Chapter Text
Weapons were crafted out of stone and fire—Damian Wayne was no different. From a young age he had been raised by the sword.
He was trained by none other than the League of Assassins; made into one of their greatest weapons.
Yet by their standards he could now be considered as a broken and unreliable successor.
Weapons were intended to be devoid of emotions and yet Damian stupidly found himself becoming attached to the life he is living in Gotham.
The entire reason for his existence and birth was to serve as a weapon for his mother. Without such a purpose, he was nothing.
He was alone—completely alone—with no worth.
Damian could not allow himself to grow soft,
He could not allow himself to establish relationships with the Waynes.
They would only be a weakness to him.
Indulging in such a weakness would lead to disappointing his mother—he believed she would see it as a betrayal.
He could not allow himself to fall for the temptation of living out his childhood.
Damian was no child;
He was a weapon.
For that reason, Damian chose to distance himself from the Wayne family.
After all; they lived in two completely different worlds.
The Waynes could never understand Damian.
They saved others whilst Damian condemned them into the depths of hell.
He had been born with a dagger in hand—it had become a necessity.
His family could never understand his need for swords and violence.
They could never understand Damian himself or the complexity of him as an individual.
So after a while of back-and-forth fighting and a lack of communication; the Waynes finally accepted Damian for who he truly was.
They accepted their differences and left Damian with a silent agreement.
As long as he did not cause death or excessive harm within their knowledge; they would leave him alone.
Damian rarely conversed with other beings beyond animals which he encountered. In doing so he gained a reputation based on his lack of social skills.
Of course that came to the surprise of no one.
After all, from the moment Damian entered the Wayne Manor—his assassin-based tendencies had been quick to reveal themselves.
He clearly valued his own presence over others—that being paired with his struggle to communicate his feelings often led to him expressing his negative emotions in less ethical ways.
Aggressive training was one such outlet.
His training often consisted of maiming punching bags and stabbing random objects with a kitchen knife at family dinners.
But in all honestly; such training was a fair healthier alternative than letting out his anger on actual people.
Damian had been raised as an assassin from birth.
His upbringing lacked education on the difference between right and wrong.
He had never been taught many of the basic essentials that were normally instilled into the minds of average children.
Talia al Ghul had raised Damian before Bruce Wayne was even aware of his son’s existence. Once Bruce discovered the truth, he chose to step in and take legal custody.
Bruce was somewhat aware of what had been normalised for Damian during his time with the League of Assassins.Bruce himself had trained under them for a few years and had been exposed to many acts of cruelty that left him with trauma he could never fully rid himself of.
Even so, Bruce could not begin to comprehend the impact that such constant exposure had on Damian.
For that reason, he went easy on Damian and remained patient with his development, giving him time to adjust to a normal social life.
Bruce felt that Damian recently warming up to Clark Kent’s youngest son—Jon Kent—was a major achievement.
Sure, Bruce wasn’t particularly fond of the Kent family due to his long rivalry with Clark Kent, also known as Superman.
But he certainly wasn’t complaining.
Damian being comfortable around a child his own age—eleven years old—was something close to a miracle.
The Kents were known for being warm and welcoming. Bruce believed that Jon would be a positive influence on Damian.
As usual, Bruce was correct.
Damian did appear happier when Jon was around. His behaviour softened slightly, and there were far fewer violent outbursts.
Bruce wasn’t entirely certain what kind of relationship the two boys maintained or what feelings they had for each other, yet he was grateful that Damian’s behaviour around Jon was such a drastic improvement from his usual violent self.
Yet despite all the anticipation and hope Bruce had placed on Damian’s gradual behavioural changes, Damian never showed any real signs of growing closer with his siblings or father.
There were small improvements, of course.
For example, he had finally stopped attempting to attack them with a butter knife whenever he became irritated during family meals.
But that did not stop him from remaining distant and cold.
Whenever Jon wasn’t around, Damian would retreat to his room and isolate himself from the rest of the world.
His family had begun to grow concerned for his wellbeing.
Yet none of them seemed able to break through the walls Damian had carefully built around himself.
They only wished that Damian could learn how to build proper familial relationships.
…
This morning in particular—Damian was acting out of routine—but not exactly for the better, as Damian planned to sneak out.
Damian swiftly roamed around the manor in an attempt to go unnoticed as he made his way to the front of the house successfully without getting caught.
Everything was going according to Damian’s intended plan—of course, until it wasn’t.
It was the old floorboards that creaked underneath him that tipped off his presence to the other person residing in the room.
Alfred took note of the creaking caused by the pressure on the floor as he quickly took Damian's presence into account.
After all, Alfred Pennyworth was no normal butler.
He had been dealing with this type of shit for most of his life as he raised Bruce and assisted Batman.
Alfred let out a stiff and forced cough into his fist in an attempt to alert Damian of his watching eyes and awareness of his activities.
Damian froze before turning to face Alfred—who stood behind him.
Damian's gaze was tinged with guilt as if he had been caught out doing something he shouldn’t have.
That only made Alfred more curious.
Seeing Damian display emotions so openly was highly unusual judging by his typical cold behaviour.
“Master Damian—do I want to know what you’re doing fully clothed in social attire whilst clearly attempting to sneak out?” He questioned whilst taking in Damian’s choice of clothing.
Damian took a second to pause before maintaining his composure.
“My apologies for disturbing you, Alfred,” he recovered from his initial shock to respond. “I assure you I am not doing anything unconventional. I am simply visiting an old acquaintance.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
Just before he could respond to Damian with another series of questions, a new presence entered the room.
The figure standing in the doorway was not too hard to recognise,
Before they turned to face him—Damian and Alfred didn’t need to see who it was to confirm the identity of the latest intruder.
Both Alfred and Damian recognised particular signs such as the scent of freshly brewed coffee alongside the sound of deliberate slow steps meant to mask one’s presence.
That kind of careful movement could only be achieved through an excessive amount of training.
Something Alfred had personally witnessed during the training of the third Robin.
It wasn’t too difficult to identify the newcomer as Tim Drake.
He currently stood leaning against the doorway as he quietly observed his little brother’s antics with a freshly made coffee in a mug in hand.
Damian spotted his brother at an unnatural speed, his face twisting into a scowl at the sight.
It was no secret that Damian despised his elder brother. Yet it was nothing scandalous as the negative feeling between them was openly mutual.
Tim was not blind to Damian’s disdain—yet that only seemed to encourage him to irritate his little brother further.
Tim raised his free hand and index finger as if demanding the attention of the room before making a statement and adding his input. “I too am curious to know what Damian is going out to do.”
An insufferable and chaotic smile was plastered onto his face as he continued.
“I wasn’t aware the demon child had friends in Gotham—or any friends beyond Jon period. Sure I’d love to discuss Jon’s questionable life decisions by choosing Damian as a friend of all people, but as of now I am more curious about what you, Damian, are up to.”
Damian’s sneer deepened; “Silence from you, Drake. I have no obligation to tell you who I plan to meet.”
“Aha! So you are meeting someone!”
Tim smiled at getting Damian to reveal that piece of information—but his smile was not warm like the usual. It was one of deceptive victory. “You may claim you have no obligation and refuse to tell me what you are up to. But you couldn’t say the same for our father. It would be a shame if he had to find out what you’re doing due to your stubbornness.”
Damian’s face dropped almost instantly.
The room went cold and silent as all three people waited for the other to speak first.
Seconds passed before a fourth person lurking made their presence in the room known.
“It would be a shame for me to find out about what exactly?”
It was none other than Bruce Wayne who stepped out of the shadows to question Tim’s previous statement.
If the atmosphere hadn’t already been tense before—it now radiated of guilt and unease.
Bruce bore a plain expression which appeared completely devoid of emotion—but both Damian and Tim were no fools.
They had fallen victim to his facade before and could easily recognise the interrogative look behind their fathers eyes.
“Damian,” Bruce began calmly, “can you explain to me what exactly is going on here?”
He raised a brow in feigned casualness.
Damian responded with a look like he had been caught doing something truly wrong—which only confirmed Bruce’s suspicion.
Of course, a young teenager sneaking out to visit someone was nothing out of the ordinary.
It was normal for kids that age to rebel in such a way.
Yet Bruce knew that Damian was no ordinary child.
Which could only mean something fishy was going on here.
After what felt like a full minute of staring each other down, Damian finally let out a sigh of defeat.
“I’m aware this appears to be quite bad father—I assure you it’s nothing of the sort.” He paused briefly, “If you truly wish to know. I am going out to meet an old acquaintance."
Everyone in the room paused.
Tim’s hand wavered slightly as he lowered his mug.
Tim’s hand wavered slightly as he lowered his mug. “The fuck do you mean by acquaintance?”
Alfred sighed before butting in.
“Mind your language, Master Timothy. Do remember that Damian is still quite young.”
“I am no child. I can tolerate far more than a few inappropriate words,” Damian huffed.
“Yes, Damian, we know,” Bruce added, attempting to defuse the growing tension. “However, it is still good to be mindful of language so we do not build bad habits.” He then turned his attention back to Damian. “What Tim intended to say is that we weren’t aware you had any friends in Gotham.”
Damian’s scowl deepened as he noticed Bruce’s tone. He felt as though he was being babied.
He wasn’t an infant.
There was no need to simplify things for him or be vague. Damian hated when people refused to be straightforward.
Still, despite his irritation, Damian chose to elaborate to avoid further misunderstandings.
“I hate to correct you, Father—but you misinterpreted what I said previously. I am not meeting a friend.” He paused. “My acquaintance is more like a younger brother.”
The room fell silent.
The sound of Tim’s glass mug shattering on the floor echoed throughout the manor—likely waking half the household.
Everyone slowly turned to stare at Tim.
Even Bruce Wayne seemed momentarily stunned.
“I was not aware I had another child beyond you, Damian,” Bruce said slowly.
Damian sighed as if the misunderstanding was obvious.
“It’s not like that, Father. My little brother is not your son—but another child of Mother’s.”
Bruce froze at the mention of Talia al Ghul.
Their relationship had been brief and complicated—filled with manipulation on her part. Yet Bruce was certain he would have known if she had another child.
He had spent years monitoring her activities.
The fact that Damian knew about this child made the situation even more concerning.
Bruce’s detective mind began racing through possibilities.
Meanwhile, Tim had regained some composure as Alfred calmly began picking up the broken mug pieces.
Tim stuttered.
“You have a little brother?! Wait—no, screw that. I’m more shocked you even consider someone to be a brother!”
His tone carried a hint of jealousy, though he tried to hide it.
He had never been particularly fond of Damian—especially not at first. Damian’s entitled attitude had made forming a connection difficult.
Tim had tried. But he had ultimately failed.
Even so, part of him still wished for some kind of relationship with his little brother.
He would never admit that aloud.
“It’s not as serious as you’re all making it out to be,” Damian muttered irritably.
“If knowing more about my whereabouts will ease your minds, then I will tell you this: my brother was born no more than seven years ago when my mother took him in. We recently reconnected, and he is currently residing in Gotham.”
Before anyone could respond, Damian used the silence as an opportunity to leave.
He walked out the front door, turning briefly to make one final remark.
“If you have a problem with what I am doing, then bother me later. I refuse to give up the opportunity to reconnect with my little brother after three years of no contact.”
Bruce simply nodded.
He would leave Damian alone.
For now.
…
Damian Wayne grumbled to himself.
He had planned out his escape almost perfectly, yet he had never considered what he would do if there were an intervention.
He had been too invested in the idea of seeing his little brother again to stop and consider the possibility that his legal family might get in the way.
The thought surprised him.
Damian hated surprises.
Now his mood was spoiled—but his bad mood was hardly a rarity. His annoyance was a common occurrence.
He began mentally checking off that everything else had gone according to schedule as he walked quickly toward the assigned meeting place.
It wasn’t too far from Wayne Manor, making it an easy walk and giving Damian time to clear his head.
He and his brother had agreed to meet at a local park commonly known for harbouring stray cats.
Damian and his little brother had bonded over their mutual love for cats in the past. They shared many interests.
Such feline creatures were tolerable, unlike humans.
Cats never harboured ill intent, nor did they demand draining social interactions.
Like Damian, they were reserved and kept to themselves. He found himself relating to that aspect of their behaviour.
No one else—except his little brother—understood or accepted that part of him.
He never felt particularly judged around his brother. Their interactions were one of the rare things that brought him genuine joy, and surprisingly, they never drained him.
For that reason, Damian loved his little brother and considered him real family—beyond simple blood ties.
Without his brother, he might as well have been alone in this cruel world.
Damian found himself anticipating their meeting. He could not wait to reunite with the one person who understood him the most.
For the first time in what felt like years, Damian Wayne felt a smile form on his stiff face.
It was unfamiliar.
Joy mixed with anticipation as a soft yet unmistakable smile curved his lips.
Damian finally arrived at the park, feeling a strange sense of happiness—almost as if he had been reborn.
Rebirth was not an unfamiliar concept for his brother.
Though that was a complicated topic.
He walked along the park’s main pathway, taking a brief moment to observe the surrounding greenery before looking ahead.
He quickly recognised the back of his brother standing only a few feet away.
Damian could recognise him anywhere.
Even if it was clear his brother had gone through a massive growth spurt.
His little brother had grown several feet taller and was now built with solid muscle—yet Damian still recognised the familiar presence immediately.
Calling him little was quite the stretch now.
His younger brother stood well over six feet tall.
He was crouched down, quietly observing a ginger cat before gently reaching out to pet it. Damian noticed the familiar head of black hair, now streaked with strands of white.
Damian cleared his throat, quietly demanding his brother’s attention. His brother turned sharply and looked up from his crouched position.
The cold expression on his face instantly softened when he saw Damian. His features were sharp, marked by scars from years of hardship—but the smile that spread across his face erased the harshness completely.
Unnaturally green eyes locked with Damian’s, filled with something warm and nostalgic.
Damian felt himself melt into that familiar gaze.
His brother stood up almost immediately, now towering over him.
Before he could even think, Damian ran forward.
Excitement filled him in a way that made him feel like a real child.
Almost normal.
Surprisingly, Damian didn’t mind the feeling.
As he ran forward, he wrapped his arms around his brother. The hug was instantly returned.
Damian buried his face into his brother’s chest while strong arms wrapped gently around him. And despite his size, his brother held him with surprising care.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Though neither of them were usually affectionate people, the hug felt natural—warm, as if it were something they had done countless times before. Damian didn’t mind that feeling either. If anything, he was beginning to grow used to it.
He found himself wanting to act his age around his brother.
He wanted to act young.
Carefree.
Happy.
His brother was the exception to everything.
Damian couldn’t explain it.
He didn’t understand why he felt so weak around him.
But he didn’t hate the feeling.
Seven years ago was when everything began.
Seven years ago when his brother was born—or reborn.
Seven years ago when Damian first met him.
Seven years ago when Damian allowed himself to grow soft.
Damian now embraced the man he called his little brother.
But legally, that man bore the name and face of a boy who had died seven years ago—whose corpse had mysteriously disappeared.
The man Damian was hugging now was known throughout Gotham as a villain.
A criminal who had terrorised the city without shame.
Yet here he stood, holding Damian with quiet tenderness.
His brother was another trained assassin. But before that—He had been a child soldier who only wanted to help the city. Until that same city destroyed him.
His younger brother—or perhaps elder, depending on how you counted the years before his death—was none other than Jason Todd.
A dead man walking.