A/N: Reboot fic. This idea has been roosting in my head for the past month and I finally got around to writing now. It is 2 a.m. and I am tired. Okay. Fixing typos tomorrow because I probably missed some.;;

Enjoy~

He felt, as much as he saw, Batman's cold gaze sweeping over him, taking in, it seemed, each and every thread of his costume. Damian himself stood straight-backed and rigid, focusing on keeping his breathing even as his father evaluated him.

When, finally, his father spoke, his voice was rough and conveyed all of his disapproval in the space of two words. "The hood."

But even if Damian could tell that his father was displeased, he still wasn't sure of why.

"…Pardon?" he asked, hesitantly.

Batman grunted. "You need to get rid of the hood. It's impractical."

He'd had a conversation like this before. A night not so long and yet an era ago. 'One of the first things Batman warned me about when I started out as Robin was how easily a hood—can become a blindfold,' a familiar voice echoed in his mind, and Damian found himself reaching for the same reply he had used then—I can fight blind.

Batman's posture didn't even shift in the slightest. He stood the same—tall, imposing, blatantly unimpressed with Damian's response. He felt foolish then, standing there, like he'd been asked a question and had given an excuse instead of actually answering.

Foolish and very small.

"It—I—" he stuttered, trying to formulate an intelligent response, but Batman cut him off brusquely.

"It serves no purpose, gives no advantage in battle. It's impractical," he repeated, "to have on your costume."

When Damian didn't reply, his father continued, "I already have an altered cape for you."

Damian bit back a protest. "Yes, Father."

The altered cape had more than its hood removed. The bottom was different, fashioned to look like feathers. Damian wasn't sure how he liked it, nor did he know how this was, in any way, a 'practical'upgrade. However, he did know that it would be best not to argue. So he didn't.

They entered the Batmobile, Damian's Batmobile. Damian settled silently into the passenger's seat, his father slid into the driver's side. The engine rumbled to life and settled into a familiar, steady purr.

As far as familiarity went, it was a first for the night.

The silence as they rode the Batmobile was disconcerting, to say the least. Damian constantly expected to hear a cheerful voice babbling on about mundane things. At one point, he almost thought he did hear it, until he shook his head slightly and the voice dissolved; he had only been imagining it.

No words were shared between him and his father. In fact, only two words were spoken in the vehicle at all, when the Batsignal shone in the sky against the clouds and Batman uttered softly, "Batmobile: Hover."

As the car rose up and carried them smoothly through the air, Damian glanced at his father, half-expecting—well, something. But he didn't say anything else, and Damian returned his gaze to the tinted windshield, disappointed.

Still no words were shared as the two dropped from the flying Batmobile in unison onto the rooftop, striding to where Commissioner Gordon was waiting by the light signal.

Even Gordon must have sensed a difference. Or maybe he'd simply known. This was his Batman—the original Batman.

Damian took a pace forward to stand beside his father, but Batman swung around and scowled at him disapprovingly. He stepped back, flushing with embarrassment and anger both as his father turned back to Gordon and began speaking to him in low tones.

Gordon glanced briefly at him; automatically, Damian's hands went to the back of his head, to pull his hood up, but his fingers clutched at empty air, and he remembered belatedly that he had a new cape now. His arms dropped awkwardly to his sides and he ducked his head, turning away from Batman and the Commissioner. It was clear he wasn't wanted.

He made his way to the edge of the roof and surveyed the city. It was just the same as it was the previous night, and the night before that, and the night before that.

Familiarity.

Not everything had changed, he had to remind himself.

Like the way he didn't have to turn to know that Batman had stepped behind him.

"Robin," came the Bat's voice—lower and gruffer than Damian had expected, forcing him to remember that one thing that wasn't the same was the identity of his mentor. "We're leaving."

Damian simply nodded and followed him. He didn't miss the slip of paper his father tucked into his cape. "What—" he started.

"Intel for a new case."

He waited silently, expecting more, but Batman didn't say anything else. They climbed back into the Batmobile and took off. Damian straightened up in his seat when he saw where they were heading.

"We're still patrolling, surely?" he asked.

"No. We're going home. I need to work on this case."

"What is it about?"

"That," said Batman, "is confidential for the time being."

Damian couldn't believe it. "But we're partners."

Batman turned to face him, wearing the same evaluating look he'd had before they had set out from the Cave.

"Yes," he said, "we are."

But he'd hesitated a beat, and that was long enough, because Damian knew. They weren't 'partners,' not yet. He was still on probation, and that single second before Batman had answered proved that, no matter what he said otherwise.

Never mind the fact that he had proven himself already. For his father, it wasn't enough yet. He wasn't enough. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he ever would be.

He wouldn't be allowed to help on the case, Damian knew, but that didn't mean he had to be benched completely. He could still show his worth.

"Then I can patrol tonight," he offered.

"Not by yourself."

"I'll go with Grayson," Damian improvised, heart leaping more than he thought it should at the prospect of being able to work with his old partner again. "He's still in Gotham."

"No, Robin," said Batman, and there was a trace of impatience in his tone. "You will remain at the manor."

"Why must I?" Damian demanded, voice rising in anger. "If this is a matter of competence, I can assure you—"

"That is not it at all." His father's voice had regressed to its quiet, almost calm state, but Damian felt the building frustration he was trying too hard to cover. "Things are—different now. Dick and I, we operate differently. I know this change must be sudden to you, but it was the best choice, for all of us."

Damian clenched his teeth. "Things were fine before," he muttered.

"They will be even better now," Batman promised.

Damian didn't really know what to say to that, and he stared silently out the window without responding.

They returned to the Cave, and Damian wasn't surprised at all when Batman turned to him and said, "You can go now. You've done all you can tonight."

"Because that was a fat lot," Damian mumbled under his breath. "I don't see why I can't patrol with Grayson tonight," he said, more loudly as he returned to his earlier appeal.

Batman sighed. "Damian—I told you. Things are different now. And Nightwing works without a partner."

"And apparently so do you," Damian snapped before he could stop himself, and raced out of the Cave before his father could respond, stomping up the stairs of the manor and slamming the door to his bedroom for good measure. Even if his father couldn't hear it, it felt good.

He paced around his room sulkily for several minutes before throwing himself onto his bed with a groan. When he lifted his head, his eyes fell on the wireless phone, sitting in its charger on the nightstand by the bed. After a minute's contemplation, he reached for it and punched in a number.

The phone rang four times before it was answered and a groggy voice slurred, "Who'sit?"

Damian cleared his throat. "Hello, Grayson. It's Damian."

"Dami?" On the other end of the line, Dick's voice had brightened considerably. "What's up? I thought you were on patrol tonight?"

"We were," Damian muttered.

"Oh? What happened?" Dick asked, a yawn interrupting the question. There was a rustling sound, which Damian guessed meant that Dick had sat up.

If he closed his eyes, Damian could picture Dick's little apartment. Perhaps he hadn't unpacked everything yet; he'd just moved, after all, and cardboard boxes probably sat in random places around the room, serving as excellent tripping hazards. Maybe there was already a pile of dirty clothes forming at the foot of the bed.

Dick's little bed was probably pushed up against the wall. He'd be sitting cross-legged on it right now, perhaps leaning his back against the wall, head turned slightly to glance out the window, as if he could somehow see Damian; Damian found himself opening his eyes and turning to look outside the window in his own room.

"Damian?" Dick asked when he didn't answer.

"Father—" He had to pause to collect his thoughts. "Father felt it best that…I do not help him tonight."

Dick sighed. "Oh, Bruce," he mumbled to himself. "Give him time," he said, speaking more clearly as he addressed Damian again. "Things'll work out. He's always…he's not very good with new partners, but once he gets used to working with you, things will settle real quick."

"I don't need you to make excuses for my father, Grayson," Damian snapped.

"Really?" asked Dick in what must have been fake surprise. "Then what did you call for?"

Well… Damian didn't know the answer to that, really. What had he been expecting when he'd phoned his former mentor?

"Can't I just want to talk?" he asked defensively.

"Well, yes, but I figured you'd consider it to be a waste of time," Dick half-laughed.

Damian scowled into the phone. He hoped Dick could tell he was scowling.

"So, what's wrong with Bruce exactly?" Dick asked, still sounding amused.

"He brushed me off—dismissed me!" he cried. This was no laughing matter. "It's not fair!"

"Damian," said Dick, and all the mirth was suddenly gone from his voice, "tell me what happened."

So Damian recounted the events that had transpired earlier that night before quickly returning to emphasize the points, "He didn't even comment on the Batmobile, which, as you know, I built! And—and—he made me get rid of the hood from my cape!"

Dick, to Damian's chagrin, was laughing again. "You sound like a kid."

That stopped him right in his tracks. He may be ten years old, but as far as Damian was concerned, he never was or had been a kid. His position simply didn't allow for it.

"You know, when I became Batman, I complained about the cape?" Dick asked. "Never really got used to that thing."

Damian could only imagine how much Dick hated the cape. Even though he had worn a cape as Robin, it had been many years since then, and Dick had never worn a cape as Nightwing. The heavy cape of Batman probably interfered with all of his midair tricks and flips.

"Your point?" he grunted, knowing Dick was expecting a response.

"Well…" Dick trailed off. He probably didn't have a point to begin with. He probably just thought of something he wanted to share for no real reason.

But Dick had an answer this time. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're being difficult—"

"I'm not—"

"You're being difficult because," Dick pressed, "you're trying to cope with the change. You're complaining, being stubborn—yes, Damian, you are—being stubborn about little things because you haven't accepted it yet."

"They are not little things," protested Damian, since he couldn't argue that he wasn't complaining and being stubborn. "Father refuses to acknowledge me as his partner. That's not little, Grayson."

"He will. No, I'm sure he already has. He'll just take a while to actually acknowledge it. He's much like you, Dami," added Dick affectionately. "Give him time."

Damian ignored the comment. "I've given him plenty of time yet he still hasn't even come to terms with my very existence. He doesn't want me, Grayson, don't you get it?"

Desperation was leaking into his tone, but Damian hardly noticed. Working with Batman was what he was bred, born, raised to do. If his father didn't want him, then what was he supposed to do?

"Damian!" cried Dick, startled. "Damian, calm down. You're—you're overreacting, assuming. Bruce does want you, trust me."

"He—he doesn't," gasped Damian, struggling to overcome the panic that seized him. "He wants, I don't know, he wants Drake back, or you, even. But he doesn't want me. He's never—"

"I'll talk to him!" Dick cut in loudly. "I'll talk to Bruce, okay?"

"No!" snapped Damian, because that would only make things worse. Like, like he'd been bullied or something, and had run to hide behind his older brother. It made him look weaker, and Bruce would want to acknowledge him even less.

"Okay," said Dick calmly. "I won't."

He was lying.

"Why don't you get some rest, Dami?" he continued coaxingly. "You'll feel better after a good night's sleep."

"I suppose," Damian muttered.

"And do actually get some sleep. I don't want to hear that you've been up all night training. Really. And eat breakfast tomorrow; I know you like to skip it, but it's not healthy."

"I will. You won't," Damian assured him, face relaxing into a smile as Dick fussed over him. "And thanks," he added a bit awkwardly, "for, um. Talking to me."

"Any time, little D. Oh, and Damian?" added Dick. "You don't have to prove anything, you know. You're already Robin."

"…yeah."

"Good night, Damian," Dick said sweetly.

"Good night…Richard."

He set the phone down and for a few moments, he just stoodthere. Then he shook himself and stole away to the Batcave.

He knew he could enter undetected; his father was amazingly observant, but Damian had been trained in stealth by the League of Assassins. Treading lightly, he moved along the catwalk and crouched down in the shadows high above Bruce.

His timing was impeccable; the computer screen started flashing just as he settled down. His father looked up from his work and tapped a key. Dick appeared on the screen, and Damian wondered if Batman was surprised to see Dick clad not in his Nightwing uniform, but baby blue pajamas.

"Dick," said Bruce by way of greeting—Bruce, now, because now he didn't take the tone he used as Batman, which the same tone he used with Damian, but a subtly different voice, one reserved for… For his sons.

"You know the computer isn't for social calls," the man continued, but Damian swore he could hear a smile in his voice.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't have answered otherwise," Dick retorted, lips quirking up in a grin of his own.

"Then you know I am busy. You had better hope this call is important."

Dick's smile dropped a little at that. "Yeah," he said, and Damian thought Dick was trying to maintain a forcibly light tone. "It's about Damian."

"Hm. What about him?" asked Bruce, calm as ever.

"You need to pay more attention to him."

"Dick—I'm busy right now…"

"You've always needed to pay more attention to him."

"Dick," said Bruce again, patiently, "can't this wait? I—"

"No, Bruce. I'm sorry. But not this time. You're always avoiding confrontations, and I'm always putting up with it, but—this is your son, Bruce… This is my brother."

"What do you want me to do, Dick?" Bruce asked, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "He can't expect me to coddle him."

"He doesn't want or need that," said Dick, sharply. "Dammit, Bruce, do you even care about him?"

"Of course I care," Bruce defended himself. "I just really need to get this done, Dick—"

"Then tell him! Is it really that hard to tell the kid you're proud of him every once in a while?"

"I am proud. He worked excellently with you, and I'm sure he'll perform wonderfully once we begin patrolling properly. I'm proud of him, and I'm sure he knows it."

"Then why," said Dick flatly, "did he call me and—hell, I don't know, he was ready to cry or something."

"He—"

"Because he doesn't know. Bruce, you know, and I know, but he doesn't. I always knew you were proud of me, but Damian's different. Bruce, he's different. He needs something more than a guess. He needs something real."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, Bruce said, "We'll talk tomorrow, Dick. But right now…you're tired, and I'm busy."

"Bruce, just… Do you want to do what's best for Damian, or…"

"I care about Damian," said Bruce firmly. "I do, Dick. But I have to put my job first. You understand. It's always been this way. Gotham's safety comes first."

"…Right. Yes. Well. Good night."

"Good night, Dick."

The call ended, and Damian leaned back; he hadn't realized until then, but he'd been straining forward to hear every word.

Damian crept out of the cave and tiptoed back to his room, head spinning. The conversation between Dick and his father had gone in directions Damian had never imagined, and now, he wasn't sure what to think.

But he did know…at least… To his father, his job always took the highest priority, but Dick was always there for him. His brother was always just a phone call away.