Ch.2: Demon Child

Again and again, his fingers tapped against the side of his skull, hoping to ease some of the aching currently pounding his brain to mush. A sigh fell from Damian's lips, something that went unnoticed by everyone else in the apartment. But that was to be expected, of course. With the ruckus in the apartment's kitchen, an explosion could go off in the next room over, and it would be all but ignored. Everyone had Jason fucking Todd to thank for that one, folks.

In the kitchen, Jason was singing loudly and very, very off-key to the music he had turned on three hours ago- if one could call the insufferable noise music at all! The so-called 'music' Jason favored was heavy metal, hard rock, and trace amounts of screamo, all of which Damian despised with a bloody passion. He did not see why so many people- imbeciles, every last one of them –found the overbearing drums, bass, and despairing messages to be appealing. And Damian only grew to hate it more and more with every passing second Jason spent dancing and singing with his unholy voice in the kitchen. By the cruel and dark smirk playing on Jason's lips, it didn't seem he was going to stop anytime soon.

Oh God, why hadn't the neighbors called the cops for disruption of peace?! Even Dick- the fountain of never-ending, intolerable enthusiasm –had grown weary of Jason's game some time ago.

Speaking of Dick, Damian got up from his seat, which he had not left in quite some time, and began trekking across the room. He passed Tim, who was curled up in a recliner with his laptop in his lap and headphones in his ears in an attempt to block out Jason's doings, and hopped onto the bed the pull-out couch provided. He crawled across until he stopped beside Dick, a pillow pressed firmly over his face and ears as he lay on his side. Damian doubted its abilities to block out the music or Jason- dear God, the man was now head-banging while he played an air-guitar; did the horrors ever cease? –and called Dick's name, shaking the man's shoulders. A moment later, the pillow was removed as Dick looked over his shoulder. He practically had to yell to be heard as he said, "What do you need, Dami?"

"I need for that imbecile to turn off the God-awful noise he calls music!" Damian stated seriously, his eye just about on the verge of ticking nervously. His fists were clenched tightly, knuckles slowly draining of their color.

Dick sighed a very weary sigh, something that had Damian's heart dropping. After all, this was Richard Grayson, the only one in the family who could stem any of Jason's moods without swinging him into a new one entirely, even if the second Robin only became docile for a short time. If Dick was sighing over a mission he had taken many times before, then there was no hope for the world. Every living thing would perish soon enough, probably from being exposed to Jason, his singing, and his supposedly 'sexy' dancing (did the man possess any shame?! Had the Lazarus Pit really screwed him up that bad?!).

"Dami, I don't think I can do anything at this point. My batteries are completely fried."

And why shouldn't he be? It was three in the morning, and all four of them had been working nonstop on a case since two AM the day before. They were all exhausted after working both on the physical front and the research side for almost a straight twenty-four hours, and they had promised Alfred before leaving Gotham that they would take care of themselves, which meant adequate amounts of sleep between late night researching and early morning fist-fights.

However, somebody decided that they were simply too good for sleep. But then, maybe Jason just wanted them to suffer. He had seemed more annoying than usual, with his cruel sarcasm and bitter bites.

Damian, not for the first time, wished he had stayed in Gotham with his father. Really, the only reason he had come along this out-of-state trip was because of Bruce's suggestion and Dick's pestering, both of them claiming it would be good for all four boys to work together without the immediate supervision of Bruce. However, that had been a load of bull-crap, and everyone on the trip knew that. After all, it was only day two of this trip, and Jason and Tim had almost gotten into a brawl over something petty (Damian cared not what the issue was), Tim and Damian almost did the same soon after the first initial fight (this one wasn't petty, of course; Damian only fought for things worth his time, though others disagreed), and Dick had almost 'accidentally' fallen off a roof (stray, rubber bullets simply did not just magically appear on rooftops for people to trip over, but Jason swore they weren't his).

It was all very grueling, and again Damian wished to sleep it off, as did Dick and Tim, no doubt. However, a certain somebody was still going hard in the kitchen, and how in bloody hell had Jason not collapsed from exhaustion?!

"Todd, I know etiquette is not something you possess, but it would be greatly appreciated if you would turn your damn music off so the rest of us can get some sleep!" Damian hissed over the overbearing drums, ignoring Dick's snap at him for swearing.

While most people would be frightened by the tone the young ten-year-old used and the deadly fire burning in his eyes, Jason was not fazed in the least by the snap. In all seriousness, he was shocked it took so long for someone to yell at him. It amused the man, and he sang louder- if that was possible -with his off-pitch voice. Just to piss off the younger boy more, Jason winked at him.

The next ten minutes was filled with Damian screaming insults and threats and Jason successfully ignoring him and acting like a pompous asshole. It finally ended when Tim, driven to the very edges of insanity with all of it, threw a bat-a-rang at Jason's speakers, efficiently destroying the core of the problem. Then, with no remorse, the third Robin stated, "I'm going to bed."

As Tim stomped from the room, Jason called after him, "You're buying me new speakers!"

"I'm not buying you anything, but I will replace Dick's speakers. Goodnight Jason." The door to one of the two bedrooms was slammed behind Tim with a loud BANG.

Damian and Jason watched it, the former with a raised eyebrow, slightly impressed, and the latter with an amused smirk on his lips. However, both of their attention was drawn to Dick when they heard a soft snoring under the pillow he had replaced over his head. Damian immediately rolled his blue eyes, and Jason hmphed. "Dickhead actually managed to fall asleep. I'm impressed."

Another eye roll. "Yes, well, after working for a full twenty-four hours, I'm not surprised. Now, I'm going to sleep as well. If you decide to continue to remain awake, no one will care, so long as you stay quiet. I would say goodnight, but you are undeserving of such a luxury." With that said, Damian moved to the other side of the mattress he was on and plopped down, pulling the covers over him, satisfied with the fact that Dick was far too tired to cling to him like an octopus in the middle of the night.

(Thank God for small blessings such as that. Since there were only two bedrooms, Dick and Damian were volunteered to sleep together on the big pull-out. After all, no one wanted to sleep in the same room as Jason- he tossed and turned in his sleep too much, always making a huge racket –and Tim had the bad habit of snoring very softly, which was almost more annoying than snoring like a bear during hibernation. Plus, Damian and Dick got along the best, despite their clashing personalities. Any other pair would more than likely end with a third world war.)

In the kitchen, Jason chuckled, mumbled something under his breath amusedly, and began moving around the small area. It was obvious from the quiet clank of plates beating against each other that Jason was cleaning up their earlier late night meal mess. It would've been taken care of a long time ago, but the second boy to don the Robin persona had turned on the music halfway through the meal, which cleared the kitchen out quickly, for no one had desired to retain damage to their eardrums.

The newfound quiet was so much more relaxing than Damian believed it would be. He could feel his muscles uncoiling from their tense posture, which had been undoubtedly manipulated by Jason and his 'spectacular' show. However, it wasn't before long that Damian became accustomed to the quiet, and the running water and soft clanking of plates as they entered the dishwasher became almost as irritating as the screaming of the currently dead speakers.

Turning over, Damian's tired blue eyes opened, staring over Dick to gaze at the poor excuse of a Robin currently doing the dishes in silence. The man's cruel and amused smirk had vanished- a small victory for the rest of the Bat-Boys –and it had become replaced with a neutral expression. Jason's eyes were far away as he worked through movements he did not realize he was performing. It was obvious he was doing his best to be quiet, just as he had tried his best to be as loud as he could just a little while prior, but still, the slight noises were breaking the silence like thunderclaps on a clear night. Needless to say, it was quite frustrating.

However, Damian refused to say anything. Doing so might entice the older male to be annoying again. For now, the second Robin believed everyone was asleep and while Jason could just as easily wake them up, it was obvious from the slight slump in his shoulders that he was just as tired as the rest of them, something that had not been obvious when Jason had been head-banging to Five Finger Death Punch. Since it looked as if everyone was fast asleep, Jason had no reason to be his usual, insufferable self, and that was just fine with Damian, who could tolerate the sounds until Jason was done and he went to bed.

Discreetly, the youngest of the Bat-Boys (but obviously the most able of them, of course) watched Jason work quickly and quietly. There were not that many plates and silverware to stash away in the dishwasher, but the exhaustion wearing Damian down made it seem so much longer than it actually was. And while the boy's tiredness did weigh down on his patience, it did not weigh down on his perception skills. He quickly noticed the way Jason kept rubbing at his chest.

Now, Jason had been shirtless ever since he got out of his shower (which was odd because the man was usually a little shy when it came to his state of undress), his excuse being he didn't want the back of his shirt wet because of his dripping hair. However, that had been hours ago, and the only thing dripping from Jason's black locks was sweat from excessive dancing. Obviously, with no shirt, the man's broad shoulders and toned chest were showcased, as well as the multitude of scars Damian had seen on him plenty of times before for various reasons.

It was no big deal. Everyone in the family had their scars. Hell, Alfred had scars that he kept cleverly hidden from the rest of the world. However, it was odd to see Jason scratching at his, as if they itched or hurt. To make matters stranger, the man was lost in his thoughts, so he shouldn't be feeling anything at all, especially age old scars that have long since lost their sting. (Or, at least, they should've lost their sting- most of it, anyway –but then, Jason was never very good about letting things go.)

Oh Jason. Such a strange character.

Damian continued to watch the older man, lying still on his side of the bed. Jason came out of his stupor when there was nothing left to clean, and the scratching stopped just as abruptly. He rubbed his eyes, which were drooping as he stood there, and then Jason wandered from the kitchen, turning the remaining lights off as he left. The man walked past the couch, unaware of the silent watchman, and disappeared into the bedroom he had claimed the day before.

With that, the newest of the Robins turned over, prepared to finally get some sleep. Damian was at peace for awhile, just lying there and slowly drifting, but it eventually became clear that there was a problem that was prolonging sleep.

He was suddenly wide awake.

Damian had to resist groaning in frustration. It might wake Dick up, and the only decent person in the apartment might as well get the sleep he deserved. Still, Damian had no idea what to do now. Research would've been a good way to spend his time until he was ready to sleep, but the light from a laptop or phone would wake the sensitive Dick up- something Damian was trying to avoid. And he couldn't go anywhere in the apartment without waking either of the two nimrods, and Damian couldn't go anywhere outside the apartment because that was just downright stupid.

Oh, how Damian wished he was in Gotham at that moment…

With nothing to do, the young hero lazed on the couch, feeling eternally frustrated over the fact he could not do something as simple as sleep, even after being awake for a good twenty-four hours. However, something was bothering him, and Damian could not pinpoint what it was for the life of him. He picked at his thoughts and pondered over everything, but the thing that was bothering him refused to come to mind. You know, until it suddenly hit him as hard as a freight train.

The scratching.

Oh, how Jason's scratching had irked Damian! And only because it didn't quite make sense to him. After all, under careful inspection, Damian's guess was that the older man had been itching at the scars that had been inflicted upon the Joker. However, that incident was many, many years ago. It had been so long that Jason had started giving up on his vendetta, and the only reason he didn't come around the Manor except for once every six months was because the man was not very good at playing nice with the other Bats. Hell, even his anger, while still lingering, had taken a chill pill.

Thus, Damian could not fathom why such events would still have a hold on the older male.

Nearly waking Dick up with his tossing and turning, Damian thought every scenario over. However, there was always something that just didn't quite fit in with the rest of the images. There was always an odd angle or sharp edge trying to pretend it was part of the big picture, even though it was plainly obvious that it was quite the opposite.

Damian was only brought out of his musings when he heard the distinct sound of a door clicking open penetrating the otherwise silent atmosphere in the apartment. The boy's head snapped over to Jason's bedroom door, and he watched curiously as the black silhouette of the man exited, closing the door softly behind him. Jason proceeded to tiptoe to the sliding, glass doors. He pulled back the hanging panels, softly opened the door, and then squeezed through the crack he had made. The panels were gently placed back in their original spots, and the sound of the door sliding shut swept into Damian's ears.

There was no way to tell what Jason was doing on the balcony, not with the panels blocking the view. Damian wondered if the man was going to go off on his own to crack some heads and lower the crime rate his way, even if this wasn't his city. To see if he was right or not, Damian began sliding from the mattress before he paused, looking back where Dick was. The pillow was still lying on top of his head, and though Damian could hear the man's soft snoring, he still worried the idiot would roll over and asphyxiate himself with the stupid thing. He removed the object from Dick's head before walking over to the balcony door and pulling back the panels.

Much to the boy's surprise, Jason was still there, leaning calmly against the balcony rail and looking out over the city lights. Before he even knew he was doing it, Damian was sliding the glass doors open.

Jason looked over his shoulder at the gentle sounds, curious but not surprised. The man waited for Damian to step outside and shut the doors before he spoke, asking, "What are you doing up?"

It was not a malicious question, Damian noticed, just one full of confusion. That was understandable. After all, it had been the boy that had done the most complaining that he could not sleep with the racket of Jason had been making. Why wouldn't Jason be confused?

"As soon as Drake took care of the problem, I found I could not sleep." Damian answered, shrugging his shoulders in an uncertain manner. Damian hoped Jason didn't notice it and asked, "Although, shouldn't you be asleep as well?"

"Tried. Failed. No big deal." Jason stated, raising a hand to his lips. It was then Damian noticed he was holding a lit cigarette, the end glowing red. Jason took a long drawl before opening his mouth again, letting all the smoke pass through his lips.

Damian sneered at the offending object. Oh, out of all the bad habits Jason had but did anyway, this had to be the one he disdained the most.

The two Robins stood there for a time. Jason eventually turned back around, looking back out towards the city. Damian stared at Jason's back, watching the man continue his bad habit. The smoke clouded the view, blurring the images of towering skyscrapers piercing the sky. The constant roar of cars flying by was far away but overwhelming all the same. In the distance, spotlights shot upwards, swaying back and forth invitingly.

"Why were you scratching your scars earlier?" Damian blurted out. As soon as it was said, his cheeks flamed scarlet, something he could physically feel. Luckily, even though the city lights were particularly bright, darkness was stronger on the balcony, covering up the worst of the new coloring. As Jason turned around with an astonished and confused look on his face, it didn't seem he could see Damian's embarrassment. But maybe he was just too bewildered.

"What?"

Whelp, there was no backing down from his question now. It was out, and there was no possible way Jason was going to let it go (again, he had problems with the whole concept). Damian sighed, wishing his brain had thought the idea through a little more before opening his mouth, asking again, slower this time, "Why were you scratching your scars earlier?"

For a long time, Jason simply stared, beyond confused by the question. Damian watched, silent as well, and noticed how the older man reached up to repeat his earlier actions, though he had more trouble this time. He had put a t-shirt on sometime, and his nails made a clawing sound as they itched at the shirt. The sound penetrated through a mist in Jason's brain, and he looked down, noticing where his hand had paused. Then he simply said, "Oh."

Damian refrained from saying anything yet, though many words were clawing to escape his throat. He remained the silent watchman persona he had adapted for the time, allowing Jason to think. Consciously, the man rubbed- not scratched, Damian noted –the spot for a few more seconds before dropping his hand. Jason took another drawl from his cigarette, and then said, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

…that was it? That was all Jason had to say on the matter? Oh come on.

"Avoiding the question, I see." Damian stated, a sneer on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. Whatever previous embarrassment he may have had dissipated as quickly as it had come. The testing note in Damian's voice had Jason coming to a proper stand, abandoning his casual leaning and donning his usual alertness. The light at the end of the man's cigarette was an angry red.

"Newsflash hell-spawn: it's none of your damn business. If you're as wise as you believe yourself to be, you'll drop the issue." Jason said, a threat obvious in his tone. He might as well have been a brick wall, for he was not going to budge, no matter what Damian said or did.

But that was just typical, wasn't it? Jason was invincible, or that's the way he always presented himself. He was untouchable, unbreakable, powerful. There was nothing he couldn't handle. It didn't matter what was facing him; he would always find a way to fight back, to take care of the issue- permanently.

For most, it was a convincing act. Even Damian had trouble resisting the man's façade at times. However, Damian had seen Jason at his worst, when he was clinging to something only he could possibly understand. Dick had gone and dubbed it the 'Battle for the Cowl' incident. Jason had been completely postal at the time, talking nonstop about Robins and who should be what. It had been the only time Damian had seen his false front crumble so completely in his hands. The damage had been absolute. Damian would forever see Jason the way he was meant to be seen.

Huh. And not only that, but there had been time when Jason was the very opposite of what he was now. He had been vulnerable, had been able to be tricked by a woman who dared to call herself 'mother.' The man had allowed himself to be beaten, mutilated, blown up, and how he had managed to dig his way out of his-

…oh. Oh.

"This is about today's mission, isn't it?" Damian asked, a smirk starting to take form on his lips as he caught on. Sure, it was a very jackass move to be digging into this subject when Jason had labeled it off-limits, but there was always something exhilarating about breaking the older man's defenses when it seemed no one could.

There was a pause on Jason's end, telling Damian all he needed to know on the subject. Then the man asked, "What exactly are you getting at, brat?"

"Mother used to talk about you occasionally. Never to me directly, of course, but that didn't stop me from picking things up. I found out how you died, and there was one time she mentioned that there was evidence to support the theory that you may have dug yourself from your own grave." Damian stated. Talia wasn't the only one who had suspected this, though; the boy imagined his father knew of what happened as well, though Damian was uncertain if the other family members inside had any idea. "At the factory tonight, those goons set off an explosion. You and Grayson became trapped under rubble, and I'm sure it was your idea to dig yourself out. I wonder how that felt."

Jason was eerily quiet. He took a long drawl from his cigarette, the glowing end burning brighter for a few seconds. Then he breathed out, the smoke billowing from his mouth. The words came suddenly but clearly. "You're a little bitch, Damian."

What a victory, bittersweet as it was.

Harsh and angry, Jason smashed the butt of his cigarette against the railing, putting it out. It dropped to the floor soon after, dead and obsolete. (Kind of like Jason, Damian noted emotionlessly.) Jason walked to the sliding glass door with a stiff and military-like gait, but he paused when he was beside Damian. With a cruel and malicious tone, Jason stated, "I look forward to the day you have scars that burn, even when they've been healed for years."

The man went inside, but he was back outside a few minutes later, wearing his uniform. Jason swung off without another word, and Damian went to bed, almost glad when Dick turned over his sleep and threw an arm over the boy. In the morning, when everyone woke up, Jason was back. Whatever good humor the man had managed to build over the course of the mission was lost entirely, and he told the rest of the Bats of the lead he had stumbled across. He didn't mention anything about the interaction between him and Damian, though. Hell, Jason never even looked the boy's way, even when he was speaking.

Dick asked what the problem was. Jason said it was nothing. Dick asked if he had gotten any sleep. Jason answered yes. On their way out, though, Damian peeked in Jason's room and saw a mound of Red Bull cans and Five Hour Energy drinks in the trash.

The day came and went, as did most of the night. When the boys finally got back to the apartment, most of them simply went to bed and passed out before they had even changed out of their uniforms. Not Jason, though. He went out on the balcony again for a smoke, something Damian had noticed he had done throughout the day, even though the man usually had better control over his habit.

It would've been easier to go to bed. Instead, Damian found himself outside again, asking, "What did you mean last night, before you went out?"

Jason rubbed his temple with his free hand, clutching his cigarette tightly with the other. "Why do you fucking care?"

The two were silent, pondering each other's question and wondering if they had any answers that could be explained. Enough time passed that Damian became tired of standing in the same spot forever and joined Jason by the railing, looking out over the city clouded by smoke. Eventually, the boy stated, "I believed you would be over the events by now."

"It's not something you just get over, Damian." Jason stated seriously. He sighed, but it was inaudible. "It gets easier, sure, but it hangs over your head. Your fears aren't so scary anymore, but sometimes they manage to hit you as badly as the first time it ever happened, and distractions become your coping method. It's unfortunate to say, but when you're in this family, no one stays innocent, if we ever were. You'll understand eventually, Damian. You'll understand eventually."

All was quiet for the rest of the time the two stood on the balcony. Jason smoked one more cigarette after his initial first, and though Damian would've loved to say something about it, he refrained. There was no need to start another fight when the two of them were being so content standing by each other.

After standing there for what seemed like forever, Damian grew tired and stated he was going to bed. Jason made a halfhearted wave after the boy as he walked away, continuing to watch the city lights. Damian paused before he went inside, though, and before he could decide against it, he said, "I'm sorry." Then the boy disappeared inside the apartment, closing the door behind him softly. Jason didn't even turn around. If he had heard what Damian said, he didn't show it.

Unbeknownst to the young boy, Jason had replied, "I'm sorry too."

Another weird chapter! How frikkin fantastic! Yeah, anyway, this was gonna be a Damian/Jason bonding chapter, but of course, when it comes to those two, WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS 'CAUSE THEY'RE BOTH JACKASSES. (I love them both dearly; really, I do. But come on, it's true.) So yeah, this happened instead. The chapter is pretty straight forward; I don't think I have to go into depth on anything, but if you're confused over something that was written, please let me know. I will answer any and all questions thou has.

Congrats to all of those who made it to the end of this, and good day to all!

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