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Patrolling Gotham was never predictable.
Most of that came from the villains who lived within its borders. From what Jon reported, most of the problems in Metropolis were traced back to intellectuals—billionaires, super-brains, and generals. That was the kind of nemeses Damian had always imagined himself pitted against.
Instead, Gotham was full of villains who belonged in Arkham.
If his mother could have seen the first time Damian had been forced to fight a man who identified himself as the Condiment King, she would have been so disappointed. He had been trained by the League of Shadows, and most nights he was fighting minions too stupid to form a strategy or villains too mad to even try.
Damian could overcome. He was here to follow his father’s legacy, and if that meant trying to hold a conversation with Harley Quinn, he could do it.
Tonight, he and Dick were working together, fighting through a sea of henchmen to disable the fear toxin bomb Scarecrow had set up in the center of the warehouse. According to Scarecrow—who had illogically shouted his entire plan to Dick and Damian before fleeing—the toxin would spread over the entire shipyard, contaminating everyone and everything in a half-mile radius. His goal, which was also illogical, was the hope that the ensuing destruction of the docks would stall Gotham’s economy and break chaos to the whole city.
Damian had his doubts whether that plan would even work, but as he was stuck in a warehouse with a dozen of Scarecrow’s men, he was still plenty motivated to stop the ticking bomb.
It wasn’t that he feared the effects of the toxin on the henchmen. They would doubtlessly be rendered predictable and dumb by the toxin.
But Damian had been actively fighting to follow Father’s ‘no killing’ rule. It required all his hard-earned control to make his blows non-lethal. With Scarecrow’s fear toxin clouding his mind, he worried he would not manage to restrain himself.
Damian jumped off the shoulders of one man and landed on the ground behind another, slicing the backs of his legs so he’d collapse. From there, it was quick work to render him unconscious.
Nearby, Dick was practically aerial, flipping from one opponent to the other without ever touching the ground. As illogical as it sounded, Dick fought differently as Nightwing than he had as Batman. The cowl was heavy, and came with a legacy. Dick’s fancier tricks didn’t fit the image he had needed to portray. Back in Nightwing’s costume, he could embrace what made his fighting style unique.
Since Father had been saved from the time stream and Dick had left his stint as Batman, Damian had not had has many chances to fight with him. Despite the dangers the night held, it was good to have their duo back.
An engine revved loudly just before a motorcycle burst through the warehouse doors. Red Hood skidded into the open space, guns at the ready. “Heard you guys needed a hand,” he said, voice clear through the comms.
“Get out of here, Hood,” Damian said.
If Damian was concerned about his own lethality when mixed with the fear toxin, it was nothing compared to his concerns about Jason Todd. The man had enough bullets stashed in his costume to mow down every man on the docks.
“That’s not how most people say thank you,” Todd said, diving into the fray without hesitation.
“Nightwing,” Damian complained.
Dick, who was close to the bomb, seemed unconcerned. The distraction of Todd’s entrance had helped him clear the path to the weapon. “Red Hood, the fear toxin is set to go off in thirty seconds. It’s some new compound—Scarecrow seemed sure our air filters wouldn’t stop it. I’m going to try to disable it. If I can’t…”
He didn’t finish his statement. He’d finally made it to the bomb, and crouched down beside it.
Damian fought to get close to him. In their time as partners, they’d both had to disable a number of bombs, but it wasn’t unusual for the materials to be too small for Dick’s hands. Damian, with his smaller fingers, could often help where Dick could not.
Scarecrow’s henchmen, somehow reinvigorated instead of frightened by Red Hood’s arrival, pushed him back. Damian took an unexpected blow across the temple, leaving his ears ringing as he dispatched his attacker.
“Shit,” Dick said quietly into the comms.
Damian exploded into action, blades flashing in the dim warehouse lighting. He needed to get to Dick. They could still stop this.
Then, there was a quiet whine from the center of the warehouse, and the bomb went silent mid-tick.
“There,” said Dick, satisfied. He huffed a sigh. “That was close.”
With Todd’s help, they quickly eliminated the remaining henchmen, who had lost some of their energy with the bomb’s deactivation. They loaded the remains of the bomb carefully onto the back of Todd’s motorcycle so Scarecrow couldn’t dissect and reuse the fear toxin inside. Todd revved the engine and peeled away from the warehouse, leaving a tire skid on the warehouse floor.
Rolling his eyes, Dick scuffed the mark out with his foot.
“Tt, you don’t have to clean up after him,” Damian said.
“I’ve tracked down enough people based on unique tire prints to know that’s not the kind of evidence you want to leave behind,” Dick said.
Damian helped him, huffing and sighing to make sure Dick knew how annoyed he was. Seriously, Todd was more hassle than help most days.
So, of course, by the time Damian and Dick ran over rooftops to get back to the Cave, Todd was already there, leaning casually against his motorcycle. He’d taken off his helmet and swept his hair back from his face. The white streak that usually hung over his eyes had been artificially colored black—he must have been undercover recently.
The bomb was already offloaded, safely set on one of the tables they used for examining the weapons and gear they took off their opponents.
“Are you coming up for a snack? Alfred made cookies earlier,” Dick asked Todd.
“I’m borrowing the computers in the Cave tonight for some research,” Todd said, strolling toward them. “I need the kind of bandwidth you don’t get with my shitty WiFi.”
“You shouldn’t have interfered tonight,” Damian interrupted.
“Still bitter I saved your asses back there?” Todd challenged.
“It’s so like you to fly into action and not think about the potential consequences,” Damian said. “Do you understand what the Scarecrow’s fear toxin does?”
“I’ve tasted that sweet, sweet poison before, brat. I got hit with a whiff back when I was wearing the green and yellow,” Todd said, nodding to the Robin uniform. “It makes you paranoid, yeah, but I can handle it.”
Paranoid. That was an understatement, though Damian was accustomed to those from Todd. Either that, or vast hyperbole. The man seemed incapable of a factual conversation. “And how many innocent people would you have gunned down while you were ‘handling’ it?” Damian challenged.
Todd’s expression grew stormy. “Wanna run that by me again?”
“Your traumas have increased exponentially since the last time you were exposed—and so has your lethality,” Damian pointed out. “You could have killed us.”
“I have more control than you think.”
“Do you?”
“What about you?” Todd spat back. “You think you’re so above this? The toxin gets in your head, and suddenly you put a knife through the throat of your best buddy here,” he said, jabbing a thumb at Dick.
“Exactly,” Damian said. “We’re dangerous. I didn’t go in knowing that Scarecrow was involved—you did. You shouldn’t have taken that risk.”
“What, and it would be okay if I’d been hit?” Dick teased, stepping between them slightly. Classic Dick to try to diffuse a conversation that needed having.
“Tt, you’re not a risk like we are,” Damian said, waving a hand. “You’ve never been truly afraid in your life.”
Dick laughed, glancing at Todd as though looking for support. “Of course I have.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Grayson, we all know that you’ve had an easier life than the rest of us.”
Dick blinked at him, losing his smile. “Seriously, Damian?”
That hadn’t been the reaction Damian had expected. He shrugged.
Dick shook his head. “Wow. You really don’t get it.” There was something in his voice that made Damian tense. Others had used that tone on him before, but never Dick. It was the tone that said that Damian was the sociopathic son of assassins and there was no point in even bothering to try to talk to him. Father had adopted it the night Damian had been sure he would be thrown out of Wayne Manor for his violent inclinations. His teachers had all used it more than once, though they assumed his superiority came from his wealthy background, rather than being raised as assassin royalty. Drake used it more than any other tone.
But never Dick.
Damian bristled. “I’m trying to rational. Of the three of us, Todd has the most trauma for the fear toxin to take advantage of. Though I am much more stable than Todd—”
“Fuck you,” Todd said.
“—there are also traumas in my past the toxin could trigger. You’re the most level of us. If someone had to be impacted, it would make sense for it to be you.”
“Seriously, kid, shut it,” Todd said quietly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dick’s never even died!” Damian said.
Dick laughed quietly, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long night.”
“Grayson, don’t—”
“Just,” Dick said, holding up a hand. “Not tonight, Damian.”
And he left.
Damian watched him go, a sickly feeling twisting in his gut. What had he said? With everyone else, Damian knew he irritated them. He didn’t need Drake’s respect, or Brown’s trust, or Todd’s affection. But Dick had always been patient with him. They had been a team. He’d never walked out on Damian before.
“I’m guessing you get your emotional sensitivity from your daddy,” Todd drawled. His shoulders were tight. “I’ve never understood why Dick liked you.”
“I was just being honest. He’s not usually so sensitive,” Damian said. “It’s probably because you’re here.”
“Jesus Christ, how much bullshit does he put up with from you if you thought that was an overreaction?” Todd asked. “You just told Dick Grayson that trauma is a contest, and that’s he’s losing. Dickie’s been through more shit than most people ever have to deal with, and he came out with his ridiculously perky personality intact. Just because you and me are bigger assholes about it doesn’t mean that Dick hasn’t been hurt.”
“As though you know him better than I do,” Damian sniffed. “I was his Robin.”
“Being Robin means being Batman’s partner. This bullshit makes me think that it was actually probably a lot of Dick babying you. He gave you his big, bright smile, and you’re the idiot who believed him.” Todd shook his head. “Think about it. Who’s had to live through his family dying? We’ve all lost people. Dick has kept losing people.”
“That’s not—”
Todd spoke over him. “Who watched his parents fall from a tightrope? Who had to buck up and put on the cowl when Bruce was gone and everyone else was falling apart—including you? Who lost two of his little brothers, the brothers he was determined to protect?”
“He always seems fine,” Damian said, crossing his arms.
“You know what your problem is? You’re too quick to judge people based on appearances,” Todd said. “That’s just shitty detective work. No wonder the Replacement hates to work with you.”
“Drake’s just jealous of me.”
Todd cackled. “Really? Because the way he tells it, you’re an immature brat who thinks he’s hot shit.”
Damian scoffed and folded his arms. “And how would you know that? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’ve been having brotherly bonding sessions with your ‘replacement?’” he challenged.
“Yeah, actually,” Todd said. “We play video games sometimes. He’s kind of depressed and can be a stick in the mud, but he’s okay sometimes. See? Shitty detective. You don’t know anything that’s happening around you because you think you’re too good to pay attention. You’re completely blind, and it’s your own choice.”
“Dick could have told me,” Damian said. “We were supposed to be partners.”
“Have you met Dick? He doesn’t burden other people. He’s the shoulder to cry on. Did you ever even ask?”
Damian looked away.
“Yeah. I didn’t think so,” Todd said. “I’ve got things to do. I don’t have time to hold your hand and walk you through all this tonight.”
“Then why did you even start this conversation?”
“Because I thought maybe Dick needed someone to look out for him, and it didn’t seem like you were doing it,” Todd said. Damian had been stabbed to less effect. “Whatever. Dick’s used to his brothers disappointing him. It’s not like you’re doing anything new.”
Todd left, ambling over to the computers without looking back. Damian took a short, sharp breath. There was a terrifying heat in his eyes, and he needed to leave the Cave.
If Jason Todd saw him cry, Damian would never live it down.
#
Damian ran a hand over the soft fur of Alfred’s back. The cat was purring on his lap where they were tucked in the far corner of the library. The vast room was empty, but Damian kept his voice quiet.
“I’ve always thought cats were smart,” he said quietly. “Shouldn’t you be running away from me? It would seem the consensus is that I’m the worst person in this house. And Jason Todd is in the basement.”
Alfred just purred on.
Damian let his head fall back against the wall with a thud. Was Todd right? Had Damian been a neglectful Robin?
Dick was so cheerful! His constant smiles and jokes had driven Damian crazy when they’d first met. Was there really so much more lurking below the surface than Damian had ever guessed?
Damian had learned to hide his fears and anxieties, but it had always been behind a mask of haughtiness and stoicism. That’s what the al Ghuls did. Hiding pain behind a smile and a wink was absurd.
Then again, it apparently meant Dick was more effective at hiding his faults than Damian had ever been. When someone looked at a person with a stoic mask, they knew there was something being hidden, even if they’d never know what. With a smile? People look past, assuming they’ve already seen the truth.
Between Dick and Damian, who truly hid their feelings better?
The worst part of it is that Damian should have known. He’d seen Dick do the same thing with physical injuries. Dick would take a brutal hit to the ribs, but brush it off with a laugh. Damian had learned how to watch his body, to track the truth of his movements instead of his words. Why had he never bothered when it came to Dick’s emotions?
Because Damian was as useless with emotions as everyone thought. If they weren’t shoved in his face, he assumed they didn’t exist—or weren’t worth caring about. Todd had been right to laugh at him.
Damian swore quietly in Arabic. This was getting him nowhere. He was sitting alone down here, brooding, while Dick was somewhere else in the Manor, thinking that his Robin didn’t care about his suffering.
Todd had thought that no one was looking out for Dick? Tt. He didn’t know them, didn’t understand their dynamic. Damian would always be Dick’s partner, and he would do what was necessary.
No matter how difficult.
#
He nearly lost his nerve outside Dick’s bedroom door. This was absurd. He was letting Todd bully him into doing something stupid. Tomorrow, Dick would smile at Damian over breakfast, maybe throw a piece of fruit at him, and everything would be back to normal.
Damian sighed. In other words, Dick would continue wearing a smiling mask in front of Damian as though nothing was wrong.
Taking one last fortifying breath, Damian knocked.
“Come in,” Dick called.
Damian opened the door and slipped inside. Dick was lying on his covers, staring up at the ceiling. He looked over at Damian and smiled. “Hey, Damian. What’s up?”
Damian was too late. Dick had already shored up his defenses again. Damian closed the door behind him and cleared his throat. “I wanted to…apologize.”
The words were so rare from Damian that he expected Dick to make a comment about it, but he didn’t. His smile slipped into something more reluctant. “Don’t worry about it,” Dick said, looking back up at the ceiling. “It’s nothing.”
It was an out. An obvious one. But was Dick trying to protect Damian from the conversation, or himself?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Damian blurted. “You never talked about it.”
“About what?”
“About anything. Losing your parents, Todd’s death; I thought you’d gotten past them.”
“I appreciate your confidence in my superhuman mental health,” Dick asked wryly. “Seriously, Damian. It’s fine. I wouldn’t have told you. You’re still just…” He trailed off. They both knew how Damian would react if he finished that sentence, but Damian could hear it ringing in the silence anyway. You’re still just a kid.
“I thought we were partners,” Damian snapped. “You could talk to me.”
Dick finally turned back to him, one hand tucked under his pillow. It was weird talking to him with this height difference. Damian felt awkward looming over him, though Dick didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t like bringing other people down, little bird,” he said. “It’s easier to keep things fun.”
Damian scoffed. “Right, because I’ve kept things so ‘fun’ for you,” he said. “You’ve listened to me complain about the most absurd things.”
“I complain to you about ridiculous stuff all the time!” Dick pointed out.
“Simply not about the serious things,” Damian said. “I suppose you didn’t think I could be trusted with those.”
“It wasn’t that,” Dick protested, sitting up.
Damian folded his arms. “Look, I didn’t come here to make you take care of me even more,” he said. “I’m just here to say that you can trust me. I’m your partner.”
“I’d trust you with my life.” Dick was all earnestness now.
“Well. Good,” Damian said. “Then I suppose that’s settled. Anything you can say to Todd, you can say to me.”
Dick laughed and threw himself back down on the bed. “Is that what this is about? One-upping Jason? Because I don’t even tell him much—he’s just good at reading between the lines. He pays more attention than he pretends.”
“And I don’t,” Damian said, nodding slowly.
“You’re brilliant in a million ways,” Dick said, which wasn’t a disagreement.
“I’ll be paying more attention from now on,” Damian declared. “I’ve been trained by the best assassins, spies, and detectives in the world. I can understand emotions.”
Dick smiled at him. “Of course you can.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“D, it’s never been a question of whether or not you could read someone. Like you said, you’ve been trained from a young age. When you put your mind to it, you know how to understand people. You just don’t usually want to.” With the way he was sprawled over the comforter, it was difficult for him to shrug, but he made an equivalent expression. “You’re kind of like Bruce when it comes to that.”
“I didn’t not care about how you were feeling,” Damian protested. “I just—” He cut himself off. This wasn’t going well. Damian had already damaged this too badly, without even noticing. He had blindly stomped all over the only brother he liked. He took a quick breath, hoping it sounded even. “I didn’t notice.”
“Hey.” Dick’s voice was soft and reassuring enough to prove that Damian hadn’t hid his distress as well as he’d hoped. “I get it. Your apology is accepted. It’s all right.”
Damian nodded once. “Well,” he said. “I suppose that’s all. I’ll leave you alone.”
Dick rolled his eyes and lifted one of his arms. “Get over here.”
“I don’t snuggle,” Damian reminded him. When Dick opened his mouth, he held up his hand. “Times when I was drugged or wounded don’t count.”
“I’m making it a requirement of the apology then,” Dick said, not moving his arm.
Damian sighed loudly, but didn’t protest again. Somewhere deep in his heart of hearts, in a quiet voice he’d never let hit the light of day, this was what he’d hoped for when he’d come to see Dick.
Damian tucked against Dick’s side tightly, head on the edge of Dick’s shoulder and knees tucked to press against the edge of Dick’s hip.
They breathed together in silence for several long minutes. Though Damian wouldn’t admit it, he was grateful for Dick’s tendency toward physical affection. It wasn’t something he had experienced growing up—his mother and grandfather were always stoic, distant. His teachers would have never dared to try to hug Damian, if any of them had even been inclined. He hadn’t had friends.
But Dick reached out to people as easily as breathing. A pat on the shoulder for a job well done. A quick hug after a difficult mission. Sprawling out to sleep pressed against the nearest person while they watched television. There was an ease to Dick’s affection that Damian would never be able to match, but Dick didn’t seem to need his encouragement.
No matter how distant Damian was, no matter how many social cues or hidden depths he might miss, Dick was there for him.
Bruce had brought Dick into the Wayne family, but Dick had been the one to make them brothers.
“You matter, Grayson,” Damian told him quietly, voice fierce. It was easier when he was facing the wall, staring across Dick’s torso. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve failed you, and I’m going to do better.”
“You’re a good partner, D,” Dick said. “And a good brother.”
Damian pressed closer into Dick’s side and closed his eyes. He’d made mistakes, and he knew it. He wasn’t a good brother yet.
But he would be.