Chapter Text
Flashback - Dami and Jay
“First thing I'm going to teach you to do is run. Call it a tactical retreat. I call it saving your life. If you're alive, you can fight another day.
Of course, there is a hill worth dying on. But each man—and I am saying man to you, Damian, but sub it to every person.”
Jason waited a beat, his gaze steady and expression unreadable. The words hung between them, wrapped in the low hum of the night. He adjusted his stance slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed something deeper.
Damian nodded; he was following thus far, his sharp eyes reflecting the faint glow of the fire. His fingers flexed at his sides, as though trying to grasp the weight of responsibility settling in his chest.
“Each person needs to decide what that hill is. Who is worth their life? And if you think you’ll never find the answer, you’re wrong. We may have been separated for many years, son of the Bat, but I know you. Your core is good—the heart of a warrior, a defender, a protector.”
Jason’s voice softened here, the sharp edges giving way to something almost paternal. His gaze drifted upward for a moment, toward the stars just peeking through Gotham’s sky. “There is always a hill worth dying on... and little Bat, it can’t be taught. You know it when you feel it.”
He took a breath, rubbing the back of his neck—a small, human gesture that made the hardened vigilante seem almost vulnerable. “All I'm trying to say here is—don’t let the big Bat decide your life for you. His trauma is his own. His parents, wonderful people that they were, had their own parental issues. And they made a choice not to foster that on Bruce. He should get his head out of his ass and do the same as his parents did—stop plopping his issues on you.”
The fire crackled softly, casting restless shadows across Jason’s face. For a moment, the tension melted, leaving only the quiet companionship of two souls haunted by the same legacy.
“So, defend the city and its people, because lives are precious. By that same example, your life is precious too. Don’t you think?” His tone was gentler now, almost coaxing, as if he hoped Damian might truly believe those words one day.
Damian’s shoulders eased. The defiant edge in his posture softened, replaced by contemplation. He glanced down at the ground, scuffing a pebble with his boot before speaking—his voice low and uncertain, but sincere.
“Choosing to live is not the same as letting others die.”
He let the words linger, searching Jason’s face for approval. Then, a small, sweet smile found its way to his lips, hesitant but real—like the moon sliding free of dark clouds, turning the broken world around them a gentle, forgiving silver.