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It isn’t until his blade slides home that Damian senses that something is wrong. Silky laughter slinks into his ears; Poison Ivy’s laughter. His blood runs cold. He’d been fighting one of her mutant plants — her most advanced cultivation yet. It must have taken her ages to perfect it, to create a monster that could hold its own for as long as it had against a combatant like Damian Wayne. She should be furious… what does she know that he doesn’t?
“R-Robin…”
Panic digs its sharp claws into Damian’s heart at the unmistakable sound of Dick Grayson’s voice, tight with pain.
“You bat boys are so narrow-minded,” Ivy croons, smiling languidly down at Damian from where she’s sprawled on a tree branch as if on a divan. “Always so concerned about poison just ‘cause that’s what people call me. Always convinced that Dr. Crane has some sort of monopoly on hallucinogens. As if most of those chemicals don’t come from plants. ”
Damian watches with mounting horror as the plant monster before him slowly fades from view, as reality reasserts itself before his sharp green eyes and he sees who he holds pinned to the tree trunk at the end of his katana like a butterfly displayed behind glass.
“Nightwing?” he croaks, just barely remembering to use his companion’s alias. Dick smiles — of course he smiles — and the teeth in that smile are bright red.
“It’s okay,” he tells Damian, who only shakes his head. “Not your fault, kid. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Ivy is laughing again and Dick’s kind blue eyes fall shut, and when Damian yanks his blade free it is with a scream that is equal parts fury and grief.