Warnings: Underage sexual content; dubcon; explicit sexual content; age difference; underage relationship; violence; taboo; murder; angst

Pairings: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne

Credits: This is non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. The fanfiction was created by me, please do not repost without my permission.

A/N: This is an Age-Swap AU. Specifically, I swapped Dick and Damian's ages, and made a story where Damian is Batman and Dick is Robin.

This story is meant to be a read as a one-shot. However, due to the ridiculous length (my document is about eighty pages), I split it up into two separate parts. However, it's still meant to be read as a one-shot, and there is nothing differentiating between Part 1 and Part 2-they are the same, single storyline, and are meant to be read back-to-back/continuously.

I originally wrote this as a prompt and I was surprised by how much fun I had with it. Swapping Dick and Damian's ages lends to a lot of changes in the DC Universe.

For instance, there's Robin. Robin is Dick's creation. So when you switch Dick and Damian's ages, you... are essentially creating a world in which Damian was never Robin. A sidekick, maybe, but not Robin. For that matter, if Damian was Bruce's sidekick, was there ever a need for a Jason or a Tim? Probably not. So that eliminates those characters, which by extension, eliminates a lot of the Batfamily!

That thought alone is so depressing to me!

Then there is Bruce, a man who never raised a child until Damian was dumped into his lap. This was another interesting thing to consider. Imagine Bruce raising Damian without having any of his experiences with raising Dick or the other boys. Imagine having your first child be Damian, back when he was a bratty, spoiled kid, who is a complete stranger and fully-thinking child when you first meet him, and you don't know a damned thing about kids.

Thus, that creates this broken family dynamic.

Then, on top of that, you have Damian who grew up without Dick's footsteps to follow. No one who understands what it's like to be a kid and a crimefighter. No one who understands what it's like to be raised by Bruce. No one who is willing to be your friend and play games with you and teach you wrong from right.

So this prompt really surprised me with how deeply complex it is! I am convinced that I will go back to this AU at some point. The best part of this prompt was that it really pushed me to see what was the foundation of Dick and Damian's relationship-to decide what made the relationship tick.

As a forewarning, this story has underage content. I took the age swap pretty literally. While I never specify Dick's age, expect him to be in his very early teens. I explicitly refer to him as a minor, a child, etc., in this story.

There is also some serious violence, including mentions of past murder/assassinations, but nothing that seems so far off from canon-typical violence. Also, lots of family arguing, and an incident of accidental violence.

I originally posted this to AO3 in October 2016. Even now, this fic still means a lot to me. It's one of my favorites and I hope you enjoy.

Damian readjusted the bag on his shoulder. He stared up at the large manor—the shapes of the hedges were different and the vines were a tad overgrown, but aside from that, it hadn't changed much. He turned his head, wondering if this was the right course of action. Perhaps he was opening the potential to make things worse just by showing up. But after the rumors he had heard, he just couldn't bring himself to stay away.

He rang the doorbell before he could think too much and talk himself out of it. He already travelled all the way there, he decided he'd rather deal with the consequences later. He waited, anxiously, until his hearing picked up some movement coming from inside of the house.

The door swung open. Damian's gaze lifted. Pennyworth's eyes widened in surprise, the duster in his hand falling to the floor.

"Master Damian," he said, shocked. He swallowed. "Welcome home."

That was the only confirmation Damian needed. He invited himself in, scooting past Alfred. He looked around once, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, his expression stony. The manor was so familiar it seemed untouched… with the exception of the chandelier, which seemed to have been replaced.

"Master Damian, I…" Alfred started but he stopped. Damian looked back at him. There was a deep semblance of emotion in his eyes—too much so, that Damian had to tear his gaze away. He felt his chest tighten. Pennyworth continued, "The manor. It's a mess. You'll have to forgive me. I... wasn't sure when you were coming back."

He says when. But Damian can hear it in his voice—he was wondering if.

"Let me take your bag," Alfred said, holding out his hand. The strap slipped from Damian's shoulder. He handed over the bag. He moved over to the coatrack, shrugging off his jacket—when he moved to hang it up, he noticed something odd.

Another coat, one that was too small.

He didn't comment on it. He hung up his jacket without pause.

"The place looks fine, Alfred. The same as I remember it," he finally said. He looked back at Alfred, who smiled—whether at the rare praise, or because Damian had finally said something, Damian wasn't sure—but a moment of thought seemed to cross the butler's mind, and his face slowly fell.

"A lot has changed, Master Damian," he said slowly. "It's been five years, after all." He added, voice low, "And four months."

Damian wondered what he meant. Alfred quickly changed the subject.

"I should probably get you something to drink—and inform Master Bruce, yes." Alfred looked up at him, "You will be staying, won't you?" Quickly, he clarified, "For dinner, that is."

Damian wasn't sure. But he said anyways, "Yes. I'll stay for dinner."

"Very good," Pennyworth said at once, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"You can skip the drink though," Damian said quickly. "I'll speak to my father now."

"Right," Alfred said, his voice a touch quieter, looking more solemn. "Wait in the parlor. I'll go fetch him."

Damian was left waiting in the parlor for at least fifteen minutes. His eyes had been fixated on the clock. He watched it tick. He thought of all the time that had passed. He wondered about beyond the clock, where the bats hid. Most of all he thought of the code to get to it all—the hour and minute of his grandparents' deaths, and he wondered if his father had to change the password after Damian had left.

The door finally opened. Damian turned his head toward the entryway.

They stared at each other for a moment, silence between them. Following was the creak of a door until it shut with a noise. Finally, slow footsteps as his father crossed the room. Damian got on his feet and even though Bruce was motionless, Damian could tell. Could tell that Bruce was observing, seeing how he had changed over the years.

"How long are you staying?" Bruce finally asked, voice low. Straight to the point.

"I told Pennyworth I'd stay for dinner."

Bruce looked at him. Damian couldn't read the expression in his eyes. Couldn't tell if they were sad or indifferent, proud or uncertain. But it wasn't completely icy—there was some type of emotion there, however deep, but Damian couldn't put a finger on it.

"Why are you here?" Bruce finally asked, voice quiet.

At that, Damian felt his defenses come back up.

"What else?" he said. His eyes narrowed. "I came for what's mine."

At that, Bruce scoffed. He shook his head to himself, his usual scowl returning. Even that frown hadn't changed much—although the man's eyes seemed a touch wearier. Damian began to also notice the gray in his hair. Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets, gave Damian a challenging look. "We're not even going to make it to dinner, are we?"

Damian's eyes continued to glare at him. He bristled at the comment but he continued, "I heard a rumor while I was gone—that Gotham's Dark Knight had disappeared. That there was an accident, that he was dead, that he had left. I had to come see it for myself. Your posture isn't the same as it was. You also look out of shape. So what was it, your back?"

Bruce stared him down for a moment. Then he reached down, pulling up his pant leg, revealing the prosthetic. Damian turned his head, ignoring the sinking feeling that washed over him.

"It needs some improvements," Bruce said, letting go. The prosthetic was once again hidden. "And the batsuit will have to be changed as well—I plan on doing a whole new transformation as soon as I recover."

"Or you can give me what you promised," Damian said, eyes flickering in Bruce's direction. Bruce took a deep breath, the exhale sounding frustrated.

"It's not yours," Bruce said. Looking disgusted, he said, "Do you think I've forgotten what you did?"

Damian's anger began to bubble up. "Look at yourself, you stubborn old man. It doesn't matter if your leg is busted or not, you can't fight. I'm not asking for your affection or even your respect. Just give it up."

"You haven't earned it!" Bruce said, voice rising. "You abandoned this city. You abandoned your duties and responsibilities, and now you show your face for the first time in over five years, and just expect me to hand you the cowl? After leaving without a word? After stealing my money and playing hide and seek around the globe—"

"Just take it out of my inheritance," Damian said, hissing.

"I was furious when you left—but I hoped that maybe, somewhere in your time gone, you'd learn to shed that arrogance of yours—"

"Tt. My arrogance," Damian repeated bitterly. He gritted his teeth at the perceived hypocrisy. "My arrogance?"

"Yes. Your arrogance. How dare you—"

They were interrupted when the door swung open. Damian expected Alfred to be standing there, ready to intervene as always, but did a double-take when he realized it wasn't the butler at all. Instead there was a boy with black hair and blue eyes—who must have realized he had walked in at the wrong time, considering the look on his face.

Damian thought briefly of the jacket on the coatrack.

"Who the hell are you?" Damian said, glaring.

The boy blinked, eyes flickering back and forth between Bruce and Damian. He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Did I interrupt something?" He sunk in place. "I forgot to knock again, didn't I?"

Damian turned to his father, gaze demanding answers. Bruce rubbed his forehead for a moment, looking stressed. He finally sighed and beckoned the boy forward. Damian's angry look hadn't worn down the slightest, and so the kid looked at him cautiously, but he still entered the room and came forward.

Bruce gestured between them. "Dick, this is my son, Damian. Damian, this is my ward, Dick Grayson."

"Your what?" Damian breathed.

His mind reeled at this news. His shock did not go unnoticed.

"Um, hi," Dick said with an awkward half-smile.

Damian stared back at him flatly. He couldn't think straight. He wasn't even sure if he could see straight.

"This is ridiculous. You replaced me. I was gone and you replaced me. Your son."

"Replaced?" Dick repeated quietly. Bruce, on the other hand, immediately interceded.

"That's enough," Bruce said. Damian recognized the tone all too well—ushering in memories of his childhood, particularly the more rebellious years. The anger began to swell back up. "This is between you and me. You don't have to take it out on everyone else." Damian opened his mouth to argue but Bruce turned to Dick, "What do you need?"

"I just came to say that dinner's ready," Dick said, shrugging.

"We'll be right there," Bruce said.

"Alright," Dick said. He glanced up once more at Damian before retreating.

A million thoughts, a million words, were racing through Damian's mind. He didn't know what to start with. The minute he was gone, he looked back at his father, whose face had reverted to its ever-solemn expression.

"Does he know?" Damian demanded first.

"Yes, he knows," Bruce said.

"Why do you have some child running around your house with all of your secrets?"

Bruce looked at him sharply.

"I trusted you, didn't I? And you weren't exactly the easiest kid to get along with." Bruce stopped himself, shaking his head. "Look, it's a long story. If we can make it through a civil dinner, I'll tell you the rest. If you can't behave for me, at least do it for Alfred. We're both guilty of putting him through hell. Let's not drag him through it for another night."

Bruce headed out the door first. Damian watched him go, eyeing his steps. He thought about Bruce's words. He wondered what Bruce had meant about trusting him. Damian had always assumed that Bruce trusted him because they were father and son. But in the end, Damian still wasn't sure if Bruce trusted him at all.

The hardest part was that Damian wasn't sure if he could blame him.

They sat at the long, dining table. Damian sat a couple seats down, isolating himself from the rest of them—which earned him a reproachful look from Bruce, but the man said nothing about it. After setting the table, Pennyworth sat near the center of the two—ever the mediator.

Then came a long, awkward silence, filled only by the sounds of silverware clinking against plates.

Finally, Alfred cleared his throat. He turned to Dick, who was sitting right next to Bruce, creating their own little island at the table while Alfred and Damian seemed to just be drifting away.

"How was school, Master Dick?"

"It was okay," Dick said, shrugging.

More silence.

"What did you learn?"

"Stuff."

More silence.

"We read Hamlet," Dick said, but by the look on his face, he didn't appear to really want to talk about it—he just seemed like he wanted to fill the silence. Pennyworth latched onto the opportunity.

"Conscience doth make cowards of us all," Alfred quoted. He flashed a smile, even though the rest of the table felt as cold as a crypt. He added, "I actually played Hamlet once, ages ago. I was originally an understudy—but the actor had gotten drunk at the pub the night before and was still hungover the next day." Alfred chuckled a little at the memory before asking, "So what did you think of it?"

"Eh," Dick said, shrugging. Pennyworth looked aghast.

"Eh? That's all?"

"It didn't really make a lot of sense," Dick said, frowning. "Hamlet didn't even know if Claudius killed the King. He was basing all of his judgment on a ghost he thought he saw."

Pennyworth looked bewildered. "Well, not necessarily. Hamlet tested it. That was the purpose of The Mousetrap and Claudius confessed in the end."

"Yeah, but he still wasn't there. And he killed a bunch of innocent people over it."

"That was the purpose—it was supposed to be documenting his maddening revenge."

"But it didn't start out that way—in the beginning, he just wanted to become the king. He could have done that any other way—none of which involved killing people. I'm sure people would have rallied behind him, considering he was the prince. And Claudius felt guilty, maybe he would have confessed or given up the throne. Or if Hamlet really wanted to kill him, couldn't he have chosen something more discrete? He already poisoned Ophelia's brother. He should have just stuck some poison in the king's drink and spared everyone else."

"It was Laertes who poisoned the blade first. And Claudius ended up poisoning himself in the end."

"Still," Dick said, shrugging. "He could have just gotten over it. Claudius was old anyways. He would have died eventually."

Alfred opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, considering. He rubbed his chin. "Actually, I suppose he could have. But then, I suppose, there wouldn't be a story to tell."

Damian realized he had been staring down at his meal. He had barely eaten. He was growing increasingly irritated and impatient. He didn't even give a shit about his father's story anymore—he hadn't come to discover what had happened when he wasn't there, he just wanted the damn cowl. But instead he had to sit and wait while they all played dinner charades, pretending that everything was normal.

Nothing about this was normal.

Damian glanced up. He caught the kid looking at him but he just as quickly looked away, focused on eating.

Damian shook his head to himself. Enough was enough. He dropped his fork on the plate, creating a loud clatter that drew everyone's attention.

"Are we seriously not going to talk about this?" he demanded, turning his head toward the head of the table.

Bruce's mouth was clenched shut, a stern look on his face. He continued to cut into his meal, ignoring Damian. After a long moment of silence, he finally answered.

"I asked you for one meal," he said, looking up at him with a stony gaze. He shook his head once. "And you can't even give me that."

"Give me the cowl and I'll be out of your hands forever. You'll never have to worry about me interrupting your dinner again."

"That's not how it works," Bruce said. There was a hint of a snarl to the end of his words. His well-crafted composure had been tested and prodded all night. Damian didn't care that he was getting under his father's skin—maybe, this way, he'd be honest for once.

"What do I have to do, fight you for it?" Damian snapped.

"It's never going to be yours," Bruce said coldly. He breathed in deeply. "I don't care if I'm missing every limb, or if I have a hundred knives in me, or if I'm riddled with bullets, or if I'm on my goddamned deathbed. I will never give it to you. I didn't work my whole life just to hand over my legacy to some spoiled, selfish, arrogant manchild—"

"Better that than some hopeless, stubborn, old moron!" Damian shot back.

"I never should have trained you—"

"But you did and you're stuck with me! In case you've forgotten, you're lonely and miserable, and unless you're planning on having your butler and some child throw on a bat costume, you're out of options!"

"I am the only option!" Bruce said, slamming his fist on the table with such force that the plates clattered. Alfred and Dick flinched. "You made that clear when you left! You can't be trusted!"

"And you can't fight! You promised me this already! To me, your legacy to your son—"

"Then you're not my son!" Bruce erupted. He cursed under his breath, set down his utensils with a loud clatter, scooting back his chair with an ugly scraping sound against the hardwood floor. He tossed the cloth napkin onto the table.

Damian stayed in place, motionless, as Bruce headed toward the door. Damian listened to the uneven footsteps on the wooden floors, forced to walk in his direction in order to exit.

"Leave. Stay. I don't care. Do whatever you like," he muttered as he passed him.

The footsteps faded away. There was a thick tension in the air. Damian could feel his heart hammering inside his chest, the adrenaline from the argument still racing through him. Mixed, bitter emotions washed over him. So many words he wished he had said. So many words he wished he could take back.

"Master Damian?" Alfred said, his voice small in the vast, quiet dining room.

Damian didn't say anything. He scooted the chair back and made his exit as well.

He found his bags and started to head for the coatrack—but he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. Damian moved towards it, following the small shape into the parlor. He moved around the sofa, spotting the black and white cat sitting on the rug, cleaning his fur.

"Alfred," Damian said. The cat stopped and looked at him. He looked just as Damian remembered—though some of the black had turned to gray. The cat watched him with narrowed eyes as he drew in closer.

Damian knelt before him, reached out to pet him, but the cat suddenly hissed.

Damian halted, the reaction new. Alfred used to hiss at everyone except him.

"What, you're angry at me too?" Damian said, his voice lowering. He reached to pet him anyways but the cat simply chomped on his hand. Damian let him—and the cat glared up at him, his face smushed as he tried to get his teeth around Damian's hand, but eventually he resigned when Damian didn't so much as flinch. Alfred let go and began to flit off in another direction.

Damian watched him go. The cat came to a pause, looking up to greet someone who had stepped in. Damian tensed at the sight of the unexpected guest—it was his father's ward. Dick bent down to pet the cat, who bristled but otherwise accepted it. Damian glowered, feeling jealous.

Dick caught him looking. He glanced back down, looking a little hesitant, before speaking.

"So you're really him," he said. Damian glanced at him questioningly. Dick shrugged a little. "They talked about you. Even showed me videos of your training and some of the missions you've been on. But still, it's weird actually seeing you and knowing that you're real."

"What all did they tell you?" Damian said, making sure his tone was indifferent. The kid was cautious around him—it was apparent in the way he acted so friendly with everyone else except Damian. He was afraid of him, maybe. Perhaps, Damian thought, he should be.

But if he was afraid, it was enough to keep him at a distance but not enough to send him running. Dick responded, frowning a little, saying, "Everything."

Damian left him there and continued with what he was doing. As he went to get his jacket, he turned and found Pennyworth standing before the front doors, as if blocking it. The butler looked at him with a weary expression.

"Don't go," he said.

Damian wanted to say something scalding, anything mean enough to get Pennyworth out of the way. Anything mean enough to make him never look at Damian like that again. But past Pennyworth, he saw the doors. He saw the walls with the portraits hanging on them. The floors, the furniture, the lights.

How little it had changed.

How much it still seemed like home.

Damian clenched his jaw, biting back any words he might have said. And he shouldered his way past Pennyworth, towards the door. But when his hand landed on the doorknob, he was stopped.

"Damian. Wait."

Damian paused, his hand still on the doorknob. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. He turned around to face his father.

Bruce stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets. He tilted his head back in the direction of the parlor. "Follow me."

Damian didn't understand what he was looking at.

On the computer monitors, video footage was being played. It showed the training room in the Cave. Damian's eyes followed the figure on the screen, watching scenes of familiar obstacle courses and tool practice. Scenes that closely resembled the early days of training with his father—back when he was just a boy and had just started living in the manor.

But it wasn't him in those videos.

"He was part of a family act called the Flying Graysons. His parents were trapeze artists—some of the greatest in the world—and he learned what they knew, becoming an acrobatic prodigy."

Damian's eyes watched the videos closely. The figure didn't just run through the obstacles—he jumped, flipped, spun, with alarming speed and accuracy.

"They were performing in Gotham for Haly's Circus. His parents were on the trapeze when the ropes suddenly snapped. They fell to their deaths. Dick was there, on the scene, and watched them fall."

There weren't just videos. Damian looked at the newspaper clippings, the headlines, the autopsy reports.

"I was there when it happened. When I found out that he had nowhere to go, I took him in. When I found out he had no living kin, I became his guardian."

"And when did this happen?" Damian asked. His eyes were fixated on the videos of his father instructing Dick, showing him how to use the grappling hook. How to throw batarangs. How to shoot a tranquilizer gun. How to fight.

"He discovered the Cave. I had to explain my secret. I wasn't keen on training him, in the beginning. But he was serious about it. He had the right heart for it, had the capability and the drive, so I trained him." Bruce slowly shook his head to himself. "You two are different. Vastly different. But when I first met you, I didn't think it was possible for any kid to do what you could do."

Damian watched the videos. Their styles were completely different—but how Dick performed did work in his own way. He wasn't perfect, there were parts that Damian definitely did better at his age, but his potential was undeniable.

"Why are you showing me this?" Damian finally asked, turning his head. Bruce considered him for a moment before shutting off the computers. He turned and walked deeper into the Cave.

Damian got up to follow, trailing behind his father as he slowly walked to another part of the Cave where all of the equipment was stored. Bruce pressed the button that revealed the display cases. Damian looked closely, was surprised to see that his old black and white uniform was still on display—next to all of his father's Batman suits. But it was the one he did not recognize that made him pause.

He stared at the red vest.

"It was his own design. He called it Robin."

Damian had never chosen a pseudonym for himself. He was just an apprentice who worked in the shadows. The name, combined with the bright colors of the uniform, seemed painfully flamboyant. Bruce must have noticed Damian's confusion.

"As I said, you two are different. While you and I were much of the same, having learned the teachings of Ra's al Ghul, Dick is a cut from a different cloth. He doesn't excel in stealth the way you and I do—his way of accomplishing tasks plays on his skills as an acrobat, which is too showy. But it could work—if we used that to our advantage. The strategy was to make him as distracting as possible. He's quick, fast, and can bait enemies easily and get away with it."

"That seems horribly risky," Damian said.

"Possibly. Unfortunately, we never got to find out. Our first mission is the same one where I lost my leg. Obviously, we haven't been back out since."

"I still don't understand," Damian said. "Are you telling me that he is your successor?"

"No," Bruce said. "I'm telling you that you're going to train him."

Damian deadpanned. "You're joking."

"I never do."

Damian knew his father was serious but he was still in disbelief. He looked back at the Robin uniform, displayed at the side of his father's most recent Batman uniform.

"You'll have to give me a week," Bruce said. "Putting together your uniform will take some time, time I wasn't expecting to spend."

Damian didn't see much of a choice. This was his chance to get on his father's good side.

"Tt. Fine. But I'm overseeing the design. It's not going to be red and green, I can tell you that much."

"Of course not," Bruce said. "The Batman suit needs to be black."

Damian stopped, his mind registering his father's words. He turned to look at him. But even with one leg, Bruce had managed to sneak away. He was already heading toward the staircase.

"Bruce."

Damian paused in the middle of wrapping up his hands, long enough to glance over his shoulder. His father was fixated on the computer. Dick had just joined him at his side, dressed in simple training gear.

"Is this going to be one of the same obstacle courses that you and I did?" Dick asked.

"No. I put together something entirely different," Bruce said, eyes still locked on the computer.

Dick frowned a little. "It's not going to have water, is it?"

Bruce made a small noise, sounding almost amused. "Why, are you telling me that you think you'll fall in again?"

"That's not the problem," Dick said, frowning a little at the apparent memory. "It's cold in the Cave." He smirked a little, adding, "Besides, I only fell because you were standing in the way. I totally could have made that jump."

"Right."

"At least I fell and didn't trip on my cape," Dick said, looking at Bruce with a bit of a smug look.

"Brat," Bruce said. But he looked away from the monitor, just long enough to reach over and muss Dick's hair. The action betrayed a sort of affection and warmth that Damian was unfamiliar with. Damian instantly looked away, a dull feeling in his chest.

Dick ran off to bother Pennyworth. Damian watched him go before returning to his father's side.

In a low voice, Damian said, "I thought you wanted me to train him. So why are we both running your obstacle course?"

"You will train him—once you're out in the field. But here, in the Cave, leave that to me. You've been gone for awhile and Dick's training has been on hiatus since my injury. While we're waiting on your equipment, it won't hurt to do some assessments," Bruce said.

Damian felt annoyed that he had to—possibly in a literal sense, depending on what his father had planned—jump through hoops. In his time gone, he hadn't been vacationing. He had travelled around the world, exploring different terrains, moving from school to school to hone his skills at many of the same places his father and grandfather had studied.

Of course, Bruce had not been there for that, but a simple look at Damian should have been enough. He wasn't fresh out of his teenaged years anymore. He was fit and hardened, had even bulked up in his time gone.

Alfred had even done a physical assessment, drawing blood and measuring him. "You grew an inch," he had said, surprised, when he measured his height.

If Damian was honest with himself, the greatest reason why he was annoyed was because he still wasn't on-board with the idea of having a sidekick. He disliked people, especially strangers and children. Dick fit that category a little too well. While the videotapes were impressive, Damian felt the aid of a partner was completely unnecessary. More than that, it felt like a hindrance.

"Alright," Bruce said, finally backing away from the computer. He walked to the edge of the platform. Damian joined him. A railing prevented them from falling over the precipice. Damian peeked over the edge, catching a glimpse of the flowing water leading down into the depths. Damian had been down to the cave floor before, it was an especially dark and murky place. He caught moving shadows in the crevices—bats that had strayed too far from the ceiling.

Suddenly, a light appeared in the darkness. Followed by another, then another, creating a trail of lights descending further and further down the cave.

"Dick, come over here," Bruce called out. Dick left Alfred behind, quickly hurrying to join by their side. He looked at the lights.

"Our course is down there?" Dick asked, seeming skeptical. Damian rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"What, are you afraid of bats?"

"No," Dick said, sounding a little defensive. "Bats are cute. They eat mangoes."

"That would be fruit bats. These are brown bats. They eat insects."

"They're still bats," Dick mumbled, resting his chin on the railing. Damian looked at his father hopelessly—but his father just gave him a disapproving look. He wasn't going to get involved in the little spat.

"The lights will guide you through your course. Each one you touch will change its color," Bruce continued, not bothering to comment. "The objective is to simply follow through the course, changing each light's color, and to complete the course as efficiently as possible without the use of tools."

Damian's eyes were already scanning the course. It didn't seem particularly difficult. He was already mapping ways to get to some of the harder to reach lights.

Suddenly Damian felt his wrist being pulled. Before he could react to his father's actions, the cuff was tightened around his wrist. Damian's eyes quickly travelled up the chain leading to Dick's wrist, finding the cuff's twin. Damian's gaze flickered up, meeting Dick's at the exact same time. They both looked at Bruce.

"Really?" Dick asked first, making a face.

"You have to complete the course together," Bruce said. "No trying to break through it. I'll make you do it again if I see it's been tampered with." He backed away. "I'll observe you through the cameras for safe-keeping. Good luck."

Safe-keeping. Damian supposed that was code word for don't bother trying to cheat. Damian could barely contain his anger. He already felt stuck with the kid—and then his father had to make it literal. If he was on his own, this course would already be halfway finished before his father could blink, but there was no helping it now.

"Come on," Damian said, with a bit of a growl, charging forward. Dick was dragged with, perhaps too roughly by the way Damian caught Alfred looking at him crossly as they passed by.

Damian hurried down the path that led toward the cave floor. The first few lights were simply attached to the cave walls. When Damian pressed on it, it changed from a yellow illuminance to a blue one. He followed the trail, punching each light, until he was stopped by something blocking his path.

It was a natural wall. At the very top was a yellow light.

Damian felt his cuff being tugged. He glanced down at Dick, who was frowning at the chain. He seemed to be testing its length—it wasn't long, probably no longer than two or three feet.

"If it was longer, I could jump up," Dick said, frowning a little.

Hell, if Damian was by himself, he could probably just climb over without breaking a sweat. He glanced down at Dick. He was a little tall for his age and extremely lightweight. It was pretty obvious what his father wanted them to do.

"You have to climb up on me," Damian said. Dick eyed him skeptically.

"Are you going to drop me?"

"Why the hell would I drop you? We're tied together," Damian said, exasperated. At that, Dick raised an eyebrow.

"So if we weren't tied together, you would drop me."

Damian couldn't believe this. "Could this not be anymore obvious? He clearly wants you to—"

"Of course I know. It was just a joke," Dick cut in. Damian stared at him. "You got to bend down first, though. You're too tall. I can't climb on top of you with these handcuffs on."

Damian reeled his irritation back in. He kneeled, putting his hands together. Dick stepped on and Damian hoisted him up. It was a little awkward because Dick couldn't stand up all the way due to the cuffs, and Damian clenched his jaw when he got a knee to the face, but he heard the distant click as Dick stretched his arm and got the light. Damian quickly put him back down, rubbing his face.

"Sorry," Dick said. Damian ignored him.

They followed down the path where it branched out. There was a light coming from a narrow crevice.

"Go," Damian said when Dick looked at it, hesitating.

"But you can't go in there," Dick said, measuring out the crevice. "We're supposed to stick together. There's got to be another way."

Damian was at the end of his patience. "Do you ever shut up and listen?"

"I don't know. Do you ever smile?"

"There is no other way around this—"Damian started but Dick cut him off.

"What about that?" Dick said, pointing. There was a ledge that paralleled the path that they were on. The only problem was that it needed to be jumped across. It wasn't a far jump, but if they failed, it'd send them both tumbling down ten feet with no grappling gun to swing them up. And while Dick proved himself a good jumper in the videos, Damian hadn't seen it in person, and he wasn't sure if he trusted Dick to make the jump.

"No. Definitely not. Just go in, press the button, and come back out."

Dick didn't say anything for once. Damian could tell by the look on his face that he still thought it was a bad idea—but he kept his mouth shut and scooted in between the walls. Damian listened to his footsteps as he went deeper in—was even pulled forward at one point by the chain, his arm dragged into the crevice. It was taking awhile.

"Are you close?" Damian called in. He wasn't sure how much further he could stretch his arm.

"It's really bright. I can't see that well," Dick called back. Damian looked into the crevice—with the narrow tunnel funneling out the light, it really was bright. Bright to the point where Damian was straining to keep his eyes open. He felt a sudden jerk on the chain, so sudden that Damian felt an ache in his shoulder as a result, followed by a noise.

"What are you doing in there?" Damian said, annoyed.

"I didn't see the rock!" Dick said, sounding equally annoyed. But the light changed color, blue striking Damian in the face. He heard Dick heading back, felt the pull of the chain relax as he got close. Dick finally emerged, not looking pleased in the slightest. He had one hand over the other and it didn't take long for Damian to realize he was bleeding.

Damian wondered if this could be any more disastrous. Their whole trip had been clumsy and disorienting, not to mention painfully long, and now they had an injury. He was already embarrassed thinking about his father watching them struggle to get through this. They should have been finished already. Still, he sighed a little and said, "Let me see."

Dick reluctantly showed him. It was a large scrape on his palm but nothing too deep. The blood rose to the surface in little beads, red smeared onto the rest of his hand along with the dirt from touching the cave wall.

"It's not deep. You shouldn't use your hand to catch yourself," Damian said.

"I know. But I don't usually fall," Dick said, sounding a little defensive. Damian didn't press the matter.

He led the rest of the way down, though was a little more conscientious. He didn't move too quickly, giving Dick space and time to help stop the bleeding. They followed the rest of the path, pulling other stunts, but were eventually stopped by the flow of water.

The batcave had a stream of water that flowed through like a waterfall, eventually leading back out into the bay. The spray from the waterfall hit Damian's skin, in the already humid and moist air. Damian eyed the light across the way. The last one. The current in this part of the cave was especially strong and loud—and Damian wasn't too sure about how easy it'd be to swim with Dick hitched to his arm. Going around wasn't an option—even if they moved to lower ground and crossed in the quieter part of the stream, they wouldn't be able to easily climb back up to get that button. He looked around, finding a path of rocks that should be able to get them across.

Damian's earlier fear of jumping with Dick was apparently coming back to haunt him. The rocks were going to have to be jumped.

"We'll have to go from there to there," Damian said, pointing. Dick nodded in understanding. They got to the edge of the current, the waters roaring and splashing up. "I'll count to three. One—"

"Wait, is it going to be one-two-three-go or one-two-go?" Dick cut in.

"One, two, and then go," Damian said quickly. "One, two, three."

Damian leapt but Dick was just a second behind. He stumbled at the edge, nearly tripping into Damian but he held out his hand in time to prevent crashing. Damian's patience broke.

"What are you doing?" Damian said, looking down at Dick and glaring. He shrugged Dick's hand off of him.

Dick just looked weary. "I thought you were doing one-two-go, not one-two-three. The three confused me. I hesitated."

"Yes, you did hesitate," Damian said, annoyed. It was hard to talk over the sound of rushing water. The spray against the rock was hitting them. Dick shook his head to himself. He looked like he was nearing the end of his rope too.

"I know what I'm doing," he said, insistent. He frowned. "I normally do better than this."

"You're going to have to be better than this. Your incompetence is holding us back."

"My incompetence?" Dick repeated, his voice rising. He was glaring at him now.

"Yes, do you need the definition?"

"You're the one being an asshole!" Dick fought back.

"What did you say?" The nerve of this child.

"What, do you need a definition?"

"Enough of this!" Damian snapped, with such alarming volume that Dick drew back—though his eyes still had the same, unflinching fire in them. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back. We're going to jump again. Understood?"

"Yes," Dick said finally.

"One. Two. Go."

Something went wrong. Damian jumped but the chain pulled him back—Dick must have waited too long to jump, the weight stunting Damian's jump, and they both got dragged into the water. The cold current hit Damian all at once but he forced himself to the surface, cold water in his face and mouth. The stream twisted and turned, pulling him down, deeper and further into the cave—but he quickly reacted, grabbing a passing rock and holding on.

As he held on, his arm was pulled downstream and he nearly let go, a quick reminder that he and Dick were still linked together. He wrapped his hand around the chain for extra leverage, yanking Dick against the current to join him at the rock.

There was a moment spent to allow them to sputter out water and catch their breaths. Once Damian had regained himself, he glanced over at Dick, who was glaring at him through his wet bangs.

"Why would you change it back to go?" Dick said, grumbling.

"I should have just crossed and dragged you in the water," Damian said, returning the look.

"That is what you're doing," Dick said coldly.

They eventually got back up on the rocks and tried it again, getting the last light. They had to return back up the way they came, their clothes and bodies drenched as they walked up the path in the cold, unforgiving cave. When they finally made it to the top, Bruce was waiting to remove their cuffs. The minute he was free, Dick took the nearest seat, emptying the water from his shoes. Alfred approached him, handing him a fuzzy towel. He murmured a thanks as he took it. After a moment, Alfred looked closer, grabbing Dick's wrist and taking a look at his palm.

Bruce looked at Damian as he removed his cuff. "Dry off and do it again."

Dick's shoulders slumped at the news. Damian, on the other hand, had had enough.

"Is this all some type of game to you?" he accused, looking at Bruce. "This is a waste of time. I don't need some kid to do my job."

"Dick and I managed to do similar obstacles without nearly as many problems," Bruce said, not budging.

"That's not the point! The point is that this is completely unnecessary. Batman doesn't need a—a sidekick. Especially when it's some child."

"I had you, didn't I?"

"I spent my entire life being trained for that cowl. I grew up being trained by the best masters—"

"By assassins," Bruce corrected, an edge to his voice. At that, Damian paused, past memories floating back to him. The moment he failed to answer created an awkward tension. Bruce must have realized the nerve he struck because he sighed a little, changing his tone, and said, "This isn't negotiable. Do it again."

Alfred walked over, offering Damian a towel of his own. Damian looked at it and shook his head, heading toward the staircase. No one chased after him. He made it up to the manor, dripping the whole way, and moved into the bathroom connected to his room. He started up the shower.

As he waited for the water to warm up, he looked into the mirror. He wondered what he was going to do. He wondered if it was better to give up—honestly, conceding seemed to be less degrading than all of the little tricks his father wanted him to do. But it wasn't in his nature to just quit, and honestly, he didn't have anywhere else to go. He thought about doing it all over again—travelling the world, spending nights in foreign places. Wandering, not aimlessly, but certainly without deeper purpose. But in the end, no matter how much he imagined it, he always envisioned himself circling back to the manor.

He sighed a little and pulled off his shirt. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of something. He checked the back of the shirt, remembering when Dick had grabbed onto him to prevent himself from falling on that first rock. He looked at the pink stain—diluted from the water and running down the white fabric. He looked at Dick's blood for a moment, mind drifting somewhere far with his father's words in his ears, and a low, dull guilt filled him.

Damian stared down at the cowl. It still contained the design he was familiar with, the one he had looked up at for so many years, except this time it was fitted for his face. The only noticeable difference was that it wrapped around the jawline and chin. Similar, but still distinctly his. He had wanted it for so long.

It was the rest that he was worried about.

Even after a week of training with Dick underneath his father's guidance, Damian was skeptical. He would have to make a good impression for his father and he was genuinely worried that the kid was going to ruin that for him. He glanced over at Dick, who was nearly finished getting into his uniform. He had just finished zipping up the red vest.

Damian turned back to the cowl, finally pulling it on. As he fitted it to his face, his father came around, leaning in close to get a look at it. It wasn't the first time Damian had worn it—he had tried on the prototypes. Still, his father narrowed his eyes, pointing to two spots on Damian's face.

"Those two corners need to be taken in a little more. Does it feel fine underneath the eyes?"

It felt fine—but his father was a perfectionist. Damian ran his fingers along the edge to demonstrate. "Sealed."

"Good," Bruce said, stepping back. "It should be fine for now. I just want tonight to be patrol night. We're going to keep it simple."

"What about your cases? Haven't they been waiting long enough?"

Bruce frowned a little. Damian had his answer—his father must have been antsy the entire time he was recovering from his injury, wondering if his cases would be left unsolved. He showed restraint, simply answering with, "Let's just focus on tonight."

Damian heard voices behind him.

"Master Dick, your belt is on upside down."

"Whoops."

Tonight, Damian thought, glowering. His excitement was stuffed out with the reminder that he would not be performing alone.

He put on the rest of his uniform and waited by the batmobile. Dick finally joined him, stopping when he saw Damian's uniform.

"No cape?" he asked him, looking at the long jacket.

"This will have better protection and it's easier for me to walk around in," Damian explained. "I never wore a cape."

"Right," Dick said, nodding. Damian remembered that he had seen the tapes of his missions. "Still, it's Batman. I just assumed it'd look the same. But I guess it's not the same."

Damian wondered a little what Dick meant by that, trying to determine if he should feel slighted. Bruce approached them.

"Alfred and I will both be monitoring the city cameras. We'll be available over commlink. Get to downtown and we'll forward you the police signals. Remember, this is the first night Batman has returned. The public reaction might not be warm." Bruce backed away. "I'll leave you to it. Good luck out there."

"Bruce," Dick said suddenly, before he could turn away. Dick seemed suddenly unsure when Bruce stared down at him. "After patrol, do you think we'll be able to go back to our old cases?"

Bruce considered the question for a moment. Damian wondered about the hesitation, when he had just asked Bruce the same question a few moments ago and got a prompt response. Finally, he answered, "We have to start out slow, Dick. But I promise you, I haven't forgotten about them." Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and he corrected himself, "Robin, I meant to say."

Dick nodded quietly. He even smiled but Damian caught the look in his eyes and couldn't help but feel that the smile was forced.

The two got in the car. Damian knew how to operate it—but still, when the seat adjusted to suit him, and his hands touched the steering wheel, he paused. It was like all of his boyhood fantasies coming to life. He remembered all of the days he had spent as a kid trying to beg and trick his father into letting him drive it—and he had eventually learned to drive many vehicles, but never the one that mattered.

"Does it feel cool?"

Damian blinked. He hadn't even realized he had been awestruck. He glanced over at Dick, who was smiling. This one felt a little more real.

"The first time I saw it, I wanted to drive it," he said, knowing.

Damian didn't have anything scathing to say—mostly because Dick had caught him. He had been waiting for this.

When the gate opened and the car took off, racing down the tunnel with lights to guide the way, full speed with nothing to hold him back, Damian was transported to a different time. It didn't matter how many years it had been or how many times he had done it. It didn't matter what seat he was sitting in or what mask he wore. Travelling down that tunnel always made him feel like a kid—the adrenaline, the excitement, bubbling up deep inside. No matter where Damian had gone or what he did, very few things had come even close to the experience of those few, brief moments before patrol. Nothing had ever felt as spiritual.

He wanted to savor the moment—there was no way of knowing if he'd ever be able to experience it again, had no way of knowing if his father planned on taking it all out from under him. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced at the seat next to him. Dick stared forward—and it was odd, to see this boy who was normally bouncing all over the place, suddenly sitting so still. And yet, Damian understood all too well.

When they had made their way into Gotham, the car was parked in the downtown safehouse. As they were leaving the safehouse, Dick began to talk to him.

"Do you have a plan for tonight?"

"It all depends on what signals get picked up. The best thing to do, for now, is to get to high ground so we can survey the streets while we wait for a signal." Talking in instructions made Damian feel like he was parroting his father.

They took the path leading to the surface—a discrete exit leading into an old subway tunnel. As they walked the path toward the abandoned station, Dick continued to bombard Damian with useless words.

"When was the first time you went on patrol?"

"Tt. What, was there no video of it?"

"I've seen a lot of things but I don't know the stories behind them," Dick said, shrugging. He thought for a moment, the sounds of their echoing footsteps filling the cessation, before adding, "I've been training for awhile. Bruce says—"

"You can't use his name."

"What am I supposed to call him?"

Damian wasn't sure. Normally it'd be Batman—but he wasn't Batman at the time being. "You would just refer to the Cave, I suppose."

"I thought that was for Alfred."

"Well, they both work in the Cave now."

"Okay, well… back at the Cave, I was told that I had a lot of potential. But I don't think I can fight like you can. Do you think you could show me how you do it?"

Damian ran out of patience. Deciding that it was the perfect time since his father wasn't there to intervene, Damian decided to put the foot down. He halted, Dick nearly crashing into him. Dick simply blinked up at him, unsure of the sudden shift.

"Let's get something straight right now: you're my father's pet experiment. Not mine. If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here," Damian said with a bit of a hiss. Dick's expression turned bitter but he kept his mouth shut, simply glowering as Damian went on. "This is a temporary alliance, nothing more. He wants me to teach you—so fine. I'll teach you. First lesson: shut up."

"That's… not a lesson. And Bruce said that I should only be quiet when we're sneaking around, and that otherwise, I should be distracting."

"Cave," Damian corrected. "And he's not here. I am. So shut up. Second of all: you're only going to be surveying. I don't need to be tripping over you or falling into the Gotham River because you can't understand directions."

"That was your fault—"

"Shut. Up. Third: don't ask me questions."

"Isn't that Lesson One?" Dick said dryly.

They stared each other down for a few good moments.

Damian turned on his heel, the ends of his jacket flitting behind him. The echoing footsteps resumed.

They made it to a rooftop—another sight that Damian had missed. He looked out at the city at night, the downtown lights sparkling like gold. He watched carlights and neon signs and flashing police sirens. Damian closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds and feeling the rooftop winds go by.

It took him a moment to realize that the end of his jacket was being pulled, but not by the wind. He glanced down at Dick, who was sitting on the roof cross-legged, the edge of his jacket in Dick's hands. Dick was tracing his thumbs around the tapered edge.

"What are you doing?" Damian said, almost sighing. He yanked his jacket back.

"It's pointed—like bat wings," Dick said, as if that somehow explained why. "Did you know bats can also be called flying foxes?"

"Again, those are fruit bats…"

There was a click over the commlink. Damian and Dick both stopped, listening to Bruce's voice come in.

"We picked up on a signal close to your location. A fight broke out in Lenny's Pub on 5th and Nicholson—"

"Batman's fighting bar fights now?" Damian responded wryly.

"We're starting out small," Bruce said, tone insistent.

"Everyone deserves a helping hand," Alfred added in a chipper tone.

Damian rolled his eyes. Soon he'd be saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross roads. He started to take off but he felt a tug on his jacket, firm this time.

"Nicholson is that way," Dick said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is," Dick said, firmly. "Batman taught me—I mean, at the Cave, I had to learn and memorize all of Gotham's streets. Nicholson is that way."

"I had the same training—"

"Yes, years ago. I'm telling you, it's this way."

Dick had a point. Damian had been gone from Gotham for so long—who knows how it had changed. He reminded himself to memorize the new streets. He sighed a little to himself.

"Lead the way. And be quick about it."

It was the first time Damian had really seen Dick in action, save for the few glimpses inside of the training room. Being small, his strides weren't as long as Damian's, so he was not faster. But he was still swift. What was more noticeable was how unflinching he was. He improvised new routes and moved over obstacles in their paths with remarkable quickness.

They made it in time. All of the large window panes were shattered, bodies strewn outside. But there were still dozens of people inside, punching, shoving, kicking. Damian grimaced a little. He could smell booze from where he lurked.

"Wait here," Damian said. Dick shook his head.

"We're supposed to stick together."

Damian opened his mouth to argue—but suddenly a thought crossed his mind, followed by the image of blood on white fabric. He relented.

"Fine. But you need to stay out of the way while I subdue them. Make sure the bystanders and workers are safe, lead them out of the fray."

Dick nodded in understanding, the first semblance of obedience and respect that Damian had received from him yet. They scaled down from the roof. Damian charged in first through the open window, rushing his way into the center of the chaos.

It was the first time in awhile that he had seen any action—it'd be a lie if he didn't find it exhilarating, even though the drunks were hardly a match. Their only advantage was the sheer amount of people and their unpredictability.

He punched them, tripped them, slammed them into tables and walls. By the time they had processed that he was a threat, he had already subdued a few of them. One person charged but Damian stepped out of the way, letting them slip and trip in the broken glass. Another came directly at him, but a quick palm strike to the nose stopped him dead in his tracks and left him with blood running down his face.

Damian saw someone in his peripherals, turned to grab the raised arm, twisting it so it'd drop the broken beer bottle. The man stopped, looked at his arm, then looked back at Damian with wide eyes. He was terrified.

At that, Damian couldn't help but grin.

Goddamn.

He loved the cowl.

He tossed the man into another, knocking them both down. Another tried to come up from behind but Damian already heard him coming, stomping on his foot, swinging his arm back to hit the man across the jaw and bringing him down. By the time he was done, all of the perpetrators were rolling around on the floor, groaning.

Aside from one, who was too busy puking his drinks onto the ground.

It was time to tie them up and let GCPD have them. Damian heard voices from behind the bar, suddenly remembering Dick. He turned the corner, finding two bartenders huddled underneath. Dick was taking a look at one of them, who had a large cut above her brow. Dick just finished applying a bandage to it.

"You need to be quicker than that," Damian said.

Dick shrugged, not tearing his gaze away.

"I wasn't expecting you to be a punching bat-tornado. So what if I'm a slowpoke? I didn't want to mess it up. She had glass in her cut." Dick grabbed gauze from his belt, wiping away the remaining blood. "I'll be right there."

Damian didn't argue. He saw someone, in the corner of his eye, trying to stumble away. His reflexes quick, he swung a batarang, catching the man's hoodie and pinning it to the wall.

Batarangs. He had missed them too.

Dick joined him shortly, helping him zip-tie the men. But in the middle of it, Damian stopped, hearing sirens. He stepped closer to the window, watching a police car speed past them. Followed by a second.

"Robin. We need to go."

Dick had seen it too. A look of worry crossed his face but he frowned, shaking his head. "We're not done here. The police still haven't shown up."

"Whatever is going on is probably way more important—they're so tied up that they can't get a car out here."

"Which is why we need to be here," Dick said, insistent. "Do you remember what they told us? Everyone deserves a helping hand."

Damian didn't know why he was wasting his time.

"Fine. Wait here then," Damian said, stepping out of the bar.

"Hold on—"Dick started but Damian was already taking off.

Damian chased the cars, just a few blocks, where he found the scene of a gas station robbery. The police were at a stand-off with an armed robber, who held a gas station attendant as his hostage.

"Batman, what's your location?" Bruce's voice suddenly came in. It took Damian a second to register the moniker. "Your tracker says you're nowhere near Lenny's."

"Already took care of it. I'm at Dyno Fuel. There's a hostage situation."

"I thought I told you that we were starting small," Bruce said sharply. "More than that, Robin's tracker—"

"And I told you: I don't need a sidekick."

Damian threw a batarang at the robber's hand, knocking the gun out of his hands. He quickly leapt from his place in the shadows, picking up the hostage and carrying him behind police lines. There were more armed robbers from inside the building, who began to shoot at the vehicles. Everyone ducked down.

"Batman?" Damian heard one of the officers say in a surprised voice, but Damian was already taking off.

He swung around the building, concealing himself behind vehicles and fixtures, taking the side entrance into the gas station. The bright lights and smell of stale coffee instantly bombarded him. The ringing of the door alerted one of the robbers, who aimed his gun but Damian had already closed in. He twisted the man's wrist, slamming it on the counter to make him drop the gun. He repositioned his hold on the man, using him as a hostage for the rest of the armed robbers.

To Damian's surprise, the other robbers didn't give a shit. Even with one of their guys being used as a shield, they aimed their guns. Damian quickly took the guy with him as he ducked behind an aisle so neither of them would be shot. Damian quickly applied pressure to the back of the man's neck, making him pass out so he wouldn't be in the way. He ducked behind the next aisle just as someone made it around the corner.

He waited for the robber to come into his aisle, immediately uppercutting him and knocking him to the ground. He turned, suddenly halting when he saw someone else enter the aisle, his gun raised and ready to shoot, the barrel staring Damian down.

Damian quickly reached towards his belt for a batarang but then suddenly, the man was struck in the temple by a flying soda bottle, staggering him. Damian raced forward, kicking him down to the ground.

Damian glanced over at Dick, who was standing closest to the drinks case. Damian thought he had heard the door ring open but had been distracted by the robbers. Damian was only surprised that he had managed to catch up.

Dick had possibly saved him—but there was no triumph in his expression. He gave Damian an unhappy, almost disappointed, look.

"We're supposed to stick together."

GCPD came in and arrested the men. Damian and Dick got out of the store, quick. When they were at a distance, Damian pressed the button on the side of his cowl, speaking into the commlink.

"Cave, the robbery situation at Dyno Fuel has been taken care of. What is the next objective?" There was a silence. Damian could feel Dick's eyes on him, watching him, likely just as confused. Damian spoke again, "Cave, do you copy?"

Damian cursed under his breath at the silence. He wondered if the cowl wasn't working after all. But then there was suddenly a screech that sounded like tires. Damian turned to look down the road, just as something approached him.

Both Dick and Damian stepped back, startled, as they came face to face with what looked like a robot—standing several feet over Damian's head. The robot was black and sleek with two points at the top—a trait that was a little too familiar.

"What?" Damian said under his breath, staring at the robo-Bat completely perplexed. He looked closer, something about the coating and the red lights oddly familiar. Almost like—

"Is that… the batmobile?" Dick asked, eyeing it oddly.

"Yes," Damian said, realization slowly dawning on him.

"Did you know it could do that?" Dick asked.

"It's new," Damian said, flatly, and he didn't bother resisting when a net suddenly shot out of its core—the trunk—and enveloped them both. He was, however, not happy when it suddenly yanked them both up—reeling them into the trunk, and closing shut. It was dark for a moment. Suddenly, red light filled the space.

Damian glared down at Dick, careful to avoid the foot that was near his face.

Dick narrowed his eyes in return.

"Don't look at me. This isn't my fault," Dick said, annoyed.

There was a crackle followed by the sound of Bruce's voice in the commlinks. He spoke in a voice that Damian could never hope to imitate.

"I'm bringing you both back to the Cave. Now."

Damian shifted uncomfortably in the cramped space. He sighed.

"I can't say I'm entirely pleased with these circumstances right now—but I have to admit, Father, after years of begging you to make a mecha-Bat, I'm impressed that you've actually pulled it off."

"No. Talking."

There was a lot of talking—it's just that none of it came from Damian or Dick. Damian watched his father, bored, as he yelled. How Damian's father had managed to come up with an entire speech in the few moments it took for the transforming batmobile to drag them back into the Cave, Damian couldn't be sure, but Bruce had managed to list off a whole list of things without ever repeating himself once. Considering the batmobile was already fitted with a net, Damian could only assume that his father had used the whole week preparing for the worst—including the speech he was going to lecture them with.

Dick took it a little more harshly. He was shrinking further into his seat with every word. He probably didn't even know that Bruce could be that loud.

"—if you two can't listen, there won't be another chance!" Bruce finished, pointing. "Understand?"

"Yes," Dick said, voice cracking.

"Yes," Damian said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Bruce retreated into the depths of the Cave, towards the computer so he could log files. Damian and Dick, out of uniform, made their trek back up to the manor. Damian watched Dick closely—after their training practices, he noticed that Dick always took two steps at a time. He noticed because Dick also wouldn't walk in a straightforward direction, but would instead zigzag up the steps—to the point where Damian would get dizzy just watching him. This time, Dick was practically dragging his feet up the stairs.

He was taking Bruce's lecture way too personally. Damian knew he shouldn't get involved—but he felt partly responsible, since they had gotten dragged from patrol early based on his decision to not follow his father's directions. Plus, he still remembered those first few days he had lived with his father—how degraded, terrified and defensive he had felt when his father first yelled at him.

Despite himself, Damian said it anyways, "He's always been like that."

Dick glanced up at him but his gaze fell back on the ground. His arms hung by his side.

"He's never satisfied, even if you do your best. He doesn't trust anyone's judgment but his own. But he'll eventually move onto the next thing," Damian said. Although, he wondered how much the latter was true. He wasn't sure if he and his father were ever going to move on from the past five years.

"He's not so bad," Dick said, shrugging. He then murmured, what Damian believed to be, "Comparatively."

"What?" Damian said, snapping his head in Dick's direction. Dick just smiled.

"Nothing," he said quickly and suddenly he was running off, two steps at a time.

Damian felt exhausted just watching him.

He returned to his room, settling down for the night. As he went to go to sleep, he stared down his bed for a moment, and sighed a little to himself. He climbed onto the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, and crossed his hands on his chest. His brow furrowed a little.

He turned on his side, the bed creaking lightly. Still, it didn't feel right.

He got up, grabbing his pillows and blankets. He set up a space on the floor, lying on his back. Even with the carpet, the floor felt rigid and stiff—especially compared to the cloud of a bed that he had just been in.

He fell asleep in seconds.

Damian could hear voices in the background. After a week of being forced to follow his father's regimine, Damian was eager to return to the one he had set up for himself and had been practicing for the past few years. This involved being in the Cave at a different time than everyone else—alone, which to Damian's surprise, his father had allowed for as long as he did. He wasn't entirely surprised that his father mysteriously decided to bump up Dick's training regime to an earlier time that day. What he wasn't expecting was his father to suddenly interrupt.

Damian was in the process of beating a punching bag when his father suddenly intervened, holding the bag. Damian immediately stepped back, sighing.

"What did I do this time?" he said, annoyed.

"Those moves. Where did you learn them?" Bruce's brow was furrowed. Damian glanced up at him.

"I didn't spend the last five years putzing around."

Damian could see the frustration in his father's eyes—but there was something else mixed in them, something almost hesitant. "Don't use them."

"I know what you're thinking," Damian said, his tone short. But in the back of his mind, hidden beneath his tone of indifference, sudden doubts began to rise. "I'm not that stupid."

"There's a reason why I taught you my way, not their way," Bruce said. He shook his head to himself. "I'll train you—"

"You've already trained me."

"I'll retrain you. Just don't use those moves."

"Contrary to what you insist on believing, I know what I'm doing. I haven't abandoned what you taught me. I've just added my new knowledge to it."

"I've already taken that knowledge and applied it to what I practiced and taught you." Bruce frowned, spoke in an almost hushed voice, "What you're doing is dangerous—"

"What I'm doing is not lethal," Damian said, fed up. Bruce visibly tensed at the word. "Are you really so full of yourself? Do you think you're the only one that could adapt those disciplines into something usable? It's my own style, it's more efficient than what you use, and it's just as safe. Like I said, I know what I'm doing. You haven't put me on a serious mission since I've been here. Don't watch five minutes of me punching around an inanimate object and just assume to know what I'm capable of."

"It's because I know what you're capable of that I'm worried," Bruce said, glowering. "This goes back further than five minutes. This goes back further than five years."

"Yeah, and what did happen for those five years?" Damian said, challenging him. "Until just now, you had no idea where I had been."

Bruce left it at that, but Damian knew him well enough to know that it wouldn't be the end of that conversation. Bruce returned to Dick, instructing him through his training, and Damian was left alone for his. Later on, Pennyworth approached Damian with a water and towel. Damian quietly accepted it.

"Master Damian, I couldn't help but notice your odd sleeping arrangements since your return home."

Damian knew what Alfred was referring to—the past few nights he had slept on the floor, and every time he left and returned to his room after Alfred's sweep of the manor, the bed was always remade. "You can just leave it, Alfred. I'll take care of it."

"That's no matter, Master Damian. If you would rather have a different set-up though, perhaps I could arrange it."

He took a drink of water. In that pause, he was momentarily distracted by his father and Dick talking in the background.

"How did I do?" Dick asked. Damian didn't see the task he had completed but the boy seemed out of breath.

"You need to focus more," Bruce said at once, ever the critic. "Also, you need to pay closer attention to what's behind you."

Dick nodded agreeably enough—but Damian could catch the hint of disappointment in his eyes. Damian nearly laughed. His father was never one for praise—something that Dick, apparently, still had not figured out. He almost forgot what Alfred was talking about.

"Do what you think is best, Pennyworth," Damian said offhandedly, wiping his face.

"There's been a report of a break-in. 1.5 miles from your location. Sending the coordinates now," Alfred's voice spoke in the commlink. Damian checked them, saw it was in a suburban area. He rolled his eyes—now they were dealing with house robberies.

They swung across the rooftops, the grappling guns made their trip quicker and faster. Near the outskirts of the coordinates, they had to take to the streets. The fenced houses were all cramped together, the streets quiet. Dick followed him closely as they reached the house.

The front door had definitely been busted into, a pile of rubble near the entrance. Normally, the protocol would be to observe first before running in—but since the house was broken into, Damian decided they couldn't afford to wait.

Damian carefully stepped into the dark house. He moved swiftly but silently, careful to not alert anyone to their position in case the break-in involved an armed robber. He heard light noises, sounding almost like crying.

Damian glanced back at Dick. Dick looked up at him, nodding once. He heard it too. Damian led the way, deeper into the house, turning a corner. He found a light coming from behind the door. He noticed a blood trail leading up to the closed room, where the soft sobbing came from within.

Damian opened the door. A woman was inside and she jumped when she saw Damian in the mirror, but Damian wrapped a hand around her mouth in time to stop her as she was about to scream.

"We're here to help you—"he started, but stopped when he looked down. The woman's hands were bleeding but it looked more like scrape marks. He noticed a thick splinter in her hand. He then looked up, noticing the bathroom window had been boarded up.

Damian frowned, letting go of her.

"Is this your house?" he asked, not bothering to hide the volume of his voice any longer.

The woman was still shaken but she nodded. Her hair looked matte, her roots gray. There was something in her eyes, something unhinged. Damian looked around the room—a bathroom—and started to notice the empty prescription bottles laying around and uncleaned floors.

"You're Batman," she said, and even though she seemed shaken up and looked crazy, she still sounded rational. "Are you here to help me find my daughter?"

"Your daughter?" Damian repeated. He frowned. "No, there was a report of someone breaking in. I thought you were being robbed—"

"No, that was me," she confessed, hands still dripping blood. "I locked myself out. Had to break my way in." Her eyes lit up. "But you're here. Maybe you can help me. My daughter is missing."

Damian drew back a step. He doubted this woman even had a daughter. "I think you're confused—"

"How long has she been missing?" Dick suddenly piped in. The woman had to tilt her head to see Dick, who was standing small behind Damian, practically hidden.

At that question, her eyes faded a little. She grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapping her hand in it. She pushed past them, leading them into a living room. She turned on the light.

Damian's brow furrowed. All of the windows were boarded up, crude looking nails sticking out of them. Stacks of newspapers littered the ground. Damian stopped, observing pictures. Pictures of a wife, a husband and a daughter. The portraits stopped when the girl looked about four or five. Damian frowned, looking closer. One of the photos was timestamped—over a decade ago.

Damian didn't like this.

Dick joined him by his side, looking at the photos.

The woman grabbed something from underneath a stack of papers, hurrying to Damian's side. She shoved the newspaper in Damian's hands—Damian read the date before the article, frowning.

"Her name is Cheyenne. She was sleeping in her room. I heard a noise in the middle of the night, went to check on her, and she was gone. The window was wide open. The police looked everywhere but couldn't find her."

Damian frowned, feeling uncomfortable. He glanced up at the woman. He hated the way she looked at him.

She wasn't afraid at all. Her eyes seemed to glow with hope.

"Maybe you could find her. You've done the impossible before."

"This incident happened twelve years ago," Damian said. "Have you heard anything about her?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "The police—"

Damian handed back the newspaper. "Your daughter is dead."

"That's not true," she said, suddenly defensive. Eyes narrowed. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I can feel it. I know she's alive. They never found her. She's alive, somewhere—"

Damian shook his head to himself. This was a waste of their time. The woman looked at him for a long moment, silenced. At first there was anger in his eyes. But then the anger slowly dissipated, her face falling slowly.

"Batman thinks I'm crazy," she murmured with realization.

Damian turned to leave. He was near the busted door when he realized he wasn't being followed.

"Robin—"Damian started, looking around, trying to find him. He saw Dick standing with the woman, talking to her. Damian's shoulders fell. They didn't have time for this—there could be other police signals or reports. Important things. He moved forward, ready to yank Dick out of the conversation.

"Is this her?" Dick asked. He must have picked up one of the photos on the stand. The woman looked at it, eyes glossy.

"Yes," she murmured.

"Where was it?" he asked. Her gaze fell slightly. She shook her head to herself a little.

"At the zoo. But… the police already checked there."

"Gotham's zoo?"

"No, actually," she said. Her brow furrowed a little, the memory returning to her. "We were in Central City. We took a train all the way down there. It was our first big trip. We did all sorts of things, like the zoo. The aquarium. The museums. The parks."

"What was the best part?" Dick asked. Damian was beginning to feel frustrated—none of this information was relevant, and this case was closed anyways. But he began to notice a shift in the woman's face. Her face was softer, the tension and the anxiety beginning to slip away. Her eyes more fragile than frantic.

"The theatre. We saw Cinderella. She had never seen the musical before, only the movie. She sang the tunes for the rest of the trip—she didn't even know the words." Her gaze went somewhere distant. "I almost forgot about that."

"Maybe she'll show up again one day," Dick said after a moment. The woman's eyes clouded over, a sudden doubt crossing her features. But she looked down at Dick and nodded a little.

"Maybe," she said, her voice thick. "Thanks."

The trip back to downtown was quiet. The scene from inside the house kept replaying in Damian's head. He glanced back at Dick, who was trailing behind. He said what was bothering him, "That girl is dead."

Dick's gaze flickered up at him and then fell back down. "I know."

"You can't give people false hope like that."

Dick shook his head, disagreeing. "It's not false hope. She really believes her daughter is alive—and no one else believes her, so no one else will talk to her. I think she needed someone to talk to. I think she's been lonely for a long time."

"The sooner she wakes up and forgets, the sooner she can talk to people again."

"How could anyone forget their daughter?" Dick said quietly.

At that, Damian didn't know how to respond. They walked a little further in silence. Dick moved a little faster so he could walk in front of Damian. He started walking backwards so he could keep his eyes locked on Damian—Damian glared up at him in return.

"What?" he said in an irritated tone. Dick clearly had something he wanted to say. Dick seemed conflicted for a moment but he finally spoke what was on his mind.

"Bruce didn't forget you when you were gone."

Damian stopped in his tracks, staring at the kid incredulously.

"Sorry. I meant at the Cave," Dick corrected, not realizing the issue.

"What were you hoping to achieve by telling me that?" Damian said heatedly. Dick shrugged a little awkwardly.

"I don't know. You two are always arguing. That's why you left and everything, right?" Dick's eyes shifted to the side, face falling as he recalled the rest of the story that he was told, but he still looked up at Damian earnestly. "I know you said you were only here to be Batman. But I mean, you wouldn't have come back if you didn't care at least a little, right?"

Damian wanted to fight back but he faltered. The words hit him deeper than they should have.

He didn't think anyone would notice.

"And Bruce wouldn't have given you the cowl if he didn't trust you a little bit," Dick said. He was playing around with the edge of his cape, fidgeting a little. He wasn't sure how to interpret Damian's tension, it was making him nervous. But he kept talking anyways, "So maybe you two could get along."

"And why would I want to do that?" Damian instantly demanded. He didn't give Dick the opportunity to answer. "This isn't just some little family spat. This is deeper than that. I don't expect you, a child, to understand it. Keep your nose in your own family politics."

Dick's eyes shifted to the side, his mouth shut. Damian realized his mistake a moment too late—Dick didn't have a family, not anymore. But somehow, that only egged him further on. He sensed the weakness there, had to strike.

"My father might have accepted you into his home, but that doesn't mean anything for us, do you understand that? We're not family. We're not a team. So you can quit pretending to understand these things that are far above you just to get on my good side."

"What do your dad issues have anything to do with me?" Dick said, annoyed. "I don't need you to tell me these things—I haven't forgotten where I came from and who my parents are. But you still have this grudge against me when I haven't done anything! I'm not trying to replace you!"

"The problem is that you're in my way," Damian shot back.

"And you're not in my way? You think you're the only one being forced to work with someone you don't want to? The only reason I'm doing this is because of a promise I made with Batman. The real Batman. I didn't sign up just to be used as an emotional punching bag!"

"Tt. What else are you good for? You're a handicap. You just drag Batman down," Damian shot back. Damian could sense the subtleties in Dick's expression—the wisps of uncertainty beginning to appear. Damian dug in deeper. "My father is missing his leg. You were supposed to be his backup. And now I'm expected to drag you along when you've proven to be nothing but a nuisance."

Dick looked like he wanted to say more—but he suddenly turned his head, his jaw clenched shut. He shook his head to himself—the fire in his eyes was gone. He suddenly took off.

Damian started forward, to follow him, but he stopped himself. He watched the child prodigy take off—fast, but not quite so fast that Damian could not follow him. But he didn't have the heart for the chase—he was too angry, too bitter, and besides, he wouldn't know what to say. He watched the figure disappear into the shadows and he shook his head to himself. He had let this get carried away. He had let his rage get the best of him.

His father wasn't going to be happy about this.

Pennyworth was waiting at the platform when Damian drove in and parked. Damian felt the butler's eyes follow him as he got out of the batmobile—and sensed his confusion when a second person did not appear. He heard Alfred's footsteps as he moved closer to see if he could spot Dick inside of the vehicle but Damian did not comment on it. Did not tell him the truth. He moved briskly to the wall of equipment, ripping off the cowl and dropping it on the table.

"Where's Master Dick?" Pennyworth asked. Damian could hear the dread in his voice. Still, the Englishman called for him, "Master Damian?"

Damian ignored him. He unclipped the belt. Watched as the symbol of the Bat was tossed aside.

"Master Damian." Firmer this time. Horrified but resilient.

Bruce must have noticed the upset, set off by the volume of Pennyworth's voice. Damian could hear the heavier, uneven footsteps. He ignored it. He threw the jacket, covering up the cowl and belt. Undid the bracers. Just as he tugged them off and set them aside, he was roughly turned around.

"What'd you do to him?" Bruce instantly demanded. Damian didn't bother to shrug him off. His patience was gone—Bruce's words igniting an anger inside of him that he had tried to suppress for so long. He shoved Bruce off of him—Bruce wasn't even able to fight back, he stumbled back a step, nearly tripping but Alfred immediately rushed forward to make sure he got his balance back. Still, Bruce wasn't done. He glared at him, fury renewed. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Damian snapped. He threw his gloves on the ground. "He ran off."

"He doesn't run off," Bruce hissed back, voice filled with contempt. Damian snorted at that—he could beg to differ. The only time he could get the kid to stay by his side was when they were handcuffed together. But that was beside the point—he knew what his father meant.

"Well he's gone, isn't he?"

Bruce stopped, inhaled to maintain his composure. But he was still livid. So livid that his hands were clenched, his voice shaking. "Where?" he said, struggling to maintain rationality. "Where did he go?"

"Hell if I know," Damian grumbled. "Maybe he ran off to join a circus."

"You said something to him. You messed with his head, somehow. You said something or did something—"

"We are wasting time," Pennyworth cut in, words sharp. Even he seemed like he was struggling to contain himself. "For God's sake, this is rubbish. We have a minor walking around downtown Gotham, at night, by himself! Miles and miles away from home! In a vigilante's garb, no less! As much as I trust Master Dick's abilities, we must bring him back home now. We don't have time for some—some squabble."

"You need to go out there and look for him. You need to bring him back," Bruce said, looking at Damian.

Damian looked at his father. Perhaps Bruce's balance had been tipped by the prosthetic leg—but they were equal in height now.

Damian stepped forward, their eyes locked at perfect eye-level.

"He's your problem. Not mine."

Bruce started forward but Alfred immediately cut in between the two. Damian didn't flinch. Bruce's anger did not let down, his eyes still glaring into Damian's own, but the butler's interference had managed to stop him. Still, even Alfred looked at Damian with a deep, disapproving gaze in his eyes.

"This is unacceptable," Alfred told him.

"Tell that to the man who makes child soldiers," Damian said. He stepped back, gaze unbreaking. "He's your responsibility. Own up to it."

Damian headed towards the staircase.

"Only you can take responsibility for yourself, Damian," Bruce called after him. Damian listened but kept walking, appearing unnerved as possible. "Keep blaming me all you want, curse me until I'm dead, but I never made your choices for you!"

They didn't find Dick.

Damian had been watching out the window when he saw the boy return, on his own. He watched from the bedroom window as a shadow made it past the gate. The lights then turned on and Dick looked up, just in time for Pennyworth to step outside the door. He was down to the bare minimum of his uniform—his bigger items like his cape, vest and mask had all been shoved in what looked like a cheap bag that he must have picked up, leaving him in what could pass as civilian, albeit one with bad fashion sense. Still, it had been several hours and he doubted the boy had carried much money on his person—Damian was sure that Dick must have made most of the walk to the manor by himself. Damian couldn't see Dick's face, but he sensed the weariness in the way he carried himself. Saw the dawn on the horizon, indicating the hour.

When Pennyworth rushed forward to meet him halfway, Dick stopped in place. Didn't bother to resist or return the hug that Pennyworth captured him in—likely, he was too tired to return it. Pennyworth released him, kneeling so they could be at eye level. Alfred said something but Damian couldn't see his face to read the words—could barely see them, period, in the dim lighting. Dick was saying something—but his head was lowered as he spoke. Damian couldn't understand.

Alfred placed a hand on Dick's shoulders, bringing him back in.

The computers had been shut down. The Cave was eerily quiet, save for the light rumble of the generators. Bruce had dark circles underneath his eyes—Damian couldn't be sure if it was his on-and-off insomnia, his age, or just the stress of the past few days. He imagined it was a combination of all.

"You were right about one thing," Bruce said, after a silence. He had his elbow propped on the table, his weary face in his hand. He forced himself to reposition, sitting up. "He is my responsibility."

Damian didn't say anything. He stared at Bruce from across the table, waiting for the lecture. Waiting for the inevitable boot that kicked him out the door.

"But I can't be out there. If I could, I would. In a heartbeat," Bruce said, slowly shaking his head. There was solemnity to his face. Damian knew the words were true. The bitter reminder of Bruce's handicap also had an effect on Damian.

He tried to remember his purpose for being there.

"I spent a lot of time thinking last night and today. I thought about what the best plan was going to be. I was so furious with you that I tried to come up with a solution without you in it," Bruce said, brow furrowing as he thought back on it. Finally, he looked up at him. "I couldn't come up with one. I need you here. I need you, as Batman. And I need both of you to somehow, some way, work together."

Damian shifted in his chair. "The purpose of Batman is to protect Gotham. I can do that more efficiently without a partner."

"Inheriting the cowl means inheriting everything that I worked and strived for," Bruce said firmly.

A dull irritation began to swell up inside of Damian. However, anger wasn't going to convince his father. He had tried that, time and time again, and it didn't work. He already prepared for this.

"You know he's not ready for this," he said in a low voice. "You know he's unqualified. He's not like you and me—he's not hardened. Even if he survives, even with all of the training in the world, he'll eventually crumble."

"Don't act like I don't realize what you're doing," Bruce said, locking eyes with him from across the table. Damian paused, realizing that he was speaking the truth. "Leave the mind games to your mother."

"Am I wrong?" Damian said anyways. He shrugged. "What do you think is going to happen to him in five, ten years? Do you think he'll handle it better than I did? Do you think he'll be another mistake?" Bruce was a statue, quiet and unmoving. Damian continued, "I didn't learn mind games from Mother. I learned them from you. You're using him in the hopes that it'll tame me—that if I work with him, I'll understand what it was like for you to work with a child-partner. But it's not going to work. Such sentiments don't apply to me."

Damian knew he had broken Bruce's facade. His silence said it all.

"We don't have to play games. We don't have to get some child involved in our politics. Just give me the cowl and all of that can be put aside. And you can start over, actually start over. You'll have Richard, he'll be the son you've always wanted, and you can be the father you never had. And Gotham will still be saved—you'll have your justice, without any more sacrifice." Damian was trying to gauge Bruce's reaction but the man's shell had yet to be broken into. "It'd be easy. At the very least, you won't have to deal with such a difficult child."

"It was never about it being difficult, Damian," Bruce said, and he regarded him with almost a look of sadness. "I could handle difficult. It was when you stopped trying that we became like this."

Damian wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"He chose to be Robin. This isn't about you or me."

"Is that what you tell yourself to cope with it?" Damian murmured. "That it was a choice?"

Bruce paused, letting the words sink in. He changed the topic, "What did you say to him?"

"He didn't tell you?" Damian was a bit surprised.

"No," Bruce said, shaking his head.

Damian hesitated a little. He knew Bruce was not going to be happy with his confession. Still, he spilled out the words anyways, as bluntly honest as possible, "He left after I blamed him for your injury."

"Christ, Damian," Bruce hissed under his breath, shaking his head to himself. There was a moment of internal struggle—his brow was deeply furrowed, he couldn't even look Damian in the eye. He was reconsidering his words and Damian expected to be kicked out right then and there. But Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, struggled to compose himself, and said, "You weren't even there for that."

"What happened?" Damian finally asked. Bruce rubbed his face, his eyes looking faded and tired.

"It was our first mission. We were out on patrol when there were reports of a huge fire. Some arsonist had set off some major buildings. Dick and I went to investigate. The fire department was already on-scene but the flames had already spread to the block. Dozens of people were trapped inside. I had to go in but Dick had to stay behind. He wasn't equipped for it. For a lot of the people, I was too late. I found a body that had been charred." Bruce's brow furrowed, recalling it. Damian listened, his chest tight. "It took a long time for me to come back out. I didn't want to leave until I had found someone. I didn't want to accept that it was too late. And thankfully, I did. Some man on the third floor. I managed to get him out. But by then, so much time had passed. Dick got impatient, decided to go in and look for me. I had to go back in and get him out. But the building was weak at that point—I remember a beam falling, and that was it. It wasn't anything crazy or extravagant. It was just… an accident."

Damian's eyes lowered.

"I should have been there," Damian said, quietly. There was a shame to his words. A low guilt inside of his chest. "This never would have happened if I had been there. You would have had help—you wouldn't have had to go back in there."

"See, that's what you don't get," Bruce said, cutting him off. "I would have done it for anyone. I would have done it for him, you, a stranger, my worst enemy—anyone. I would have done it because it was the right thing to do—and you can't understand that." Bruce paused. For once, he didn't seem angry. He seemed disappointed. Maybe even sad. He slowly shook his head to himself. "And that's why you can't do it. That's why you'll never be Batman."

Alfred had kept his distance from Damian since the incident with Dick. Alfred used to invite Damian to meals everyday, even though Damian had rejected him each and every time, and now he had quit bothering to even ask. Although Damian still would have said no, he found himself a little disappointed that Alfred had given up. He had finally made enemies with everyone in the Manor, it seemed.

He was training more frequently. He wasn't looking to get stronger, he just needed something to distract his mind. Everyone allowed him his space in the training room. Damian hadn't run into Dick—the last time he had seen him, it was from his window when he witnessed him returning home. He was beginning to wonder if Bruce found other times to train him or if training had been put on hold altogether. Damian couldn't be sure, Bruce hadn't discussed any plans with him since their talk.

He was beginning to feel isolated again. It was strange, considering how many years he had spent wandering alone. It had only taken him a few weeks to get accustomed to having people around again.

After another day spent, Damian returned to his room. To his surprise, there was a noticeable difference. The bed was missing. Damian approached the spot, kneeling down to touch the rolled-up futon that had taken its place. Suddenly he remembered his conversation with Pennyworth, how he had noticed that Damian had been sleeping on the floor.

It seemed that Pennyworth had remembered as well.

Damian showered and got ready for bed. He unfurled the futon in a methodical way, unfolding the neat stack of blankets and sheets as well. When he laid down, his hands folded over his chest, he stared at the ceiling. It was better, much better. But he was still too awake, his mind reeling with thoughts that he had hoped to escape when he was in the training room.

The stasis couldn't last forever. Damian had to get back out into the city and start fighting crime. But there were so many unspoken feelings inside of the Manor, so much lost wandering and confusion and emotions. Damian was uncertain of the future.

He kept reminding himself why he was there.

Damian suddenly heard something above him, drawing his attention to the ceiling. At first he wondered if he had imagined it, but then he heard it again. He realized it must have been coming from the roof—and while he supposed it could have been a raccoon or something along those lines, it sounded far too heavy. Far too similar to footsteps. Perplexed, he swept the blankets off of him and turned on the lamp on the nearby table. He heard the sound again and decided to investigate.

Damian opened up his window, grounding himself on the ledge before he found a notch where he pulled himself up. He climbed to the roof as silently as he could, the tiles rough against his bare feet, and at the top his suspicions were confirmed.

He grabbed Dick's shoulder and the boy was so surprised that he jumped at the touch. He turned around, terrified, but slowed down when he saw who it was.

"What are you doing up here?" Damian demanded.

"I can't sleep," Dick said, shrugging a little. He looked back down at the ground, almost sullenly, and kicked idly at the roof tiles. "Sometimes I come up here. The air clears my thoughts—but I don't want to wake anyone up, so I just climb out my window."

"What, and hobbling around on the roof won't wake anyone up?"

"No one's caught me before?" Dick said sheepishly.

Damian looked at him long and hard. Finally, he shook his head to himself. His head was formulating bad ideas.

"Come on," he said anyways, heading back towards where he had climbed up. He didn't hear Dick move so he said, "I have something that will help you."

Damian led him through his window—and even though Dick had been so reluctant to follow, his eyes immediately scanned the room curiously. Without hesitation, he immediately began to wander around the room—looking at Damian's things. Damian left him to it, returning to the bedside table and rummaging through the drawer. He pulled out a case.

He caught Dick looking at a stand on his dresser. Hanging from the stand were different talismans he had collected during his worldly travels—many of them incredibly old. Dick's eyebrows were furrowed, clearly wondering what they were. He held one of the amulets against his fingers, trying to get a better look at the inscription.

"Don't touch that," Damian said disapprovingly. He brushed it out of Dick's hand, their fingers touching. Dick jerked his hand away, suddenly, like he had touched fire. Damian stared at him a moment longer but just said, "It's old and fragile."

"What is it?"

"It was given to me for completing my training in a temple. It's a mark of strength."

"What does it say?"

"Those are symbols, not letters."

"What kind of temple was it?"

Damian was getting impatient. "A secret temple, with young disciples who have their tongues cut for asking too many questions, and their hands chopped off for touching what's not theirs."

Dick didn't flinch. He even smiled a little. "I'm guessing it's not my type of scene, then."

"Sit," Damian said, and they both settled on the rug. Dick watched closely, almost with an intensity, as Damian began to open the case in his hands. Inside the case were small vials.

Dick leaned forward, trying to get a good look. Damian stopped and stared down at him, disapprovingly. Dick caught the look and leaned back, shrugging sheepishly.

"Here," Damian said. "Hold out your hands."

"What is it?" Dick asked but he held out his hands anyways, palms up as Damian indicated.

Damian didn't answer. He twisted the cap off of the vial, greeted by the sweet smell, and used the piper attached to add a few drops of the oil in Dick's palms.

The corner of Dick's mouth quirked up in a smile. "This seems kinda girly."

His immaturity was showing. "Just rub your hands together. Let it absorb into the skin."

Dick did as instructed.

"Breathe it in."

Dick gave his hands a tentative sniff. "Smells… flowery. Its nice though."

"Breathe it," Damian said, getting impatient again. He didn't understand why he always had to repeat his instructions. Dick obliged, cupping his hands together. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. When he opened his eyes, there was a new look in his expression. He looked calm.

"Will this really be enough to make me sleep?" Dick asked, skeptical.

"Nothing is guaranteed, it's not magic—just old, traditional remedies. But it should help you relax, at least," Damian said. Although, truthfully, he often found himself wondering if Dick ever relaxed. "Do it again."

Dick ducked his head down, breathing into his palms again. He pulled up, nodding a little.

Dick looked over at the case. He scooted in a little closer, looking at the rest of the tiny little vials. Damian allowed it.

"What does that one do?" Dick asked, pointing to one.

"The opposite," Damian said. "It wakes you up. Makes you feel energized."

"And that one?"

"It also rejuvenates. Many of these do the same thing, they just smell differently."

"What about that one?"

"It's an aphrodisiac."

Dick blinked at the new word. "A what?"

Damian shut the case. He was not going to have this conversation.

"Did you get all of this stuff from your travels?" Dick asked.

"Yes."

"Where did you go?" Dick asked.

"Places you've never been."

"But I've been to a lot of places," Dick said. "Haly's isn't the only circus I've been a part of. During different seasons, my parents and I joined other troupes, including one in Europe."

Damian glanced at him. Sometimes he forgot that Dick had travelled, even though it was such an ingrained part of his character. Still, Damian shook his head. "Not these places."

Dick didn't argue. Instead, an expression passed his face. He suddenly seemed quiet, shrinking in place. Warily, he asked, "Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?"

Dick was more observant than Damian gave him credit for. Dick was suspicious, although he still did not realize the point. Did not realize how important he was. Damian now realized that his father was never going to give him a stamp of approval unless Dick gave it first. That Dick was the key to continuing forward, the path to the cowl.

"We have to work together," Damian said simply. But there was more to it than that.

Dick admired Damian. Damian could tell by all of the times he had caught him staring. And more than that, Damian sensed this desire in Dick. A desire to be liked, a desire to be loved—something that Bruce couldn't fulfill. A desire to be welcomed and fit in.

Damian put some of the oil on his own hands, carefully recapping the vial without spilling it. He set it on top of the case. He rubbed it on his hands, closer to the fingertips without letting it absorb all of the way.

"Turn this way."

Dick did as told. Damian lifted Dick's chin up. Dick was quiet, his eyes staring past Damian as Damian touched him, the fingers massaging his temples. The oil on his fingers left a trace of the scent on Dick's skin. Dick closed his eyes, breathed, and he reopened his eyes. He dared to look up at Damian, even though the rest of him seemed quiet and suddenly shy.

Damian leaned in, kissing his temple. A simple, chaste touch. Dick immediately froze in place—but Damian could feel their cheeks touching, sensed Dick's face burning up, and he did not leave. Damian wondered if Dick was pretending to have not noticed. But then Dick pulled back.

Damian could see the faint flush that was there on his face, but other than that, he seemed calm. Dick paused for a moment and looked at him, seeming to be in thought. Damian could tell what he was thinking. He was confused but curious. More than that, he liked the attention. He was deciding whether or not he could trust Damian.

Suddenly, Dick leaned up, darting a closed-mouth kiss on Damian, which landed on the corner of his mouth.

Damian blinked dumbly in surprise.

"Thanks. I should go back now," was all Dick said, and he got up and headed towards the open window. Damian listened to Dick's footsteps on the roof leading in the direction of his room.

He stopped, looking down. His fingertips were still bathed in the scent. He breathed it in, smelling the lavender and the rest of the remedy. But he still felt antsy, wondering how Dick had just one-upped him.