Damian sneered at the three glass cases lined up in a neat little row. Each illuminated from the inside, each holding a pristine uniform that would never be worn by the child it had been made for. Robin was the mantle of dead, incompetent children. Out of the Batman's four protégés, only Drake had survived to leave the role behind on his own terms. Grayson was still desperately labeled MIA, while Todd and Brown had each met their own messy ends. And yet Father refused him the title, a silent implication that Damian was somehow unworthy of the name. Never mind that he was the only one worthy to fight at the Batman's side, a worth due to him by both birth and skill.

"You're not ready," Father had been telling him for the last four, almost five years, but Damian knew what he really meant, "I don't trust you."

So instead of learning the ins and outs of the city that by all rights would be his, he wasted his time and talent doing busy work that was better suited to someone like Drake, who enjoyed uselessly sitting in front of a computer for hours. Tonight he was updating Father's files on the Court of Owls, whose activity had picked up noticeably in the last few months. Damian hardly saw the point in getting involved with the Court's affairs when they weren't actively trying to kill them. What did it matter that if there were a few dead Talons amongst the usual refuse of Gotham? Likely their renegade Talon was ruffling feathers again. Titus snuffled beside him and the Great Dane rested his large black head on Damian's thigh. Damian absently provided him with head scritches. A shadow caught just in the periphery of one of Oracle's more promising surveillance videos grabbed his attention. Or perhaps not. He straightened from his slouch and played the footage again, carefully watching the shadow instead of the soon to be corpse. There was little definition to the form but it was certainly too petite to be Rose. One of the Court's fledglings? Father would be tickled pink to hear that: A murderous, brainwashed child running amuck in Gotham. He could already hear Drake's snide voice, "Gee that doesn't sound familiar at all." For all that the young man had ended his Robin career for college and his idiot Titans, he was often unfortunately present at the manor. No, Damian moved the file into a different folder to be perused more at a later date, better not to mention it at all until he had more substantial evidence.

Titus perked up suddenly, barking excitedly and jumping around as the Batmobile revved into the cave. Damian frowned and stood. It wasn't even 2:00 a.m., far too early for Father to end his patrol. There hadn't been anything over the com to alert Damian to an emergency, but the last time Batman had broken his nightly routine Drake was well on his way to death by exsanguination. The engine had barely stopped rumbling before Batman flung the driver's side door open.

"Alfred!" he shouted, his voice oddly frail despite its volume.

"Yes, sir?"

Of course, Pennyworth was already at the bottom of the stairs. Damian might have considered the butler's uncanny ability to appear before he was needed for the umpteenth but his focus was on the small, limp body clutched to his father's chest. He was fairly certain it was a boy, but he couldn't be sure. His slack, too pale face was androgynous and his ink black hair was indistinctly styled, much shorter than Mother cared to cut her own but longer than some of the styles he'd seen the Kyle woman wear. He was…pretty, and wrapped up in Father's arms, he looked fragile, a porcelain doll that had already been broken.

Damian kept his distance while Father and Pennyworth closed ranks around the unconscious stranger, after Father laid him out on the medical table. The man pulled back the cowl and ran a hand through his hair. Pennyworth laid out a line of sterile syringes and several vials. Titus had finally calmed enough to cease his noise but the dog was tense beside Damian, his hindquarters quivering with restrained movement. Damian placed a hand on the animal's head and scowled. Who was this intruder that had garnered Father's undivided attention?

"Master Bruce."

Damian tried to identify the older man's tone. Questioning? Hopeful? Heartbroken?

"I need to be sure, Alfred. I," Father closed his eyes, "I need to be sure."

"Of course, sir."

Sure of what? Damian gave up trying to read either man's face. What little they were giving away, he didn't understand. Instead he studied the cause of all this confusing fussing. What was it about him that had shaken two of the most unshakable beings Damian had ever known? Even with Father's unfortunate habit of collecting troubled youths, he would not bring just anyone to the cave. Except, Damian cocked his head, this wasn't just anyone. He almost walked forward but aborted the movement mid-step. This was Richard Grayson, older but not old enough.