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“Akhi?” A young boy with startling green eyes asks hesitantly, looking up at a boy no older than seventeen.
“What’s up Dami?” He asks, looking at the young boy with an open smile and gentle eyes, the book in his hands falling into his lap.
The young boy, Dami, doesn’t respond. He warily creeps closer to the older boy, shoulders tensed, and eventually he’s standing directly in front of him. He reaches towards a thick band around the older boy's wrist, a mix of red, green and yellow. His fingers barely brush it before he’s skittering back, like he’s expecting an attack for such a simple act.
The older boy doesn’t speak, simply unwinding the band from his wrist. He holds it between his fingers, eyes flashing green as he studies it as though he hadn’t had it for years. He looks younger in that light, memories flashing through his mind and across his face. He takes one last long look at the band, something mournful yet warm passing over his face. He beckons Dami over, slipping the band around his much smaller wrist when comes close enough.
“This is very important Habibi” he explains, and Dami nods, a serious expression filtering onto his face “I’ve had this for a long time now, and it helped me remember when I’d forget. Now, it’ll help you remember too” he explains, not bothering to hide his smile when Dami buries himself into his side as much as he can.
“Promise me you’ll remember Dami”
“I promise Akhi”
He breathes out a shuddering breath, clutching the younger boy in a tight hug. Dami for his part, clings just as tightly. The first few rays of morning light begin to drift into the room through an open slit in the blinds. He’d be gone before the sun would fully rise.
“I love you, Habibi” he whispers, like any louder would shatter the moment. Maybe it would.
“I love you too Akhi” Dami whispers back, far too grief-heavy and final for a seven year old.
The sun rises, and only one boy remains in the room. There’s no evidence of the older boy, beyond whispered conversations and a band of green, red and gold. It’s a little weathered with age, and stained, but Dami holds onto it as if it was gold. To him it might as well be. It’s the only thing of Akhi he has. His promise rings through his head, and he holds onto the band as he does his best to hold onto all his Akhi told him.
In the brief reprieve before he has to brave reality, he can’t help but wish he’d asked more questions. Even just one, about the engraving on the bottom of the band.
‘Robin is magic’
Sometimes magic is the same as a curse
Sometimes history is only doomed to repeat
Sometimes people are born to die
Sometimes memories are the only truth there is
Wayne Manor is not something Damian is prepared for.
It’s imposing and spacious, not unlike the League. But it isn’t the grandeur or the endless hallways that give him pause. It’s the door that sits at the end of the family wing of bedrooms, never opened and a single J hanging on the front. He can’t stop himself from looking at it whenever he passes by. There’s gaps in the photos on the wall, conspicuous gaps where ones that used to be had clearly been removed. There’s nothing left to show that Akhi ever walked these halls. Nothing to indicate that Akhi once called this place him. Nothing to say he was ever even here at all.
He thinks he finally understands what Akhi meant, when he said not all haunted houses looked all that haunted.
Nobody says his name, ever. Damian doesn’t, because he hasn’t had the chance to gauge his Father’s reaction when someone did. He suspects it will be Grayson who does, because he’s been the most open so far, but for now he’s content to wait. The manor is still unfamiliar, and he isn’t so prideful as to believe he’d be able to beat them within their own home. He’d always been good at waiting.
Akhi haunts every corner of this house, and not in the way he’d thought he would. There’s no hard evidence of his existence within these walls, but there doesn’t have to be. It’s in the Wonder Woman cup that nobody uses, in the kitchen table chair nobody ever sits in. The place Jason had carved out for himself was now just empty space. Empty space nobody dared to fill. Akhi was nothing more to them now than a phantom of their regrets.
Damian thinks he gets it, why Akhi never wanted to come back here.
The manor isn’t home, and he’s not really sure it ever could be. Home was Akhi. Home was Akhi reading stories out loud in a gravelly voice and home was the way Akhi would run his fingers through Dami’s hair every night. Home was Akhi’s cooking and home was latching onto Akhi’s side, trusting that there was nowhere safer for him to be. Akhi had always been his home. Akhi who raised him, fought for him, protected him. Akhi who took his punishments and who would stitch his wounds. Akhi was his person, beyond anyone else. Akhi, who he’d never quite gotten up the courage to call what he really wanted to. Akhi, who he never got to call Baba.
Damian sucks in a sharp breath in the quiet of the hallway before schooling his expressions and pushing open the dining room door. Grayson, Drake and Father are all already there. It’s a sight that’s growing familiar, though the cast of people attending is a revolving door of changing faces. It’s a little unsettling, being unable to know who will be in what’s meant to be his own house. It had always been the same people in the league, and he’d known how to prepare because of that. This is different.
“Morning Damian” Grayson greets softly, pulling his gaze from where he’d been speaking with father to blink at him tiredly. Neither Drake or Father speak.
“Morning” Damian offers back, just as quietly, and silently takes the seat the furthest away from them.
He hates the unknown of it all. The league, for all its faults, had been regimented and controlled. He knew who would be where and when, and there was security in that. A security in knowing. And Akhi, there was always Akhi, until there wasn’t. Until grandfather decided he’d outlived his use. Damian hadn’t even gotten the chance to see him one last time. He didn’t even know until mother was sneaking him out under the watchful eye of the moon, when he asks why Akhi is not with them.
All he had of Akhi was the gold and green bracelet.
“Here you are Master Damian” Alfred says, placing a plate in front of him, and he nods gratefully. Alfred had so far been the best company in the manor, quiet and knowledgeable and understanding in a way the others lacked. It helped that Akhi had only ever had good things to say of him.
“How’s school Dami?” Grayson asks, smiling brightly and even though it’s been months now, he still has not been able to completely push away the resentment that stirs every time he sees him.
“You were on a team Akhi?” Damian asks one afternoon after training, watching as his brother expertly stitches his own wounds, holding a cloth to wipe away blood.
He doesn’t expect for Akhi to freeze, or the ever so slight tremor that shakes his steady grip.
“In some ways, how’d you know about that anyway?” Akhi responds, keeping his voice carefully even.
“Mother told me, when she first brought you here. I had questions, about you” he explains, and Akhi relaxes minutely. Suddenly he couldn't help but worry that he’d pushed too far, asked the wrong questions. Made Akhi mad.
“It was a long time ago kid, and it wasn’t really my team”
That doesn’t make sense, and he says as much.
“But you were part of the team, were you not? Therefore that would be classified as your team”
“It’s not always that simple Habibi, they barely tolerated me, let alone liked me.”
Absurd.
“Why would they not like you Akhi, that is absurd”
“They didn’t like me because I wasn’t Dick Grayson”
“Fine” Damian tuts, unable to push the memory from his mind. It’s hard to keep the anger from his voice, but he manages. Perhaps it’s because it’s something much more sad and crooning than simple anger. It runs deep through his veins and carves out its path through the lines on his hand. Maybe it’s because Jason is, was, everything to him and he couldn’t understand how people could take him for granted. Akhi’s anger had been his sadness, his love, that he’d known for a long time now.
He doesn’t think about it, just reaches his hand forward and doesn’t even notice, not until the sound of silver clashing against ceramic echoes through the room.
“Dami, where did you get that?” Dick asks, but there’s a dangerous sort of edge to his voice now and his eyes are locked on Damian. Well, on Damian’s wrist to be more accurate. The bracelet that had once been Akhi’s, a gift Grayson was sure to recognise. He had been the one to give it to Akhi, after all.
“I got given it, years ago” he answers slowly, trying to find the right words “it was my Akhi’s”
Father chokes from where he’d been sipping his coffee, while Drake looks startled. Grayson still looks confused, but his anger seems to have abated, at least for now.
“Doesn’t that mean brother?” Drake asks, and Father flinches while Grayson whips his head up so quickly his neck cracks audibly. Pennyworth simply sighs, and turns to face him.
“You have a brother, Master Damian?” Pennyworth queries, tone soft, and the kitchen falls silent.
“He raised me while I was with the league. A little bit before Mother sent me here, there was an attack, my grandfather declared he’d committed treason, and had him executed” Damian explains, keeping a practised level tone to his voice, as memories of Akhi are stirred to the surface.
He would not cry, not in front of them.
Grayson’s face crumples, while Drake and Father both seem to wilt at his words, an unfamiliar solemness falling over them all. Pennyworth stills for a moment, but he doesn’t linger in it, continuing what he was doing as the others attempt to find their words.
“I’m sorry Damian” Grayson says, quietly, something dancing behind his eyes as he looks at him, like he’s not fully there. He fiddles with his bracelet, pointedly not returning Grayson's gaze as his eyes once again land on it.
A small, hesitant part of him wonders if he should tell them. Tell them the son they’d let go so carelessly cast aside had lived and died once again, without them even knowing. Rub in just how completely and utterly they had failed, because Damian’s brother was dead, again, and he didn’t think he’d come back this time. Ahki was gone, and for some reason they’re all still here. It doesn’t seem fair. Then again, nothing in his life ever had been.
“I believe he knew what Grandfather intended, he gifted me the bracelet the night before it happened. It is the only thing I have remaining of him” he explains, unable to fully stop himself from talking about Akhi. He never had been good at covering his emotions when it came to him. Ahki had been his weakness in the league, and it seemed he always would be.
Grayson flinches, Father looks as though he’s aged years in mere moments and Drake looks somber in contrast to his normally careful neutral. It however, is Pennyworth, who approaches him and deigns to speak.
“I apologise Master Damian, for bring up a sensitive topic. I regret that he cannot be here with you now, but might I say, that I believe he would be proud if he could see you now” the words are soft and he doesn’t cry, but it’s a near miss. It isn’t all that much, but it’s the most he’d heard of Akhi in a long time.
“Thank you” Damian manages, a little for himself and a little for his brother, who even in the depths of pit madness and catatonia would gain a spark in his eye at the mention of the butler.
Breakfast is a silent affair after that, an air of awkwardness surrounding the room, but somehow Damian feels the best he has since he came to the manor.
It was certainly the haunted house Akhi had proclaimed it to be, but somehow it felt a little less stifling.
If he dwelled on it, he almost thought he could see a young boy in a red and green costume and messy black hair, but he was gone before he could be sure.
He hopes Akhi knows, if it is possible, that he made it out.
He hopes Akhi’s proud.
“Akhi!” Damian cried, launching himself at the older boy waiting for him.
The boy lifts him easily, chucking him up in the air before catching him, then doing it again.
“Good day, Dami?” Jason asks, holding him close and subtly scanning him for any new cuts or bruises.
“It was acceptable Akhi” Damian mutters, tucking himself as close as he can manage to Jason, who smiles softly down at him.
Their moments together are becoming few and far between. Between Ra’s and Talia, they were rarely afforded even the illusion of privacy. Talia however, seemed almost encouraging of the friendship they’d made, and although she’d never say it out loud Jason wasn’t so blind as to not notice how she would redirect attention to give them time.
All he’d ever needed was time.
“Akhi?”
“Yes habibi” Jason responds, turning his head so he can face Damian who has an adorable pout on his face as he looks up at him.
“Who were you, before you came to the league?” He asks and fuck, the kid always knew how to ask the hardest questions.
“Well, Habibi, that’s a long strong” he begins, trying to get his thoughts in order “I suppose the start would be, growing up in Crime Alley. That’s what everyone calls it anyway. I was a little kid, and I stole things so I could have money to live. I didn’t have much money when I was your age habibi.” He pauses to tap Damian on the nose, who frowns and shakes his head as Jason chuckles.
“Well, then I met our dad. I stole his tires, and he caught me. He offered to buy me a burger. I was with him for a few years after that. Then I ended up finding something out, and to find out more, I took a trip I really shouldn’t have. I got hurt badly Habibi, hurt like I was when I first got here” Jason explains, in as much as he can, but it seems like Damian’s understood. He nods so seriously it’s almost comical.
“Like when you couldn’t talk?” He asks, and Jason nods.
“Yeah, the injury made so I couldn’t talk”
“But then you got better” Damian cheers, and shit, it was too easy to forget he was only five.
“Then I got better, because of you Habibi, you made me better” Jason insists, rubbing his forehead to Damian’s before pulling him close.
“Your silly Akhi, I didn’t do anything” Dami argues, but he’s already shaking his head.
“You did everything Habibi, more than you even realise” Jason breathes, resting his chin on Damian’s head and letting himself be soothed by the soft patter of his heartbeat against his chest. The rise and fall of his chest.
Damian had given him a reason. There were far too many reasons for him to be angry, but he only needed one to smile. Damian read to him, hugged him, smiled at him, he had made him Jason again. He’d given him a reason to claw his way out of his own head. A reason to fight down the green constantly fighting to get out. Damian just had to smile, and he could remember what it was all for.
“I’m glad you came here” Damian mumbles, a yawn escaping him a moment later as his eyes flutter shut.
“Yeah kid, I’m glad I came here too” Jason sighs, cradling him close as Damian falls asleep against his chest. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be glad to be in the league of assassins, but little green eyes had changed that.
He wished he could take Damian now. Run far from all the fighting and the training and the death and give him the life he should have. How the kid trusted him so much he’d never understand, but he’d do his best to never let it be misplaced.
He’d get Damian out, even if he himself never did.
It’s only when father is on a business trip that Damian dares to enter the room down the end of the hall.
It’s exactly like Jason described it, down to the bookmark still sticking out between pages of a well-worn book. There’s a thin layer of dust coating the room, as if nobody had dusted for a while. The air also has the mildly stale scent to it, combined with that of old books with yellowing pages. He knew Pennyworth still cleaned the room, but it was still overtly obvious that nobody had lived in the room for years.
It’s easy to imagine Akhi moving around the space. He’d always moved as if it was natural, but there was something more inherently relaxed about him when he was in his private chambers in the league. It’s sad to know he never got to see Akhi truly relaxed. A part of him will always ache when he thinks of Akhi, of the parts of him he’d never get the chance to know. Of all the questions he’d never get to ask and the things he’d never learn. It was all too obvious, all the things he’d never get back. At the league there had at least been the illusion that maybe Grandfather hadn’t killed him, that maybe somehow he’d survived again and any moment he’d come around the corner with a crooked smile that pulled at the scars on his face and arms open wide. A hope that meant that for a moment, every day when he first woke up, he would look for Akhi expecting to see him where he always used to.
There’s no such delusions in the manor.
Akhi had been a ghost floating between the manor’s hall for years before he began to haunt the dark corners of the league. The ghost of him here is one of a fifteen year old boy, with bright eyes and a red and green suit. It’s Akhi in a way he never knew him, and never would. It’s a version of Jason who died long before Damian even knew he existed. Perhaps that’s why it stings so keenly, walking around the manor. It’s a life Damian would never know. It’s not the Akhi that he lost that haunts these halls, but something far younger and mournful.
It makes seeing the room all that much harder. It’s like a time capsule, sealed away only to be opened years later as a reminder of just how much time had moved on. It’s a shrine to a dead boy. Suddenly it feels suffocating, like the room is smothering him. Like the reminder of who Jason was is cutting off his breath. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt like he expected it to, but maybe that’s because it’s Jason. Because Akhi had never been anything he expected, and death wasn’t an exception to that. There’s a warmth to the knowledge that he had known Akhi, down to the scars lining his hands he knew him. Maybe he never knew the boy that haunted these halls, but he knew him and that felt like enough.
“There you are, you shouldn’t be in here” it’s Drake in the doorway, a nervous tension fluttering through him as his gaze ping pongs around the room.
“I was unaware certain rooms were forbidden” Damian states, feeling off-kilter, because nobody had explained that he was meant to avoid certain rooms, that he was meant to avoid Jason’s room.
“It’s not-“ Drake struggles to find his words “it’s not that it’s forbidden, but if Bruce or Dick caught you in here, it wouldn’t be good. They don’t let anyone in here and they won’t react well if they see you in here.” Drake explains eventually, and Damian understands well enough. He’ll be punished if he is caught in this room.
Suddenly he’s angry. Irrationally and all encompassingly angry. Jason is his Akhi. His Baba. He wants to read his books and explore his room and have more to remember him by than a single bracelet. He wants to see the old photos and school books. He wants to know who his Akhi had been, before he had been Akhi. He’s not sure why that’s wrong.
He wants Akhi back, and he doesn’t think that’s wrong.
“Look, we really need to get out of here, but I’ve got something I can show you?” Drake tries, and Damian remains silent, but he does stand and head towards the door. He can visibly see Drake wilt with relief.
They close the door behind them silently, and to all inspectors the room appears untouched. Father shall never know. He follows Drake as he leads them back to his own room.
It’s messy.
There’s open notebooks strewn across every surface. There’s at least three coffee mugs scattered around the room, along with papers and a laptop leaning haphazardly towards the edge of the bed. His bed is unmade and there’s different hoodies and shirts littering the floor. It’s far messier than any room Damian has ever seen, but there’s something almost comforting about the mess. It feels lived in, in a way most rooms in the manor lack. It feels like a home, like it is to Drake what Akhi is to him.
Suddenly he feels sympathy for Drake, for never having an Akhi like he did.
Perhaps Akhi could’ve been Drake’s Akhi too, if he had made it out.
Drake doesn’t say anything, but he does begin to search through the room, looking as though he’s searching for something specific. He’s proven right when in a few moments Drake fist bumps the air and pulls out what looks to be a very old, very full photo album. He sets it down in front of him, flicking it open and rifling through a few pages before seeming to land on one specifically.
“I used to take photos, back when Jason was Robin.” Drake explains softly, pointing to the pictures set out in front of him.
And that’s Akhi. He’s wearing a familiar green, red and yellow suit. He’s much smaller than Damian remembers him ever being, and he seems free. There’s so many photos, one after the other of Akhi in different places doing different things. All of him in the Robin suit. The suit seemed to weigh down his shoulders and fit like it was always made for him in the same instance. The photos seem aged and worn, like they too had faced the brutality of time passing, like it had blemished their memory of the time just as it did for all of them. Akhi’s face had been covered in scars, but the Akhi in these photos was blissfully unaware of all the pain that would come to mark his skin.
The Akhi that had been Robin, the Akhi that roamed these halls seemed like a lifetime ago. Something so close yet so inexplicably out of reach. He was something that always was, and always would be. Robin existed long before Akhi, and would continue to exist long after. Akhi was merely one mark on the timeline of Robin. It seemed cruel, that something that had so completely encompassed his life, was something that was never truly his in the first place. A mantle that was never his to wear.
“I didn’t know him, not really. But he’d get me down every time I got myself stuck on a fire escape and he got me ice cream. He knew I followed them, he even looked at some of my photo’s once” Tim explains, eyes glistening and Damian can’t find it in him to judge, not about this “he probably didn’t even care, but to me it was everything. My parents weren’t bad but they weren’t great, and I was on my own most of the time. With Jason, it was like I wasn't alone, for a little while anyway” he shrugs, shaking his head like he’s not sure of what he’s just said, but Damian is, he just can’t find the words to prove it.
Tim stands, but he doesn’t take the photos, an almost nostalgic air to the smile on his face.
“You can have the photos as long as you want. I know Jason wasn’t your brother, and it probably doesn’t mean much, but I think it might mean something to him, if anything still can. There’s not much to remember him by in the manor, but I think the photos are nicer than any of the stories you’ll hear. Bruce and Dick, they say a lot of things out of grief and Jason’s memory has suffered for it. I think the photos are the least we can do to remember him properly. Anyway, I've got to get ready for patrol, you can just leave the photos there when you're done” Tim smiles, and something about it is warm and familiar almost and it has Damian speaking before he can think it over.
“I am so glad I can be your Akhi Habibi, but I'm going on that mission for a while to help those kids who don’t have an Akhi. Not everyone gets one, but everyone needs somebody”
“Tim” He calls, just as the boy turns to leave. He pauses, and looks back with a tense set to his shoulder and with his Akhi’s words ringing in his ears, Damian speaks.
“Thank you”
“No problem”
He thinks Akhi would like Tim, that he would be the Akhi Tim never got to have.
He thinks, looking down at the photos in front of him, that he would be okay sharing Akhi, if he was sharing with Tim.
Damian continues to flick through the photos. He watches as Jason grows taller and the awkwardness fades to make room for confidence. There’s little things he recognises, a set to his shoulders that exist long before the first photos were taken and long after the last. His smile is the same. There’s an inherent kindness to the Akhi in the photos, one he recognises intimately. The ones of him fighting are more familiar, because Jason had always fought teeth bared and dirty and desperate. Akhi had been more refined, technique honed and hours upon hours of training refining the skills he previously had.
It’s unfair, the way the photographs make his eyes sting.
It’s not even Akhi, not how he knew him at least. Yet it also is, and somehow that just worsens the sting. It digs into the hole that was dug the first time he realised how much of Akhi he didn’t get to know. The death of his brother had stripped him raw and bled him dry. Akhi had been more to him than anyone else ever had or ever would be. Akhi was near unbeatable, he fought with more skill and precision than most could ever dream of. He could use just about any weapon. He was big and intimidating and strong, and Damian had been foolish enough to believe it would keep him safe.
He could imagine how it happened. Akhi would have stood tall, he didn’t bow to anyone, least of all Ra’s. He wouldn’t have been scared, not really, not for himself. He’d been through far worse than the pain of a quick execution. He knew it would’ve been quick, because Ra’s would’ve just tortured him if he wanted to prolong it. Executions were only for the highest treason, or when someone’s value was completely gone. Akhi no longer served his purpose, the purpose the League had taken him for, and in Ra’s eyes that was treason enough.
He hoped it didn’t hurt, Akhi had been through far too much in his life, for his death to also be pain. He hoped Akhi thought of him, in the end. He hoped he got to see all his good memories before he went. He hoped mother was there, he wasn’t sure if she had been present, but he hoped she was because if she wasn’t that meant Akhi was alone. Akhi had always been scared of being alone. He hoped he wasn’t alone anymore. He hoped Akhi could see him now. He hoped Akhi was smiling. He hoped Akhi was proud. He hoped that Akhi knew that when he was old enough, he planned to change his last name to Todd.
He hoped Akhi knew that he had been his Baba, even though he never got the chance to say it.
He fiddles with the bracelet, fingers brushing over the engraving in the metal, and wonders if he’d known long before Damian ever did.
The door down the end of the hall remains shut, like it had never been opened in the first place. Like no one had ever been in there, before or at all.
It gets easier over time, the manor.
He learns what to expect, who to expect. Cass and Steph become more frequent visitors, and Duke moves in. Harper and Cullen pop in and out. Dick and Tim are constants. Barbara and Luke are more infrequent, but still show up at different times nonetheless. Carrie comes by the least, but she’s another, who at least briefly held the mantle of Robin. There’s a rotating cast of people that enter and exit these halls, blowing through as quickly and fleetingly as a morning breeze. There’s others that knew Akhi, that sometimes breeze through, but they never stay long.
Nobody ever says his name.
Begrudgingly, the manor had become home, in as much as it could. There would always be a part of him that yearned for the League, for Baba. Yet, it wasn’t as debilitating as it had once been. His grief was still there, alive and strong and always humming under his skin, but it wasn’t the all encompassing soul shattering pain it used to be. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
Baba had left a dent inside his soul, a space that can’t be replaced. There would always be something to miss, someone to look for in a crowd and around corners, someone who’d he’d never again see looking back at him. The manor was full and homely, and he found that maybe all these siblings weren’t so bad. But none of them would ever be Akhi.
“Hey Dami, Alfred’s just finished up dinner” Dick announces from the door, an easy smile on his face.
“I shall join you momentarily” Damian nods, not looking up from the sketch in front of him. He doesn’t, even when he senses Dick coming closer to the point that he’s clearly looking over his shoulder to see.
It’s a sketch of Akhi, as most of his tend to be, dressed in his mission attire. Akhi had insisted on it being red, but hadn’t cared much for the finer details of it. His sword was strapped along his back, a long curved blade he’d been particularly fond of. He’d favoured firearms primarily, though Damian had never seen the appeal. Drawing him, it helped.
He’d had what Tim had referred to as a panic attack, the first time he realised he didn’t quite remember how Akhi sounded when he spoke. He couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh, couldn’t quite picture what colour green his eyes had been. Even his face was beginning to blur in his memories as time continued to pass on.
It felt like losing him all over again, the loss of those memories.
“Is that your brother?” Dick asks quietly, tone unsure in the way it always is whenever any of them try to bring up Akhi, as it never usually ends well.
“Yes” he answers shortly, not turning to face him.
“You know you can, talk to us about him, if you want. We’re all here to listen Dami” Dick tries, sitting down on his bed behind them, and finally he looks up from the sketch.
“No’” he hisses, and something in Dick, in Grayson’s expression shatters, but it’s the pity in his gaze that has anger flaring in his veins.
“Dami, come on, it could help-”
“I don’t want help!” He snarls, tossing his pencils down and jumping to his feet as Dick flinches back “I don’t want to talk about Akhi! He was my Akhi! He was mine! And he’s gone and I can't get him back! He’s gone and I didn't even get to say goodbye! I don’t even have a picture! Nothing you or I say is going to help! Nothing is ever going to help! Nothing either of us say can raise the dead!”
His hands are shaking as he stares down Dick, who’s gone pale and the burning in his throat is almost too much. He stumbles back, into his desk, and automatically his fingers find the bracelet tied on his wrist. It’s not Akhi, but it’s the closest he’s got. He doesn’t have a picture, or the sound of his laugh, or even the stuffed tiger Akhi had brought him back from a mission. All he has is three strands of string, and a legacy he could never hope to live up to.
“The only thing that could help, is to see Akhi again” He manages to whisper, before bolting from the room like that could hide his cowardice. He rushes past two figures standing at the door that he vaguely recognises as Father and Tim, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t respond as calls of his name echo behind him. There’s a few others he races past, none are quick enough to stop him, and he knows it’s foolish that he does not take stock of who he passes, but all his focus is simply on getting out.
Eventually, lungs burning and tears long since beginning to fall, he stops.
He rarely entered the library within the manor, but he could recognise it well enough. He wasn’t so unaware as to not take stock of all rooms and possible attack points when he first entered the manor. Still, the room remained largely unknown to him. Instinctually he ventures further in, memories of Akhi racing through his mind. It had been Akhi’s favourite room, he could remember him saying. Akhi had always loved books. He used to read to him, every night once they could retire to their shared chambers, out of view of the prying eyes of the League. He’d read mostly in Arabic, but now and again he’d switch it up, mostly to Spanish. But sometimes, on nights where his eyes went misty and his hands shook that bit more, Damian would sit and let the words he didn’t understand lull him to sleep. Akhi had told him it was Romani. Akhi only ever spoke it on those nights.
Damian reaches for a book, the cover torn and tattered but familiar in a way that only aggravates the burning in his throat. Pride and Prejudice. Akhi had read it to him, before. He’d always seemed lighter in those fleeting moments, eyes sparkling and voice soft as he spoke. He felt ridiculous, staring down at the worn copy of the book in his hands as the tears continue to fall. He felt like he never truly appreciated it, not like he should have. He should’ve burned every word into his memory, made a list of every book Akhi ever read to him. He should’ve held on tighter to the memories, he should’ve curled closer when he sat in Akhi’s lap. He should’ve hugged him longer, should’ve held his hand tighter and never let go. He should’ve clung to Akhi like he’d disappear if he let go, because he did.
Because Damian loosened his grip, and Akhi fell through his fingers like he’d never even been there in the first place.
“Master Damian?” A soft voice inquires, and he turns to be met with the calm and concerned gaze of Pennyworth.
He knows he should speak, should say something, but he can’t find the words. He knows the punishment that awaits, for the cowardice and weakness he had shown. He knows he’s not to cry. He knows that he should’ve noticed Pennyworth the moment he entered the room. He knows every mistake is spitting on the chance Akhi had given him. He knows it’s all a disgrace to every wound and punishment Akhi had taken in his name. He knows, but he also remembers Akhi in the dead of night, with his sloppily done bandaging and jagged stitches holding him together, pulling him close and whispering “You are a child Habibi, you cry if you want to”
He just wants Baba. He doesn’t fight the tears, doesn’t even attempt to stay silent.
“Oh my dear boy…” He can feel Pennyworth’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him further into the library but he doesn’t have it in him to protest. He missed his Baba, and for the first time since his mother had told him, on that dark and dreary night as they slunk through the halls of the League, he lets himself cry for his Baba. Because Baba was gone, and his mother sent him away and suddenly he was in a strange house with strange people and his head was spinning in a way he thought would never truly stop.
“Oh, Master Damian. You are off that rollercoaster, my boy. You’re not spinning anymore, you made it to solid ground. You survived, Master Damian. You are here, and have made it further than men far older than you could ever dream. You have been so extremely brave, Master Damian. You made it home, and I couldn't be more pleased that you are here. Let yourself feel it, my dear boy, you’ll feel all the better for it” Pennyworth assures, voice soft yet strong and so kind in a way that’s achingly familiar, that he simply cannot stop himself from falling apart.
Pennyworth holds him, strong and steady as he cries himself hoarse for arms that will never again wrap around him. He screams and he cries and collapses under the weight of the loss of Baba. No more crooked smiles, no more gentle hugs or quiet words lulling him to sleep. No more rushed Spanish or polished Arabic. No more stilted words whispered under his breath in Romani. No calloused fingers running through his hair or the scent of gunpowder and cigarettes and instinctual comfort that was simply Baba.
He mourns, both for the life he had and the life he never would.
“You made it, Master Damian, and I shall tell you as many times as you need to hear it” Pennyworth soothes, and words still feel too far from reach so he just manages to cling to the man tighter. It’s not Baba, but it’s the closest he’ll ever get again.
“I miss my Baba” He mumbles into Pennyworth’s shoulder, and the hand rubbing circles on his back pauses briefly, before continuing as though it had never paused. He doesn’t have the energy to analyse it.
“He is with you Master Damian, and I might be so bold to say that I believe he would be so unbelievably proud of who you have come to be” and really, that’s all he can hope, that Baba would be proud if he could see him.
He can almost picture him, standing in front of him, a proud smirk on his lips. He never did like to smile, it made the scars on his face pull grotesquely, but it had never bothered Damian. Suddenly he remembers being much younger, sitting in Baba’s lap and tracing the scars that covered his face. He’d always been drawn to one in particular, one that covered the entire right side of his face, and looked almost like a J. He could remember how Baba had smiled when he’d traced that scar, eyes glistening as they sat together. To others, he knew Baba had been a terrifying force of pain and skill. But to Dami, he’d only ever been Baba. He’d been gentle hugs and warm smiles and soft words to lull him to sleep. Baba had been home, and he always would be.
“Ah, I see you found Master Jason’s favourite, would you perhaps indulge me for a brief moment and allow me to read with you?” Alfred asks quietly, still rubbing the soothing pattern on his back and Damian just musters the energy to nod.
There was no pretence to uphold now. He’d completely and utterly broken down in front of them all. His cowardice had been outwardly displayed, yet Pennyworth did not scorn him. In the league these actions would’ve been befitting punishment, one Baba had taken for him time and again. However Alfred just moves slightly to grab the weathered book, and settle into a more comfortable position on the floor before opening up to the first page.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in good fortune must be in want of a wife-”
He thinks he can see it now, why Baba held the man in such high regard. He does not point out the tears stains on his face, or the way his hands still shake. He doesn’t mention the tears, or his cowardice. It’s not Baba, not even close, but it is the closest he’s felt to him in a long time now. It’s not sitting curled up in Baba’s lap as he reads in whatever language his mind can manage that day. It’s not what it used to be, but he knew nothing ever would be. So he listens as Pennyworth reads, and it’s not just for him. It’s for Baba, too. He would be here, if he could, that much he knows for sure.
It’s so easy to let the words roll over him like waves, gentle but sure, lulling him into a contented rest.
It’s easier now, to remember. Damian can picture sitting like this with Baba, as words of different languages washed over him. It reminds him of late afternoons, perched under a tree away from base, and the stories Akhi would only tell under the warm gaze of the sun. He remembers how the sky would go pink, how Baba would simply breathe out and smile, like that was enough to tell him things would be okay. He’d taught him the joy of sitting there, hours rolling past as he was immersed in a life that was not his own.
“There’s a sort of hope to the sunset, I think” Baba had said “it means you made it. All the darkness and the fighting, none of it holds a candle to a pink sky after a long day. It means you got off the ride Habibi, that you made it. It means you can rest, the battles have been won. It’s the last post. It means you can rest, Habibi”
He almost starts crying again, when he looks out the window of the library and can make out the sunset. It had been a long year, a long few years, and now, just outside the window a brilliant pink sky gently reflects off Gotham.
He always thought Baba would be with him, when he finally got off that ride.
Maybe he is.
“Hey Littlewing” Dick greets, standing in the doorway to Jason’s room, an easy going smile on his face as Jason scrambled to his feet.
“I didn’t think you were coming today” Jason stutters, hands fluttering at his sides and sort of nervousness seeping into his words. Dick just chuckles, ruffling the younger boy's hair and smiling as he squawks in irritation.
“I wasn’t, but, I saw the carnival was in Gotham and thought we could go? One last hang out before I’m off to space, what do you think?” Dick offers and Jason rolls his eyes, but there’s something fond in it that makes Dick relax.
“I still can’t believe you get to go to space” Jason groans “B barely even lets me go around Gotham on my own” he pouts, looking a little put out. Any annoyance at Bruce fades though, as he leans into Dick’s side under his outstretched arm and almost melts into it.
On bad days Jason couldn’t stand if any of them weren’t in his sight line. On good days he can lean into Dick’s hugs and pretend they’re normal brothers, even for just a minute. He still flinches away from touch he’s not expecting. He still hides food, still rations it. He still feels better in the shadows than he does out in the open. He still falls back on what years in the alley taught him. He lashes out at Bruce, and at Dick. He hides away whenever the yelling starts.
Perhaps there’s some things that time can’t erase.
“You’ll be off on your own in no time Little wing. You might end up with the titans, or maybe you’ll make your whole own team. You’ve got years to grow up and become your own hero. You’ve got time, Jay.” Dick assures him, and he sounds so confident he can’t help but believe him.
“You really think so?”
“I know so little wing, you’ll be the best of all of us”
“I don’t need to be the best, Dick”
“That’s why you will be, because you don’t need to be”
“That doesn’t make sense”
“Do I ever, little wing?”
“Yeah. Suppose I expected to much from you big bird”
“Hey!”
“Cmon Dick, are we going to that carnival or not?” Jason calls, already out the door and down the hall, Dick only a few steps behind.
“Hurry up Big bird!”
“I’m coming Little wing”
Jason’s already in the passenger seat of his car by the time Dick stumbles out the door. It’s a little flattering, how excited Jason seems. It’s a little sad too now, because he knows where the excitement stems. Jason had never been to the carnival. It's nice to see him so vibrant for once. He’d been closing off more and more recently, retreating into himself. He was starting to get into his own fights with Bruce, reminding Dick a little too much of himself, memories of all the fights they’d had after Jason had been adopted running through his mind.
Somehow Dick didn’t think Jason would stick it out with Bruce the way he had. Jason had a temper, and a laundry list of issues that he refused to talk about. He knew it couldn’t be good, what Jason wasn’t saying. He’d been barely nine when he ended up homeless in crime alley from what Dick knew. The intervening years between then and when B found him, well, he knew there were things Jason probably wouldn’t ever speak about.
He’d never admit to the part of him that was relieved, terrified of what he’d find out when Jason found it within himself to speak.
“Can we go on the ferris wheel first?” Jason asks, pulling Dick out of his own head with a question that knocks the air from his lungs.
For all the thrill seeker and acrobat Mary Grayson had been, her favourite ride was always the ferris wheel. It was the first ride they’d go on every single time they went somewhere that had one. She’d been more at home in the air then she ever had been on solid ground. He hadn’t understood, not then, because what was the point without flashy flips and speeding through the air? He went every time anyway, even though he never did quite get it, but his mother would only ever laugh at his disgruntled face. One day she’d even tried to explain it to him.
“It’s a different kinda flying” she had whispered, extending her arm out to point to the horizon “up here now, this brief pause, this is how the birds see the world. They glide and watch from a distance. This moment is all a robin knows. This is their life, and we get a brief glimpse into it. We’ll never fly, not like they do, but we get pretty close, don’t we, Robin?” His mum had smiled, eyes soft and something clicked into place in his soul.
It hadn’t been full understanding, not really, but it felt more like something he already knew slipping into place in his soul. He still wasn’t sure he understood, but the memory is enough to send him reeling. Enough to send him back to nights curled in his mothers embrace and the look in her eyes when she was in the air, one he still remembered so clearly even as most of his other memories had begun to fox at the edges, weathered and worn by the years past.
“Yeah Little Wing, we can go on the ferris wheel first” he agrees, hands on the wheel in a white knuckled grip, though Jason, if he notices, doesn’t point it out. Though Jason also did still flinch away from everyone on a good day, so it’s just as likely that he did notice and decided not to point it out.
It’s not too bad of a drive. Jason keeps to himself, but that’s normal. He tends to be like that, he’d gotten bolder the longer he’d been at manor, when the first thing he did wrong didn’t have him back on the street. Still, he moved around like a ghost most of the time. He gets a look in his eyes sometimes, too, one that never fails to remind him that there’s so much of Jason’s life they don’t know. For all the detective Bruce is, he still hadn’t been able to find out what went on in the years between. It didn’t help that Jason never spoke about his life before meeting Bruce, at least not anything beyond the briefest mention of a cold night or a stray he used to feed on the corner. He never gave anything personal away, and Dick had spent too long being trained to pick up on things to think it any less than intentional.
“We’ll go on all the rides you want to Little wing” Dick reassures and Jason seems to lighten up, like an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“And the arcade too”
“And the arcade, I did say this would be a day for us, didn’t I?” He looks at Jason briefly to smile, and the answering smile makes his chest warm in a way that’s growing increasingly familiar.
It’s the type of warmth he feels when helping kids as Rob, as Nightwing. It’s the type of warmth he felt the first time he properly met Jason, and the boy had been so shy and wary, yet he still managed his way through a greeting in Romani. Warm in the way he felt the first time Jason fell asleep next to him on the lounge, when he wouldn’t fall asleep in front of anyone. It’s a type of warmth he hadn’t felt, not truly, until Jason had made his way into his life, all guarded looks and teeth-baring smiles.
He’s sure there’s something to be said here, about stray dogs.
The carnival is packed when they pull up, hordes of people meandering about as colourful lights flash in the sky. It’s not Haley’s, not even close, but the atmosphere is the same. Buzzing and alive and dancing on his skin like electricity. Jason stumbles out of the car behind him, expression flickering between excitement and fear.
“C'mon Little Wing, I can see the line for the Ferris wheel” Dick calls, starting towards it as footsteps behind him as Jason scrambles to keep pace. It’s almost adorable, the look on Jason’s face as he scans the crowds. It looks so much like awe that makes Dick’s heart twinge, the same it had when Bruce told him Jason had never had a birthday cake.
It doesn’t take long for Jason to brighten up, surpassing him in a rush for the Ferris Wheel line. It’s the most carefree he’s seen him since he met him. He’s bouncing and bright and suddenly seems so young. It’s not a new revelation, Jason’s age, but he thinks it hits harder now because most of the time Jason already seemed so grown. With shadows in his eyes and snarling teeth and a hardened set to his jaw that only came when fighting became so frequent it became second nature to always be waiting for one.
For the first time Jason isn’t waiting, and suddenly there’s a harsh burning behind his eyes he’s not sure he’ll be able to suppress.
“Come on, Dickhead, the longer you take the longer the line is gonna get!” Jason hollers, all bluster and false annoyance, and fuck, how could he have ever looked at him and not seen a brother?
“Coming Jay, we’ve got all the time in the world, we can line up for as long as we need” Dick soothes, catching up to Jason who just rolls his eyes and strides determinedly towards the queue.
He is in Gotham for a few more days, maybe they can come back tomorrow, and it should still be here when he gets back from the upcoming Titan’s mission, maybe they can go when he comes back too.
It may have taken him too long to realise, but now he’s got his brother right here with him, and they’ve got all the time in the world to make that mean something, just like Dick should’ve done years ago.
It’s a rare morning where Alfred had permitted the news to be on while they ate. The room is filled, both Tim and Grayson are here, along with Brown and Cain and Thomas all gathered around the table. Even Row and Kelley had made an appearance. Most of them had apparently deigned to stay due to the Gala set to be held at the manor that Father had managed to coerce everyone into attending. It’s busier than usual, and it sets Damain’s teeth on edge in a way he’d never admit. Father sat at the head of the table, a genuine smile on his face as he read the paper and listening to the chatter. It may make him nervous, but it doesn’t create the itch in his bones that it would have only a few months ago. There’s a lull in the chatter as the TV lets out a particularly obnoxious news theme sound.
“The rogue known as ‘The Joker’ has been found dead in his cell in Arkham Asylum as of seven this morning, there is no evidence to suggest who-”
It’s suddenly so quiet that it’s jarring.
Something like relief settles in Damian’s bones as the words register in his mind. Baba, with stilted words and shaking hands, had told him of his history with the clown, of what he did. Years passed and still the mere mention of the clown had been enough to send him spiralling for days. Suddenly his shoulders sag like a weight has been lifted from them, and he can feel himself smiling, and god, does he hope Baba knows.
Baba had finally been avenged, he could rest.
A mug shatters on the ground, echoing like a gunshot and it’s as if the entire world has been forced back into focus. The room erupts, Duke and Harper and Steph all speaking over each other, all with smiles on their faces. Tim, interestingly enough, seems relieved if also melancholic, almost as though he too is thinking of Baba. Thinking of all of those who’d been torn apart by the clown, and were not given the chance to stitch themselves back together. Cain is frowning, something almost like disapproval filtering over her face, but he doesn’t know her enough to tell. Never tried to know her. Not when he’d grown up hearing whispers of ‘The One Who Is All’.
Grayson and Father are the most interesting of all. Grayson looks vindicated and guilty and happy all at once. If he didn’t know better he’d say father looked relieved, but to the Bat, murder will only ever be murder. It is, however, once again Alfred who manages to silence the room with one sentence.
“I believe a toast is in order, for this long overdue justice” he states, and everyone seems to pause, as if unsure if they should respond.
“Alfie-” Grayson starts, eyes wide and teary, but he’s cut off by Father before he can finish his sentence.
“Alfred, it’s still murder, we still need to investigate to find out who the culprit is” His father argues, though he doesn’t seem all too convinced of his own words, and not for the first time Damian wonders how his mother had ever ended up with Bruce Wayne, no matter how briefly.
“To thank them for their service, I should hope” Alfred snipes, and with the way the butler’s hands are shaking, he suspects this is something he’s waited a long time to say.
Both Grayson and Tim are staring at Alfred as though they’d never seen him, but as the seconds pass Tim seems more and more vindicated, as if Alfred had just proved something he’d suspected for a long time, and for all Damian knows he has.
“It’s still murder Alfred, we can’t ignore that” Father tries, and Grayson sighs as though this is a long standing argument and Tim grips his knife so tight his knuckles are turning white. Duke, Steph and Harper had shuffled together but seemed too hesitant to speak. Cassandra looks as though she believes father’s words, but her eyes continue to go to Grayson, and he gets the feeling it’s not something she’s going to declare aloud.
Damian, his own hands stained red from the years and their marks, thinks that sometimes survival outweighs morals, that sometimes murder is not a mortal sin, but a method of survival. That he survived, and he didn’t regret what he had to do to do it. That sometimes, there’s no room left for chances. That sometimes children die, alone and afraid, and that sometimes the line between justice and revenge blurs until it’s little more than a bloody stain on the floor.
“I should think we can in this instance. That monster tore this family apart, and has been left to parade in and out of the revolving door that is Arkham Asylum with no consequences for his crime” Alfred snarls, an odd expression on such a mild mannered man, but it seems this morning he’s hit his tolerance “forgive me, Master Bruce, if I do not despair over the death of the man who stole my fifteen year old grandson from me, who took your son. So I shall toast, to the person who has just seen to more justice than any of us ever managed to” and with that, Alfred leaves, shoulders set and heading directly to whereDamian had found the liquor cabinet to be. He thinks perhaps Alfred deserves this.
Father simply sits there, shell shocked look on his face as he stares after where Alfred retreated.
“I’m joining Alfred for a toast” Tim announces abruptly, standing from his seat and stomping in the direction Alfred went, not sparing anyone a glance. He thinks maybe he hadn’t been imagining Tim’s hands shaking.
“Bruce, you can’t be serious!” Grayson shouts jumping to his feet and rounding on father “you can’t actually expect us to investigate this! Especially Tim, after what..” he pauses, like he’s catching his breath “you can’t. You can’t make me spend a single second on this, not for him. For fucks sake Bruce, he took Jason! He took him and he killed him and you still want us to investigate! You haven’t done a fucking thing to remember Jason except for that god-awful case in The Cave and now you want to investigate the Joker’s murder?! He’s finally gone Bruce, he’s gone, why can’t you just be happy?”
Grayson's chest is heaving with effort, his face is blotchy and red with tears and he’s shaking as though a stiff breeze would be enough to send him crumpling. With the state he is in, it very well could be.
“Whose Jason?” A quiet voice, Cassandra, asks and Dick shatters.
He’s never seen such a raw depiction of grief, but Dick looks as though his grief has bled him dry and left him to barely stay afloat. He can’t help but think that maybe he was a little harsh on him, when he tried to ask about Baba.
“Jason is, was, my brother. He was the second Robin, and he was killed by the Joker when he was fifteen” Dick croaks, eyes bloodshot and tears rolling down his cheeks, a complete mess as he falls apart on the manor kitchen floor.
Belatedly, Damian notices that Cassandra is not the only one surprised. Stephanie, Duke and Harper also seem bewildered, and it stirs an anger in his chest he thought he’d managed to bury. Baba always had said they were too alike that way, that it would get him in trouble.
“Seeing as you can’t even remember your son, perhaps you can let him rest in peace now that he’s been avenged” Damian snarls before he even realises he’s doing it, and storms towards where Alfred and Tim had both retreated, not in the least interested in the look on father’s face as he goes.
Seems he had his answer as to how a mention of Jason’s name would go over.
The shouting starts up, louder and more vicious than he’s heard it before, but he doesn’t listen to the specifics in their words. He’d heard and said all he needed to. Baba and all his talks of ghosts had been far more accurate than he’d care to acknowledge. He knew all too well just how painful the memories could be, but he’d never trade them. Not when he could no longer remember the exact sound of Baba’s voice, or the colour of his eyes. The memories had cut him open more times then he could count, but he’d happily let them bleed him dry if that’s what it took to preserve them. The memories are all he has, and they're not something he’s letting go of easily.
He thinks maybe Father had yet to realise that the memories were worth more than a room never entered and a case holding a torn uniform, a shrine to a ‘good soldier’.
Baba would be angry to know the only memory left of him is some good soldier that never was. He’d never said much about his time as Robin, but he’d said enough. He was more than a soldier, he always had been. He’d just been a little bit too good at fighting, a little too ready to throw a punch and bare his teeth. He’d explained it once, in stilted words and low tones.
“I was a good fighter, Habibi, because I never had the chance to not be. Fighting was all I had, and by the time I got to the Manor, by the time I had Alfie and Dick and, maybe even Bruce, there was nothing they could do. I was always a little too violent, a little too ready to start a fight. They tried Habibi, but I don't think any of them ever tried to work out why I was the way I was.. I didn’t have an Akhi habibi, but I'm so glad I can be that for you” Jason murmurs, picking at his fingers and watching Damian with blazing green eyes.
Damian, still too small to fully understand but knowing settling on him all the same, stumbles to his feet and lets his hands find a place on Jason’s cheeks. Bright green eyes stare into his own, but these eyes had never made him scared. While the others were cold and cruel and vindictive, Akhi had never been anything but warmth and safety. He knew people found Akhi scary, he’d heard the whispers about him, just a rabid attack dog. But to him, he was everything.
“You’re a good person Akhi” Damian insists, pressing his hands down on Jason's cheeks and he doesn’t fight as he’s swept into a crushing hug.
“You’re better Habibi, so much better than I ever was, thank you for letting me be your Akhi” he rambles into his hair, words muffled but it’s still easy enough for Damian to understand.
“Thank you for wanting to” he whispers back, and the hold around him tightens and if they don’t move from that spot for hours, well, training wasn’t until tomorrow anyway.
The lines on Alfred’s face are glaring obvious as he approaches him. Tim is quiet, as he always is, but there’s an undertone of anger to the silence that’s usually absent. He thinks perhaps that there was more to Timothy then he’d been told. He thought maybe it wasn’t for him to know, not now at least. He knew it wasn’t a question for him to ask. Once again he can’t help but ache for Baba, to imagine Baba tucking him into his side. He could see him sitting between him and Tim, ruffling the older boy's hair and pulling him in too.
He would’ve shared Baba, if he’d been given the chance.
“I apologise for my outburst Young Masters, I should’ve held my composure” Alfred apologises, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief and looking suddenly so old that it occurs to Damian that he’d been there, for the before. He taught Baba to cook and how to take care of others and how to stitch a wound. He could see it clearly now, the parts of Alfred that had bled into Baba.
“If you hadn’t yelled at him I was going to” Tim grumbles, hands still clenched in fists “you don’t have anything to apologize for Alfred” he assures, his voice dropping into something softer as he seems to take Alfred in for the first time.
“From what I've observed, Father does not seem well versed in managing his grief” Damian offers delicately, uncertain if his opinion on it will be wanted.
“Understatement of the fucking century” Tim snorts and Alfred carefully doesn’t react, though that alone just about says it for him.
“Master Bruce has never handled grief particularly well, ever since he was a young lad, proven by the suit he dons each night. I have tried tirelessly over the years to get him into therapy, to no avail. Sometimes I feel I did him an injustice, not forcing the issue when he was younger. However I realise now the greater disservice I have done to my grandson. I allowed Bruce to facilitate lies for his own agenda, and as such, I have allowed Jason’s memory to be dishonoured for far too long and I simply couldn’t allow it to continue” Alfred explains, and perhaps his early thought of him simply reaching a breaking point is true.
“The case should be taken down” Tim mutters, and Damian agrees, having long since wanted to shatter the pathetic memorial to Baba, one that acted as more a shrine to the dead than any true remembrance.
He knows Baba would’ve hated it, would have torn it all down himself.
“I put that case up” Alfred sighs, and Tim jolts as though electrocuted. Damian turns too, suddenly re-examining every interaction he’d had with Alfred. After everything Baba had told him, he couldn’t…
“After Master Jason’s death, Master Bruce removed any and all remnants of him that remained in the manor. He tore down just about everything, locked his room and proceeded to try and forget that he ever existed. I put the case up, as proof that Master Jason had once been here with us all. I see now that i too, mishandled myself in the wake of his passing. That i let grief cloud my actions too, and if you wish, i shall help you disassemble and burn every piece” Alfred explains, voice shaky and while he still thinks it’s wrong and he can understand why Alfred did it. Why he felt the need to make Jason’s presence felt, when father tried so desperately to eradicate it. It doesn’t make it better, but it does explain it. Tim seems to think so too, if the way he’s looking at Alfred is any indication.
“I’m not investigating this, Alfred, I can’t” Tim says, his voice breaking at the end and suddenly Damian is sure there’s something he doesn’t know. Some history he isn’t privy to.
“I should expect not. I have not forgotten that I nearly lost two grandsons to that monster. It’s not just for Jason that I raise this toast, I hope you know that” Alfred’s voice shakes, yet it is firm and neither of them point out the tears in Tim’s eyes.
For a moment they let the sun shine down on them, not speaking. Perhaps not everything needs words. Baba didn’t, not always. Somedays when every word sounded as though it was being torn from his throat, Baba would sign. Only ever in front of him, but he’d always understood. It’s a bright day, for Gotham, as though even the city is celebrating. He hopes everyone in all the graveyards and all those unrecovered know too, he hopes they see that there is no longer a reason to haunt, justice has finally come. Far too late, but it’s come all the same.
A justice Baba always swore he’d see to, but was never given the chance.
“My Baba was very injured, before I met him” Damian starts, deciding now is the time to share about Baba “most of the bones in his body had been broken, his leg had to be amputated.”
“Does it hurt?” Damian asks, pointing to the stump that used to be Jason’s left leg.
“It’s okay Habibi, it doesn’t hurt very often, you just startled me” Jason chuckles, ruffling his hair and holding him close as he hobbles over to his prosthetic.
“Was it the monster, the one that made it hard for you to speak?” Damian asks, quieter this time and Jason freezes where he's fastening the prosthetic to his stump, but finishes getting it set up before turning to Damian who is watching in almost morbid fascination.
“Yeah Habibi” Jason sighs, crouching down so he’s Damian’s height as he speaks to him “it was the monster. When your mother found me, he’d hurt my leg so badly it didn’t work anymore. It had been too long, so the pit couldn’t fix it either, so your mum got me a new one that would work instead” he explains, smiling lightly when Damian shuffles forward and into his arms, clutching his shirt tightly like he does every time the ‘Monster’ comes up in discussion.
“Are you still scared of him, Akhi?”
“Yeah, sometimes” he shrugs, unconsciously tightening his grip on Damian “I am more scared of what he could do to someone else, what he could do to you, Habibi”
“You’d protect me Akhi” Damian says, patting his cheek and Jason forces himself to swallow around the lump in his throat.
“That’s why I go on missions, so I can get rid of the monster and make sure you're always safe” he sighs into Damian’s hair, hands shaking as memories fight to the surface, memories that manage to be kept at by the feel of Damian in his arms.
“I love you Akhi” Damian mumbles, mostly asleep in his hold and Jason can’t stop the tear that rolls down his cheek.
“I love you too kid, I love you too” he manages just as Damian drifts off, but his grip stays firm.
He knows Talia is sending him for training soon. He knows Ra’s has something planned. He knows he may not see the end of the next fight, but he’s going to make sure Damian does.
Damian was going to live, if it was the last thing Jason did.
“He said all he wanted was to make sure that what happened to him didn’t happen to anybody else. Grandfather killed him before he got the chance. He wanted revenge, not for himself, but for every person before and after him that had been hurt and killed by the same man’s hand. He’s dead, the man that hurt Baba, and I like to think he knows, that he can rest now” Damian says, voice soft and quiet, like if he said the words too loud they’d shatter. He wipes at his face, surprised to find a tear on his fingertips when he pulls his hand away.
“I’m sorry about your Baba Damian, and I think he knows. I think Jason knows too. I think they all do” Tim whispers, voice hoarse but there’s something lighter to how he speaks now, and it seems the story about Baba got through to him.
“I think Baba would’ve liked you, Drake, if he was here” Damian mumbles, and Tim’s face goes impossibly soft and it’s clear he understands the implications of everything he’s said, and everything he hasn’t.
“I think I would’ve liked him too” it’s a barely there whisper on the wind, but it’s there, and he knows, knows that Tim understands.
“I think I shall amend my original toast” Alfred declares, whiskey glinting in the sunlight as he hands a glass to Tim and another to Damian that smells suspiciously like the tea he keeps hidden at the back of the cupboard, one Baba used to make.
“To Master Jason, who deserved far more than what he was given in his life. To Master Tim, for surviving. To Damian’s Baba. To all those from beginning to end, who fell unavenged to that monster's hand. May they find peace in the knowledge he can no longer harm another soul” Alfred declares softly, raising his glass high and taking a hearty sip after he does. Tim follows suit, as does Damian, though he doesn’t drink when they do.
“May he rot in hell” Tim mutters, taking another long sip from his glass and by the way he doesn’t so much as blink, he can only guess it isn’t his first whiskey, though it does seem to almost immediately go to his head slightly.
“To Baba” Damian whispers, taking a small sip of his tea as his mind flashes to all the times Baba had shown up tea in hand and a gentle smile on his face that seemed to always make things better.
“So Dami, Akhi and Baba are the same person right?” Tim asks suddenly, turning to face him and studying his face like he’s a puzzle he needs to solve.
“Master Timothy” Alfred reprimands sharply, but Damian isn’t mad, not like he has been every other time Baba has been brought up, maybe because he was finally learning what the world was without Baba by his side, and maybe a little because of how glassy Tim’s eyes are.
“Akhi is Baba, however, I was never able to call him Baba. I was scared, and then he was gone” he explains quietly, and it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. It almost knocks the breath from his lungs how real it feels after finally saying the words.
“Sorry” Tim mumbles, officially cowed by the answer and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a wet dog.
“From what you’ve told me Master Damian, I believe he would’ve known. Just as I believe he knows now, same as I believe Master Jason knows. I think they all know” it’s a sweet sentiment, one Damian wishes he could truly believe, but it doesn’t erase the guilt and regret of not saying it sooner. Of not saying it all. He didn’t think anything ever would.
“Would you boys indulge me for a moment?” Alfred asks, not looking at either of them but they both nod all the same.
“Course Alfred” Tim says, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees and Alfred takes a long breath, like he’s trying to prepare himself.
“Master Jason was terribly shy when he arrived at the manor, something I believe may have come from experiences before he arrived with us, though he never did share any details on his life before the manor. No matter. Master Jason took quite a long time to warm up to us, and in hindsight I believe we could have handled things far better than we did. I will admit that I have made more than my fair share of mistakes when it came to him. However, I do like to believe that Jason did enjoy his time with us, however brief that may have been.” Alfred explains, and it occurs to Damian that this is the first time anyone has ever spoken about what Baba had been like when he first came to the manor.
“The first time he truly reached out was about a month into him living at the Manor. He’d kept to himself a majority of the time, and Master Bruce and Master Richard’s arguments far from helped the issue” at this Damian shares a look with Tim who seems just as surprised “oh those two have had more than their fair share of issues to work out over the years. Suffice to say Master Jason had quite a rocky start with us, I'm afraid. However, the first time he opened up to me was about a month in, and he came to find me in the kitchen. He’d never sought anyone out before this. He asked if I could teach him, if maybe he could watch. So, I taught him. From then, each night Master Jason would come downstairs and make dinner with me” Alfred almost looks to be tearing up, and his voice has gone shaky.
“Master Jason was a brilliant child. Not in the traditional sense of the word, but brilliant all the same. He always wanted to learn, pull things apart and put them back together. While never as interested, he still learnt how to hack and the more computer heavy side of it all, but he much preferred working on the Batmobile or any sort of machine he could put back together. I also don’t think I’ve ever met someone as deeply in love with literature as Master Jason. Oftentimes, Master Bruce would not be able to find him for patrol and he’d be curled up in the library with a book or doing homework. He truly was a good child, no matter what Master Bruce has to say on the matter.” Tim looks as though someone had hit him over the head as Alfred speaks, and Damian’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry.
“Bruce lied! He’s lied the entire time!” Tim snarls, jumping to his feet and dropping his glass to the ground. Suddenly his eyes don’t seem so glassy and his rage is controlled as he pivots to head back into the house.
“Master Timothy!” Alfred calls, getting to his feet a fair bit slower, and it’s of little use as Tim is already out the door.
Damian can’t help but let his mind drift to all the stories father has shared, and wonders if maybe that’s why Tim’s so angry.
He scrambles to his feet to follow Alfred who is trying to catch up to Tim before he can reach the others inside, but it’s no use.
“Fuck you Bruce!” Tim roars, standing in front of Father, who doesn’t seem to know how to respond. Dick had been crying, it’s obvious with a single look at the man. Thomas, Row and Brown are all on their feet looking unsure. Cain is further away, hidden, as though poised and ready to jump into the middle of an attack. Kelley is positioned between Brown and Row, and looking particularly uncomfortable. He thinks perhaps it’s more that it’s Tim that’s angry, that makes it shocking, and not the fighting itself.
“The entire time I’ve been Robin, all you’ve ever told me is not to be like Jason! The entire time! You said he was reckless! You said he didn’t listen! You said he got himself killed!” Tim shouts, tears streaming down his cheeks and Damian can’t help but wonder if his Father ever even liked Baba in the first place.
It’s a desperate thing, to want to tell them the truth. That he knows the true story, that Baba had never even gone after the Joker.
Grayson flinches at Tim’s words, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen the man look so completely and utterly destroyed. It occurs to him that father lied to him too, that he never told him the truth either. That maybe Grayson got it as bad as everyone else. That he didn’t know better than any of them. That he got the lies and vitriol too.
“What?” Grayson asks, voice cracking as he stares at father in disbelief who for the first time seems genuinely shaken by the rapid fire questions.
“Ever since I put on that suit, you have never stopped comparing me to Jason. For the first few months you called me Jason more than you called me my actual name! All you’ve ever said is not to be like Jason! And the worst part is I believed you! ” Tim pauses, meeting Fathers gaze “I think you’ve convinced yourself that it’s true. See the real truth, Bruce, is that you made Jason a cautionary tale. You’re the one who used him as a warning sign, an example of what would happen if we didn’t listen. But it’s not the truth, and it never will be” Tim, with his shoulders set and head held high, walks away.
Damian thinks perhaps he’s walking away from much more than just Father as he is now.
Once again it’s left to Grayson, to put it all back together, but the man doesn’t seem inclined.
“Every time I think you can’t get worse, somehow you do. I know you don't know how to cope, I don’t either! That doesn’t mean you get to completely ruin Jason’s legacy with outright lies. And I’ll admit, it’s on me too, I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve grabbed a hammer and smashed that stupid memorial case the second I saw it was up! What do you think Jason would think, if he could see this now? If he knew what you said, the story you made him into?” Grayson asks, getting up in Father’s face who just seems stunned, like it’s nothing he ever could’ve expected.
“I can’t let it happen again” Father whispers, meeker than Damian’s ever seen, and Grayson's expression crumples before he forces it together.
“Yeah, well, you still let Tim keep the suit” Grayson snarls, and then he’s gone, no longer the picture of the mediator he’d tried so desperately to be.
He doesn’t even look at father, doesn’t speak, and simply leaves. His hands are shaking, and he can’t help but be angry on Baba’s behalf. The least Baba deserved was to be remembered properly, and yet, he never would be. Only he would know the truth, and he didn’t even know all of it. Baba had promised to tell it all to him, when he was older. He said he needed time, that one day he would tell him everything that happened. He likes to think he would’ve kept that promise, if he’d been given the chance.
It’s simply another thing to add to the long list of things he wishes he had asked Baba while he still had the chance. It brings it all back, where he can’t breathe for a moment because he’s just realised that Baba will never be there again. He’ll never be in the crowd, or around the corner. He’ll never give him another hug, never tell him he loves him one more time. No more nights of reading together, no more stories that only Baba knows. He’ll never see him go to school, or graduate. He won’t be there for his first date or kiss. He won’t be there to talk him through the nerves, or to hold him when he cries after it all goes horribly wrong. He’ll never again patch up his wounds and promise it’ll be okay. He’ll hold his hand and do his stitches or teach him to fight again. There’ll be no more lessons in Spanish, and Romani. There’s so many things he’ll simply never get, because Baba is gone, and he isn’t coming back.
It’s hard. Baba had gone from everything to nothing at all so fast his head is still spinning.
“Oh, Master Damian. I’m sorry that none of this has been easy” Alfred sighs as he comes around the corner, coming to stand in front of him “are you okay?” he asks, voice soft, and Damian thinks he knows what to say this time.
“I’m still dizzy” he whispers and something Alfred’s expression shatters before it comes back together more delicately than before.
“Oh Master Damian, I promise you, that ride has ended”
"Then why am I still dizzy?” he whispers, far more vulnerable than he ever cares to be, but he doesn’t have it in him to put a front, not now.
“Because sometimes it takes our mind a while to realise the ride has stopped after it has. There are always things that will make us untethered, just as there are people so entwined in our lives that when they are no longer present, it takes time to adjust. There are always people you will miss, Master Damian, and there is nothing wrong with that. Just as there is nothing wrong in missing you Baba” Alfred says, kneeling down to caress his cheek and normally Damian would balk at such affection, but with Baba so present in his mind and his same kindness written over Alfred’s face, he can’t make himself.
“I miss Baba, he promised” he hates how his voice cracks over the words, how weak it is but he knows Alfred will not punish him for the display and he doesn’t, he simply holds him steady.
“You have handled everything remarkably well, Master Damian. It is as I said, you have gotten off that ride. You are on solid ground now, your mind is simply taking time to adjust. So take it Master Damian, let time pass and you’ll find one day you won’t even notice that the spinning has stopped. Sometimes all we truly need is time Master Damian, and there is no weakness in that” Alfred advises, in the soft way only he can.
“Thank you” Damian whispers, before turning away and heading down the corridor.
He’s not sure who he’s looking for. He’d be more comfortable with Tim, but it seems he has enough to deal with. Dick, he probably needs to talk to, but he’s not sure he’s got the words. Not right now anyway. He wasn’t sure if he could speak to father, what he would even say.
Briefly he contemplates telling Tim. Telling him the full truth, that Baba and Jason Todd are one in the same. He wonders about telling him about the League, what it had been like. What it had done to Baba, before it killed him. He’s not sure he’d even be able to put it into words now.
He misses Baba in the way someone would miss a limb. It was untethering, knowing that such a strong, steady presence that had always guided him, simply no longer existed. If he was honest, he’d been feeling untethered since he’d been told Baba was dead. In some way he’d always known that Baba was not infallible, that he’d fallen before, hard, and it had taken him a long time to piece himself back together.
Still, he’d always seemed larger than life. Imposing, tall and bulky and one of the most skilled fighters he’d ever seen. Beyond that he’d been kind. Soft and vulnerable in ways that nobody got to see. He was a ruthless fighter, tough and strong and unrelenting. It had never occurred to Damian that someone could truly pose a threat to him.
He’d never thought he’d die.
Baba had always promised to tell him everything when he was older, had said Damian was too young for the burden of the entire truth. He hadn’t believed him, not until he began living in a house with ghosts down every hall and the knowledge of a life he could not share. Memories followed his every step, every shadow haunted by the knowledge of a life and death that had occurred before Damian ever got to meet Baba.
It still felt hard to believe sometimes, that Baba had lived and died before he ever met him. That he’d lived an entire life before they ever crossed paths. That he had been somebody, long before he was Baba. That he’d lived longer without Damian, then he ever would with him. It hurts that he’ll never get the chance again. That he'll never be able to truly remember Baba, because nobody even knows the truth.
He ends up in the library once again, and this time he finds another book he remembers Baba reading, one he said Damian would understand when he was older. Baba never did get to finish the book.
Baba had always wanted to read Frankenstein.
“Akhi, why would you..?” Damian trails off, watching as Jason is led into the room. There’s a collar around his neck, connected to two chains that go out either side of it. It’s how the guards lead him forward. His face is blank, dead almost.
Damian had lost his fight yesterday, his progress check. He had hesitated, momentarily, in taking the life of his opponent and they used that. They used his hesitation to knock his blade away and knock him to the ground. The other boy had lifted his sword high, ready to take his life. There was no way for him to avoid it.
Akhi had jumped in between him and his opponent, he’d run the other boy through with his blade before anyone else realised what was happening. He had saved him, just as he always did.
Now, watching him be led into the middle of the arena, he can’t understand why he did it. Why he jumped in front of the blade. He knows, no matter what Akhi admits aloud, that he does not wish to stay with the League forever. That he wants to leave and go back to Gotham, back to what he had before he was here. He knows the League is not Akhi’s home, and he knows that means that someday soon he’ll leave and he won’t come back. He’ll never admit how much he’s dreading that day. It is inevitable, but he wishes it wasn’t. He doesn’t want to lose Akhi, not now that he’s found him.
“You have shown disloyalty, Jason Todd, and the league does not tolerate it. You were spared only because your actions were in defense of the Heir, but do not be mistaken, one more step out of line and there’ll be no more chances. My generosity has been expansive in your regard, yet you show little thanks to the only reason you are here today still breathing. Don’t misunderstand my actions, Jason Todd, there shall be no resurrections this time” Grandfathers sneer down at Akhi, smiling as the guards force Akhi to his knees in front of the whipping pole. They yank his hands forward and tie him to the post, leaving his shoulders to pull awkwardly because of the angle.
“Don’t stop until all that’s left is red” Is grandfather's only command as he turns away, leaving Akhi to the mercy of his most skilled torturers.
There’s a sickening crack as the whip tears through Akhi’s exposed back. Beads of red slowly start to fall down his back as the whip meets its mark once again. Flecks of blood splatter as the whip continues to tear through the skin of Akhi’s back. The whip picks up in pace, and it’s only now Damian can see the nails fastened to the end of the whip. His stomach churns as the whip continues to meet skin. It’s what his punishment should be, and if Damian were braver, it would be him tied to the post.
Akhi only makes the quietest of noises as the whip tears his skin apart. He doesn’t scream or beg. He does not try to get away or break his bonds, not in the way he’d seen others do. His back is more red than skin at this point, but Akhi does not so much as whimper. He nearly throws up when it occurs to him that Akhi had probably faced far worse than this. He’d never told the story of the scars on his face after all, but they were clearly done by someone.
The torturers do not stop until they’ve fulfilled grandfather's wish. Akhi’s entire back is coated thickly in red, to the point it’s running down his arms and legs. It even spreads to his chest. They untie him roughly from the post, dragging him to his feet and shoving him through the doors of the chamber. He slips away through the crowd before the door even has the chance to close.
It’s easy to stay hidden within these halls. He’d grown up within the shadows of them after all. He also knew that while a great many within the league were loyal to the Head, to Grandfather, there was not a small amount of those loyal to his mother. Assassins that would turn a blind eye to seeing him where he shouldn’t be. Still he can’t rely on that generosity, not when it was Grandfather’s most trusted that oversaw Akhi’s punishment. So he waits, hidden and unseen for a painstakingly long time in the Medwing hall, until the Loyalists eventually take their leave and retreat back towards the heart of the compound. He waits longer, long enough to ensure Akhi has been placed back within his quarters in his mothers wing. He didn’t want to know what Grandfather would do to Akhi, if Damian was caught trying to see him.
His throat is burning and his eyes stinging as he finally makes it to Akhi’’s quarters. He hesitates, just for a moment, at the doorway. Akhi had never turned him away before, but he’d also never been punished in Damian’s place like that before. He’s not sure Akhi will even want to see him, but he owes him the dignity of seeing him, in the least. Taking a deep breath, the lump in his throat building, he pushes the door open.
Akhi is sitting on the edge of his bed, gauze wrapped around his back and torso and already stained red in too many places to be healthy. He looks tired, and in pain though it barely shows. He doesn’t move at the sound of the door opening, but he thinks he knows that he’s there. That he would’ve reacted if he didn’t.
“Hey Habibi” Akhi whispers, soft and gentle and eyes bright with kindness and warmth in a way that has the tears burning his eyes spilling over. He doesn’t even realise Akhi has moved, not until he’s tugged softly into a bandaged chest and shaky arms wrap around him to hold him close. He doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around Akhi, but he’s careful to only let the lightest brush of his arms touch the gauze.
“Oh Habibi, I'm okay, I'm just fine. There’s no need to cry, I'm okay Habibi, I promise” Akhi whispers into his hair and it’s just too much. How Akhi is holding close and not repelled by the fact that he’s the reason he got injured, he doesn’t understand. How Akhi can still show him kindness, comfort him, is something he just can’t understand.
“I’m sorry Akhi, I never wanted you to get hurt. I’m sorry I wasn't stronger. I promise i’ll do better next time Akhi, i won’t fail again. Just please don’t make me leave” Damian begs, unable to stop himself with no witnesses around to see. Tears stream down his face, falling harder when Akhi pulls back slightly, enough to be able to meet his gaze.
He can’t even pull himself together to listen to his dismissal.
“Habibi listen to me, none of this was your fault. Absolutely none of it. I’d go through that a hundred times over to keep you safe. I’ll always protect you Habibi. None of this was ever your fault” Akhi whispers and Damian just, he can’t understand. He doesn’t get it. No one else would defend him as Akhi has. Nobody would protect him like he has. Take punishments for him. He simply can’t understand why Akhi willingly puts himself through it, just for him.
“But why?” Damian manages to ask, the words croaky and hesitant and there’s something so sad and tender about the way Akhi looks at him that it makes him want to bury his face in his chest and just feel his warmth. The safety and how completely at home he felt in Akhi’s arms.
“Because I love you. Because you're my Habibi, my Abn” Akhi confesses, his hand brushing Damian’s cheek in a way that almost feels parental.
“What?” He can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice, and Akhi doesn’t immediately respond, instead sweeping him into a tight hold despite all the wounds still raw on his back.
“I love you Habibi. I always have and always will, never doubt that. I’ll say it however many times you need to hear it to believe it. You're my kid, my Habibi and I love you” Akhi says, and Damian melts, falling into his chest and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
“I love you so much Habibi, so much” a gentle hand cards through his hair, soothing the hiccuping cries still coming out of him in gasps. Slowly Akhi begins to rock back and forth, and it’s like a balm to his soul.
In between these cold walls and haunted halls he still had something bright. He still got to be loved. He still got to have a home, even in the darkness surrounding them. He had Akhi, and that would forever be enough. If he had Akhi, he had everything he’d ever need. He had Akhi, and it almost feels like having a Baba in some ways. Akhi feels like a Baba, in all the ways that count.
“I love you too Akhi” Damian mumbles, his eyes sliding closed as the exhaustion from both the day and his emotions crashes down on him. His grip on Akhi softens, but does not entirely release. The warmth of Akhi’s arms around him chases away the keen sting of the cold that usually swept through the halls at this time. He feels safe, in the only way he’s ever felt safe. Akhi has been his only solace. His only comfort, and now, his home.
He lets himself drift, safe in the arms of his Akhi and the knowledge that the only person to truly love him without restraint or conditions is right there beside him. That they’ll always be right there beside him.
Content in the knowledge that he is loved.
It’s odd, the way time passes.
Baba had explained it once, in complicated English words Damian hadn't understood at the time. He said something about how emotions influence time, and that even though it was designed to bring order and comfort and structure, it could insight the opposite.
He didn’t always like the way time made him feel, the memories it brought to his attention and all the regrets. All the things he’d do differently, and all the things he was never given the chance to do in the first place. Time is odd, it always has been.
It’s particularly odd, the way it intertwines in grief. It’s been two years now, Akhi has been gone for two years. He can still remember how he felt so clearly, like home and warmth, but it’s becoming hard to remember the details of his face. He can’t quite remember the colour his eyes had been, when not aggravated by the pit. He’s not sure he remembers the sound of his laugh, or what his voice was like when he spoke. It’s like it’s all blurred and warped, like it’s still there yet just out of reach. It’s terrifying, in a way he’s not sure how to explain.
If this is all he can remember now, will there come a time when he can’t recall his face at all? Will there come a time when he’s not always wondering what he’d think of something or if he’d be proud of a new achievement? Will there come a time where he won’t think about him for months on end, when the only thoughts about Baba will be ones that are triggered by something and otherwise never brought up.
Will there come a time where it’ll be as though Baba was never there at all? Will he know it’s happening before it does?
Christmas is something still unfamiliar to Damian, and perhaps the catalyst for this particular spiral. Baba had promised to show him the lights and how to decorate a tree and how to wrap presents. He’d promised they’d have their own Christmas, with their own presents and lights and he’d teach him all about it. Christmas wasn’t celebrated in the League, but it was something Baba grew up celebrating and so Damian wanted to celebrate with him.
“Hey Dami, are you okay?” Dick asks softly as he enters the room, a kind, hesitant smile on his face.
He’d been hiding out in the library most of the day, doing mindless sketches as he tried to escape the bustle that always seemed to accompany December at Wayne Manor. He had never grown used to the revolving door of people coming and going, something that had only increased in frequency due to the holidays. Last year was a mess, and they didn’t really do anything at all. He hadn’t been able to look around a corner without seeing Baba, and the promises that he’d made. Christmas was meant to be Baba’s to show him, and now he never would.
“The manor is very, loud” Damian says in way of explanation, but Dick seems to understand well enough, expression softening in a way that would’ve made Damian defensive even just a few weeks ago.
Huh, time really is odd after all, it seems.
“Yeah, I get that. It can be a lot, especially this time of year. Y'know, I can probably talk to Bruce and get you out of the Christmas gala, if you don’t feel up to dealing with all the people.” Dick offers, laughing as Damian eyes him sceptically.
“I did everything I could to get out of it as a kid, hated every second of the stuffy suits and rich people who’d act friendly to my face as if I hadn’t just overheard them throwing racists insults about me around” Dick grins, and Damian finds himself relaxing as he continues “Tim’s always pretty good at handling a crowd, but he’s been going to gala’s his entire life. Jason hated them, outright refused to go. Alfred managed to wrangle him into the odd one, but he’d always disappear and be found smoking on some random balcony by the end” it’s a little softer now, tinted with grief, but there’s still a smile on Dick’s face nonetheless.
“I wish to apologise for my reaction when you asked after my Akhi. I did not mean to lash out at you, and it was inappropriate of me to take my anger at the situation out on you. It is hard to talk about Akhi” Damian says, because it was a long overdue apology and no matter how angry he is at Baba’s death, he knows just like he knew at the time that Dick is undeserving of that anger.
Just as he knows that Dick mourns Akhi like a brother, that he loved him like a brother. Baba had always spoken of him fondly, though he rarely did. He knows Baba loved Dick like a brother, and had wanted to make him proud like a brother. Even in all his anger at Bruce, it had never been directed at Dick. He’d even said once that he never blamed Dick for his resentment, that he understood, even if he’d never wanted to take the legacy from him. Baba had loved Dick Grayson, and Damian is beginning to see why.
“Thanks Damian, but there’s no need to apologise. Sometimes it really is hard to talk about those things, those people we’ve lost, but please know you can talk to me about your Akhi whenever you want to, okay? I’m always here to listen” Dick says, squeezing his shoulder with a smile like it's as easy as that. Like Damian hadn’t screamed and torn him to shreds.
He’s not sure he’ll ever understand Dick, but he doesn’t have to understand him to appreciate him.
He can’t find the words he wants to, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles fondly and ruffles his hair, sweeping out of the room with a gentle air. There was just something so inherently kind about him, no matter the circumstances. Not dissimilar to Baba’s intrinsic kindness. Two halves. It’s easier now, to picture Dick as Baba’s brother. Easy to see the characteristics and mannerisms that Baba had picked up from Dick.
Not for the first time, he aches to tell them all the truth. Wishes he could tell them that Baba had come back, that he had lived and what he’d said about them all, but somehow he felt it would only make things worse. What was the point in telling them, when Baba was gone again? What was the point in digging up old hurts just to alleviate his own guilt? He’s sure one day he’ll tell them everything, that one day he’ll find a way to put the truth into words. Maybe it’ll come back to bite him, but maybe time is the only thing that can make this revelation easier. The only thing that can numb the sting. Logically, he knows there’ll never be a right time to come clean and maybe waiting would only make things worse. But he also couldn't say it now. Not when things were starting to feel okay.
He also knew Baba had no intentions of coming back.
“Things were difficult by the time I left Habibi, and I’m not sure I could go back. There wouldn’t be a place for me now. Sometimes things change, people change Habibi, and sometimes what used to fit never will again. And that’s ok.” Akhi says, voice soft as he looks at him.
“Do you not miss them?” Damian asks, confused. After everything his mother had said, he’d have thought Akhi would be desperate to reunite with his family.
“Of course I do, Habibi. I think I’ll always miss them, but things have changed. I’m not the person I lost, and I’m sure they’ve changed to. I’ll always love them, Habibi, but you're my family first, okay? It’ll always be me and you”
And, oh, he hadn’t expected that.
Instead of responding and risking tearing up, he instead moves forward until he can tuck himself into Akhi’s arms. Akhi instinctively moves to make room for him, arms warm and comforting around him. It’s the sort of comfort that books talked about. Akhi was the only time he felt it. Sometimes, he felt like Akhi was the only family he truly had.
“You really wouldn’t go back?” Damian asks, a part of him unsure how much Akhi truly means his words. Akhi’s chest rumbles as he chuckles, carding a hand soothingly through his hair.
“No, not to stay, anyway. It’d be nice to see Alfred again. I’d like to see Ace too, he used to help me when I had panic attacks. He was our dog. There’s also Dick, and he was my Akhi, like I’m yours. He taught me gymnastics and he was the real Robin, he created it. It would be nice, even just once, to get to speak to him again. But I don’t think it’ll happen Habibi, our lives are very different and I think there’s some things that they wouldn’t be able to look past. But that’s alright, I don’t need them to. I don’t need to go back. All I need is you Habibi, and I’ll be alright” and there’s something so sincere, so gentle in his words that makes Damian lose the fight against his tears.
Akhi doesn’t let go though, he simply tightens his grip and presses a kiss to his hair.
“It’s gonna be me and you forever kid, no matter what happens, I’m always with you, ok? I’m always with you Habibi”
Damian lets himself sag into the embrace, warmth surrounding him as he snuggles into the only truly safe place he’d ever known. Damian had been cold until he had Akhi. He didn’t have to be cold now that Akhi was here. This is home, these arms and this scratchy laugh and eyes that are just a little too green. This, he thinks, as he lets the thumping of Akhi’s heart lull him to sleep, is what he always imagined a parent would be.
It’s been two years now, since he arrived in Gotham.
He was eight when he lost Baba. Nine when he was shipped halfway across the globe to a father he’d never known. Now he’s eleven, and the ache that had burrowed its way into his soul all those years ago, in the cold halls of Nanda Parbat still beats in his chest. It isn’t the sharp, stabbing pain it was to begin with. It’s dulled into something softer, like years between had been enough to smooth the edges down from a sharp point into something that’s still there, but not as constant anymore.
It’s Christmas this week
Snow paints just about every surface outside within eyeshot. Frost coats the windows and breath made visible in the cold. Dick had taken them to see lights earlier, something he said he’d done as a child. Baba had said the lights were his favourite part, that he’d walk past different storefronts just to see the Christmas displays they would put up. Baba had always been conflicted about Christmas. He didn’t have religious ties to it, not really. He’d said it was more about hope, and joy. He’d said there was a relief in getting to believe in a man delivering presents, that there is wonder in the mystical. Baba always had a fondness for magic.
The manor was decked to the nines. People were racing in and out like it was their job, as meal after meal was prepared. There were at least three Christmas trees Damian had stumbled upon so far, each more grandiose than the last. Baba had told him the first year he stayed in the manor, that he got a little tree and put as many ornaments as he could on it. That he’d made it especially for Dick, and left it in his room for him to find. Apparently he’d been scarcely at the manor at the time, but Baba had never told him why. He had figured it was just one of a number of things Baba would tell him as he got older, and he always had faith that he would. Baba had promised after all, and he never broke a promise.
Somehow he finds himself walking the hall of their bedrooms. There’s something playing in Tim’s room, which means it might be excusable to interrupt him. He’s hesitant though, because with how busy everything was he’d begun to fall asleep in more bizarre places the closer it got to Christmas. Tim had welcomed him more than anyone else had, and he knew that. He’d been ready to snap and snarl and fight to prove his worth against him, but that had never come to pass. Baba had said not to blame him, that he couldn’t truly know what it meant to become Robin, to sign himself away to it.
He also knew Baba’s anger laid far more in the mantle itself, and much less in the person propping it up.
Grayson's room is next, and for an inexplicable reason he feels the need to enter. To see him. Perhaps it’s the season, or the way Baba’s eyes would go soft when he spoke about him. Baba had been angry at a lot of people, but Dick Grayson had never been one of those people. He’d always gone quiet and misty eyed whenever he spoke of him, and the obvious respect he held for him was still plain to see. He knows from what Baba said, that it hadn’t all been good, but enough of it had been since Baba still looked back on it all fondly.
Ever so gently, he pushes the door open.
Dick isn’t in there, but he hadn’t expected him to be. People seemed to rely heavily upon him to keep things functioning, and as such, the man didn’t seem to be afforded much down time. So it’s not surprising he’s not in his room. His room itself is what he’d imagined it would be like, random clothes strewn across the floor and different things scattered everywhere, so much so it makes the room look cluttered.
There is something that catches his eye almost immediately.
On a shelf above the desk in the corner, there’s a small figurine. It’s made out of what looks like bolts and spare scrap parts. It's easy to see where it’s been welded together, and there are some parts that are a little uneven, bits of metal slightly too long that make some sides of it look slanted. It’s clearly handmade, and there are parts where the paint over it is chipping, though that seems mostly from age. The most interesting part is that it’s an elephant.
“Her name is Zitka”
He jumps, spinning around to see Dick standing in the doorway. He’s watching him, but he doesn’t seem outwardly angry. Not like he’d expect. He sighs, looking at the little statue fondly and walks into the room.
“Jason made her for me. Where I grew up, in the Circus, there were these Elephants we travelled with. My favourite was named Zitka. I spent days playing with her, and I’d escape my parents and they’d find me with her, running around and swinging off her trunk. I was devastated when I left. I had a little stuffed elephant that I kept with me everywhere and I still have it at home, but this” Dick trails off, letting his finger dust over the metal, a smile pulling at his lips “this Jason made for me”
Oh, oh.
“He knew how much I missed Zitka. He’d seen the stuffie too, and I suppose, he was inspired. He made it for Christmas. He’d tried to wrap it and put it under the tree and everything. He was terrified when he handed it to me. I think he wasn’t sure how I was going to react, and, I don’t think he’d had all that much experience with presents, let alone giving one to someone. I loved it. I’ve kept it in here ever since. He was so proud of it too, he built it all on his own. I think a kid he was friends with where he grew up taught him how to, but he never said. For all he loved reading, he always seemed to find it easier to give things than to say something outright. His gifts always meant something, whether he’d actually tell you what it was or not”
He’d never known Baba knew how to build. He knew he was resourceful, and that he could put things together when necessary, but he’d never known he found joy in it. Like how Damian found comfort in the scratch of a pencil against paper, Baba seemed to have found it in making scraps into something new.
“He liked to make things?” Damian asks softly, and Dick’s whole body seems to lose its tension as he sits on his bed, still holding Zitka. His eyes are glistening, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to cry.
“Yeah, Little Wing loved putting things together” Dick sniffs “It wasn't something he advertised, but every time we were in the cave he’d find something to fiddle with, something to put together. He was good at all aspects of what we did, but he really thrived in putting machines together. He knew what he was doing, and he used to mention a kid that taught him about cars, that worked in a car yard in Park Row. There was a lot Jason never said, but his actions always spoke louder than his words did, though I’m not sure he ever realised that. I think he could’ve been an engineer one day, if he didn’t try to do something literature related. Maybe he would’ve been both, he always did want to prove he was more than what people thought” Dick smiles, like he’s remembering something fondly, but there’s something a little sad to it. He’s come to learn there’s always something sad about Dick when he talks about Jason.
Damian had never known that Baba liked to build, but he did know he never expected to actually go anywhere. He’d talked about it, in soft whispers while they hid beneath the stars. How even when he’d felt most at home at the manor, he’d never truly expected it to last. That he could never truly get away from the belief that he’d never be anything more than the street rat he was born to be.
Baba had always been more, but Damian wasn’t sure he’d ever believed that.
“I apologize, if i have upset you” Damian says, in the stilted way he still hadn’t managed to drop, because he’s pretty sure he can see Grayson’s eyes glistening.
“Oh, no, it’s ok Baby Bat” Dick sniffles, wiping at his face and managing a smile “you didn’t make me upset” he assures, but he can see the tear tracks down his cheeks and the redness of his eyes and struggles to believe him.
Dick clearly notices too, considering the way he sighs and pats the bed next to him, an invitation. One, that after only a brief hesitation, Damian takes.
Perhaps time truly did change things.
“I miss him, and sometimes that makes me sad” Dick starts, his voice soft “he was my little brother. I still catch myself looking around corners for him and waking up with the first thing on my mind to text him, only to open my phone and remember that I'll never get a response again. I loved him, Baby Bat. He was the first brother I ever knew. He taught me how to be a brother. So, yeah, sometimes thinking about him makes me sad. Sometimes I still cry when I realise he’s never going to call again, or come racing around a corner with a new story to tell. Love doesn’t fade when a person is gone, Dami, it’s still there. I don’t mind missing him, because it’s proof there is something to miss. Sometimes it’s okay for love to hurt, Dami.”
Oh.
Dick gets to his feet while Damian’s still sitting there, his mind running a hundred miles an hour trying to process the words. He lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, an effort to pull the loose threads taut once more. Damian’s not sure he has the strength for that now, and Dick seems to know that, as he turns to face him.
“Why don’t you hang in here with Zitka for a while? I can call you down when things have quieted down, maybe we could even watch a christmas movie?” Dick offers, casual yet clearly hopeful as he watches him.
He can feel Baba’s hand on his shoulder now. The subtle calm that only came from knowing he was near. The innate comfort of a presence he’d always known. Dick’s hair is too light brown and his eyes are the wrong colour. His nose slants in the wrong direction and his eyebrows are more manicured. His face is blemish free, unmarred by jagged lines and inescapable scarring. Dick is not Baba, and he never will be. But he’s close, as close as Damian will probably ever get again. So, with the memory of Baba’s kindness wrapping around him, he turns to the brother that he learnt those hugs from, and manages to pull together the beginnings of a smile.
“Do you think we could have hot chocolate?” he asks, hating how vulnerable it sounds. It’s entirely worth it for the way Grayson’s face lights up, brighter than he thinks he’d ever seen before.
“Of course, Dami, I'll see if I can wrangle Tim too, okay” he promises, reaching a hand forward to ruffle his hair and then he’s out the door, seamlessly gliding back into the crowds as if he’d never left.
True to his word, Dick wrangles them into the lounge room after the house has cleared out and is armed with several mugs of hot chocolate. Memories wash over him at the scent, images of cold nights and gentle hands and the soft glow of the lights. Of muttered spanish and boiled kettles and sketching the stars that shone above the mount ranges. Baba would make it, he’d show him how. They could not always indulge, not within the League, but every now and again Baba would make sure to make it.
“Alfed made it, i’ve never managed to get his recipe out of him” Dick says, sitting next hom on one side of the lounge while Tim takes the other, nose already buried in his mug.
“It never tastes as good either” Tim mumbles, not even reacting as Dick shoots him a half-hearted glare.
“I suppose we all must keep our secrets” Damian adds delicately, carefully not mentioning the amount of times the fire alarms had been set off by Dick and his cooking attempts. He approved whole-heartedly of Pennyworth’s decision to bar Dick from the kitchen for a lifetime.
“Hey, why don’t we watch Santa Buddies?” Dick suggests, completely ignoring their comments and Tim groans, but doesn’t make any move to protest otherwise “it’s about dogs at christmas” he explains, and that has Damian’s vote without having to hear anything further.
“Then it is acceptable” Damian sniffs, ignoring Tim’s snort and sipping at his hot chocolate as he lets memories of Baba flood his mind.
It is easy to see how in another life, Baba would be in this room with them.
For a moment, it’s almost like he can see him here now.
The music starts up and he turns his attention to the screen. The CGI is terrible and most of the actors aren’t much better. The dogs are cute, and clearly the only relevant part of this movie. He’d always wanted a big dog, and Baba had always smiled, and would say one day. That’s what it had always come down to with them, a culmination of some days that they’d never live to see. Well, Damian had made it, but Baba, he hadn’t even gotten the chance.
Somehow as the movie continues and the mugs are drained, he finds himself leaning against Dick. His jumper is soft and it’s inexplicably comfortable. Baba had always said he gave the best hugs, and he was starting to believe that was true. It’s warm and comfortable and oddly enough, safe. It’s not safe in the way Baba’s was, where he knew Baba would sooner impale himself than allow him to get so much as a scratch. There would never be anywhere safer again, than inside his Baba’s arms, but this is close. It only makes him feel worse for his initial reaction to Dick, and even though he’d said it was okay, he resolves to try and make it up to him further.
Damian shifts, looking up at the sound of paws clacking against the floor. Dick and Tim have sat up too, watching. In all the time he’d been at the manor, Ace had kept to the shadows. He’d only seen him a handful of times since he’d moved into the manor. His face was peppered with white, and he moved in the way all old dogs did, in a way that spoke to old hurts and aching bones weighed down by time. He’d never seen him so close, as the dog barely made his presence known. He’s exactly like Baba described. He knows one thing Baba had always regretted was leaving Ace behind, since he couldn't explain why he’d gone. He’d always worried that Ace thought he’d abandoned him. Looking at the dog now, he thinks he knows.
He can feel his brothers watching, and ever so hesitantly, he offers his hand to the dog. Ace stays completely still for a long moment, before inching slightly forward and sniffing his hand. Then, all of a sudden his tail starts wagging. Slow, at first, before getting faster and faster. He even barks, and taking it as permission, Damian extends a hand out to scratch behind his ear. He doesn’t expect the dog to dart under his arm and lick his face. Then, he keeps going and he drops his mug and the blanket falls and then he’s on the ground, Ace attacking his face with kisses.
He doesn’t hear Dick start crying, or when Tim takes out his phone to film. He doesn’t see Father, standing frozen in the doorway as though he’s seeing a ghost. He doesn’t see Pennyworth, hand over his mouth as he watches them. It all shatters as he starts to giggle, like none of them know what to do.
“Ace” Damian mumbles, patting the dog's face as he looks into eyes that know far more than he should. There’s an understanding, one he never expected to have.
Neither of them have Baba anymore, but if they have each other, then they still have a part of him.
Maybe it really is the most wonderful time of the year.
It’s a Tuesday, when they get the news.
Things had finally settled into an unsteady calm, one Damian found himself reluctant to let go of. After years of spinning, he finally felt like he was on solid ground. He had Alfred, and he had Dick and he had Tim. He was getting to know Thomas. Brown and Cain were still distant, but less so than they had been before. They kept doing movie nights, and Tim had started teaching him how to play video games. Dick was a constant and warm presence, steadfast and whole. All in all, it was good. Good in a way he’d never imagined he’d ever had.
Father, well, that was trickier. Nobody would ever replace Baba, biological father or not. He’d been reluctant to let him close, and really, it’s not like the man made much of an effort to reach out to him either. He refused to be the only one to make an effort, especially with the ever-present memories of Baba in his mind. Baba had always tried, and he was far from perfect but he didn’t care, because he was always there when he needed him. He patched his wounds and watched his back and taught him to live beyond a fight. He brought him pencils to sketch with and took the fall for any and all punishments. He was warm hugs and comforting whispers after a nightmare. He had always been fierce and proud with his love. Damian had never had to doubt his place in Baba’s heart, or doubt his love.
He hadn’t become Robin, and it seemed that was a condition of Father’s love, unintentional or not.
He’s in the main lounge room when it happens. He finds it the easiest to sketch here, with Ace curled up at his feet. It’s peaceful, far enough removed from the main bustle of the manor that it’s not constantly interrupted but not far enough away that it’s isolating. He was still wary of the constant bustle of the manor, but it didn’t make his skin crawl the way it used to. Most of the time it felt like nothing had changed since the day he arrived, but there were little things that proved that thought untrue. The difference is in the scratch of dogs paws that now follow every step. It’s in the way he and Tim can spend hours in a room together without ever having to speak. It’s in the way he barely tenses when Dick catches him with a surprise hug. It’s in the weekly teas he has with Alfred, and the way they read together. It’s imperfect, but he’s beginning to learn that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
The door creaks open and Ace lifts his head to look, ears twitching. Damian carefully sets his sketchbook on the table before him, turning to face the doorway. Tim looks unusually solemn, but there’s a twinkle to his eyes that states he is not truly upset. It must mean it’s not an emergency, if he has to act solemn but does not need to truly feel it. He almost looks nervous, and he can’t imagine why. He got along with Tim the best of all of them, these days.
“Ra’s is dead” it’s barely a whisper, but echoes through the room like a gunshot.
Oh.
Absurdly, his brain conjures the memory of when he was young, before his training had begun. There had been a pond at one of grandfather’s palace’s, and even then, Damian had a fascination with animals. Grandfather had found him, watching the ducks as they swam. He hadn’t done anything, had just sat beside him and meditated while the ducks splashed and chirped in the afternoon sun. He hadn’t said a word, and after an hour had simply stood and left with a firm hand on his shoulder. It was one of the few good memories he has of grandfather. It had been a long time since he was the man at the pond. He knows he shouldn’t miss him, he was the reason he didn’t have Baba anymore. He should be celebrating and relieved and a part of him is. There’s a part of him that knows that this was the last thing, the last piece to finally achieve justice for Baba. But Baba had also said it was okay to miss what he never had, that he could hate grandfather and love him at the same time.
The relief and guilt twist in his gut, swirling memories through his mind. He could recognise ache in his gut as missing, and distantly he knows he’ll probably always miss him. But he also knows he will not mourn him, not when he had Baba’s blood on his hands. Not when he’d taken everything Damian had and ground it to dust beneath his feet.
“How?” he manages to ask, keeping his voice steady and not meeting Tim’s eyes.
“Nothing’s confirmed, but it looks like Red Hood has been spotted near several League locations over the past month. A contact of mine confirmed he’d been sighted in Nanda Parbat two days before your grandfather was killed’ Tim explains, not prying into his emotions and Damian appreciates it, the clinical assessment of facts instead of inquiring into his own mental state. He was feeling a little too raw to be able to face such interrogations, something Tim seems to know given the way he refrains from pushing.
“I assume that means patrols will be increased?” Damian asks instead of the multitude of other things he could, things he’s not quite ready to.
“Yeah, whenever some high profile person dies the rogues tend to go a bit crazy. Add in Joker only a few months ago, it’s just asking for one of them to start stirring things up” Tim shrugs with a sigh, falling back into the lounge chair opposite where he is sitting. He looks a little twisted from the way he’s fallen backwards but he doesn’t make any move to change his position. It’s not too abnormal considering the increasingly weird places he’d found him asleep in.
“I actually want to ask, I know you haven’t brought it up, but did you want to start patrolling with us?” Tim asks, voice soft and it really is a simple question. In another world, the answer may have been as simple as breathing. This is not that world. Baba’s voice rings in his mind, all his stories flashing through his memory. Baba had wanted him to live beyond survival, had wanted him to find out what life was like besides fighting. Baba had shielded him from as much as he could, back in the League. Hadn’t let him fight where he could get away with it. Baba had wanted him to have an identity beyond fighting. He looks at his sketchbook on the table and remembers how Baba’s eyes would look when he woke up from night terrors, haunted by memories too terrible to speak about.
“No, I have no current plans to become Robin or any other type of vigilante” he had made a promise, after all.
Though from one look, it’s clear that’s not the response Tim had been expecting.
“Is there a reason why?” Tim asks, not accusingly but definitely curious. He takes a moment, wondering how to phrase this without giving Baba up.
“I have spent most of my time alive fighting and in the time since I have arrived in Gotham I have learnt that living without a fight is possible. I want to help people, and I believe one day I will put on a mask and join you all in your mission. But right now, I wish to simply live. It was Baba’s final wish for me, to live, and I intended to honour that” and as he speaks Damian finds he truly believes it, beyond the desperate promise he’d made to Baba all those years ago.
Damian had never truly thought he’d see the world beyond Nanda Parbat, but Baba had made sure he did. Baba had fought and bled and killed all so he did not have to. Eventually he did, but he has made peace with the blood that stains his hands. Despite everything, he was still the Heir to the Demon’s Head, and no amount of distance would change that. He was always going to have to be trained, but Baba balanced it. He snuck him to see Disneyland and Zoo’s and it was Baba that showed him there was a world beyond the fighting. He found he wanted to see it. He wanted to travel, for fun and not just a mission. He wanted to rescue animals. He wanted to graduate, like Baba never got the chance to. He wanted to live, and becoming Robin was no way to do it. As far as he was concerned, that legacy was already stained with far too much blood and he had no intention of adding to that.
“I guess that makes sense. I’ve never thought of it like that” Tim says, and it’s clear that it had never occurred to him that way before. Perhaps he had his own re-evaluations to do, considering what Damian knew of him taking up the mantle, it wasn’t something he did out of his own desire, but rather a sense of obligation.
“I think perhaps, the time for Robin has passed” Damian hedges carefully, aware of just how sensitive of a topic this could be.
“What do you mean?”
“I just think given what I know of both previous holders of the mantle, that perhaps it is best left in the past. I think, to continue to use the name just furthers the ability for the meaning of it to become distorted. The true meaning is perhaps one we’ll never know, changed by what followed. But I also think given how wearing the mantle ended for the last Robin, that it is perhaps time to let it rest. To let him rest” Damian says, because he knows what Baba felt about the mantle and the fact it was continuing to be used. Granted Baba’s issues stemmed more with the idea of child soldiers to begin with, but he doesn’t believe that is a point any of his siblings will understand for a long time to come, except perhaps for Dick.
Tim remains silent, but he doesn’t look mad. He knows it is most likely not an easy revelation, but easy and necessary are not mutually exclusive. He thinks if this is something that Tim continues with, it should be a name all of his own and not tied down to the past. Because he knows his Father looks at Tim and sees Baba. He knows that Jason Todd will forever be synonymous to Robin in their minds, something for which Tim had suffered. Something Baba’s memory has suffered from in equal measure. There’s nothing to be won in a game of comparison after all, Baba had once said.
“I did always like the name Cardinal” is what Tim breaks the silence with, a shy smile pulling at his face as though he never believed he’d say it out loud and perhaps, he hadn’t.
“A fitting name, for new beginnings” is all he says, but it seems to be enough by the way Tim’s face breaks into a much wider smile.
“Maybe it’s a new beginning for all of us” Tim offers, and Damian hums, mulling the idea over in his head.
Grandfather is gone. Baba is gone. Mother is with the League and will most likely go on to assume power now that grandfather is gone. He won’t be going back to the league. Gotham and it’s grungy alleys and dreary streets is home now. Everything else is just a memory growing more distant as the days pass. There’s nothing to go back to. The only way left now is forward. He’d spent the last two years in a limbo of grief and anger, he’d felt it all. Perhaps it is time to take his own advice, to let Baba and the past rest. To finally live like Baba always wanted him too.
Maybe the only thing left to do now is begin again.
He thinks Baba would be proud, if he could see it.
The kids are in town for a funeral,
So pack the car, and dry your eyes,
I know they've got plenty of young blood left in 'em,
and plenty nights under pink skies you taught 'em to enjoy