals were emboldened. It did not matter who they sent: Nightwing, Batgirl, Spoiler, Red Robin, Batwoman… not even Red Hood. None of them were as intimidating as Father.
The city needed Batman. All they had to offer was themselves. It was not enough.
Unable to force his brain to shut off, Damian decided to go down to the Batcave to do some training. He hoped that if he exhausted his body, his mind would follow. The manor was quiet, with most people either already out on patrol or sleeping until their turn. That was why Damian was so shocked to see Grayson in the Batcave. He was in front of a display case with the Batman suit in it, staring at it intently, his shoulders slumped in something like resignation. He turned when he heard Damian enter.
"Grayson," Damian greeted. "What are you doing?"
Grayson gave him a sad smile. "Hey, kid… just thinking."
There was a pause, and Damian was just about to walk away when Grayson spoke again.
"Did I ever tell you what Clark said to me when I invited him to the funeral?" Grayson asked.
"No, but I sensed some tension between the two of you," Damian said, and Grayson nodded.
"He said to me, 'Dick… Gotham will need a Batman,'" Grayson quoted, his voice taking on that specific cadence that Superman used. "'He was a symbol there, a symbol so powerful that it kept the criminals at bay through fear. Someone will need to take his place.'" Grayson paused. "I told him that there was no one who could replace him. That Batman was so much about him and his grief that there was no way someone could fill those shoes. So, he looked at me, and he said, 'No one except for you, Dick. You're the only person who could do it.'"
Admittedly, Damian had wondered previously why Grayson had not taken on the mantle already. Father had made it abundantly clear that all of his adopted children were just as much his children as Damian was—much to his chagrin at the time—which would make Grayson the natural heir to the family and the cowl.
"I had assumed you would assume the role, as Father's eldest," Damian expressed out loud, and he watched as an unreadable series of emotions flickered through Grayson's eyes. "Are you going to?"
Grayson reached out and touched the display case, sighing deeply. After a moment, he straightened his back and squared his shoulders, as if preparing to take on a great weight.
"Yeah, yeah I think I am."
Damian would have been honored to carry the mantle of the Bat, had he been able to fit in the suit. That was what made it so perplexing that Grayson said the words with nothing but resignation and dread.