Summary: Bruce reaches a decision about Damian. Dick disagrees and decides to do something about it.

(Un) Fortunate Son

By Syl Francis

"It ain't me…

I ain't no fortunate son…"

(John C. Fogerty)

* D * d * d * D *

Nightwing expertly brought his motorcycle to a screeching stop, yanked off his helmet and ran across the Cave, making his way to the main computer console. Talia had given Batman her ultimatum—he could save Damian or Gotham City, but not both—and Batman had made his choice.

Gotham City.

When Nightwing overheard Batman informing Talia that he would send Damian to her by sundown, the young vigilante had seen red. He and Batman had been fighting back-to-back in the middle of rioting crowds. The rioters were brandishing whatever blunt objects they had found lying close at hand. Nightwing had been temporarily separated from his former mentor as he was forced to tackle multiple crazies, all under the influence of Leviathan's mind control drugs, before he was able to make his way back to Batman.

Just as he reached the Dark Knight's side, Nightwing heard Talia repeat her ultimatum and Batman acquiesce to her demands. Infuriated, he whirled on Batman about to lambaste him. He checked himself suddenly as he was forced to duck, leap, spin, and kick out at several of the rioters that had converged on them, chanting, "Leviathan rises!"

Once again fighting back-to-back, the original Dynamic Duo held off the latest attack. However, before they could be overrun again, the two fired their grapplers and swooped away toward the nearest rooftop. As soon as they landed, Batman began issuing orders.

"Get back to the cave and bring Robin here. Have him pack an overnight bag…His mother will take care of the rest of his needs."

"You can't mean that. You can't send him to her. She's not a mother. She doesn't love him… She's only using him to get back at you! You know what the League of Shadows will do to him!" Nightwing gesticulated frantically as he beseeched Batman to reconsider his unprecedented decision.

"We don't have time to argue. Every second Damian isn't in her custody, Gotham is that much closer to being razed to the ground. Millions could die."

"But he's your son! He's just a little boy. How can you even think of—?"

"It's precisely because he's my son that I have to do this." At Nightwing's dark look, Batman sighed. "I told you about the apocalyptic vision I had. Damian cannot be allowed to become Batman… He'll be personally responsible for the destruction of the world."

Nightwing simply shook his head at Batman's words, unable to look him in the eye. "You are unbelievable! You'd turn your own son over to that—that bitch—because of some dream vision?" He spoke in a low, angry growl, his stance practically vibrating with fury.

Realizing that he was wasting his time, Nightwing turned in disgust and left without another word to carry out his orders. He made his way across town toward Wayne Tower where he had parked his motorcycle. Livid at Batman, he sped recklessly through the streets of Gotham, which were clogged with more crazies, burnt and overturned vehicles, police barriers, and other battle-strewn debris.

Along the city's business district, blackened storefronts with shattered windows and smashed interiors spewed smoke from recent fires. The skeletal remains of robust businesses were a grim reminder of the path of destruction left in the wake of the rioters.

Racing home, Nightwing didn't think about the far ranging consequences of what he was planning to do; he didn't think about the two warring adults at the center of the Battle of Gotham; he didn't think about what he was going to turn his back on.

What he did think about was a young boy, a too proud and mouthy 10-year-old with the heart of a hero, who was being used as a pawn in his parents' bitter "domestic dispute." He thought about the little boy who was even now probably waiting to hear that he would be offered up as a sacrificial lamb for the "greater good."

Nightwing slammed his helmet on the main computer console as he took a seat. His fingers went flying over the keyboard, as he composed an emergency all-call for help. This was it. Once he sent the emergency message, there would be no turning back. Batman's paranoia regarding metas in Gotham City was notoriously well known among the superhero community. If Nightwing did this, Batman's fury would go stratospheric.

But this wasn't about possibly infuriating Batman. This was about saving Damian.

As soon as his thoughts returned to his former protégé, Nightwing knew that he was doing the right thing. He pressed the transmit button, and felt a momentary stab of relief. Then, taking a deep breath he quickly changed out of his uniform and rushed upstairs.

He had sent the hero-community's version of a 911 call to the Justice League and Teen Titans, not to mention the Justice Society and Batman Inc. If and when the first wave of heroes began arriving to help quell the rioting, thus putting an end to Leviathan's ambition of world domination and Talia's plans to destroy Bruce, Dick knew it would not be a good idea for him to still be in the city. He ran up the long, winding stairs that led to the manor and hurriedly searched for Damian.

"Alfie! Where's Li'l D?" he asked breathlessly, just as Alfred rounded a corner in the hallway, a cleaning cloth in his hands.

"His bedroom, I would imagine, sir." The words were barely out of Alfred's mouth, before Dick again took off toward the family quarters in the east wing of the manor. Concerned, Alfred watched Dick disappear up the back staircase. He had a bad feeling about this. He found himself following slowly in Dick's tracks, afraid of what he'd find out.

Dick jogged lightly down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps barely echoing off the highly polished, hard wood floors. Once upon a time, he remembered, the hallway floor had been covered with deep blue, wall-to-wall plush carpeting. But, after four highly rambunctious and acrobatic boys with little regard for either the cost of replacing a damaged carpet or the time needed for cleaning it, the hard wood floors proved a necessary compromise.

At the far end of the corridor stood two multi-paned, waist-to-ceiling Georgian windows. The drawn curtains gently fluttered in the fresh breeze that wafted through the open transoms, the barest hint of a familiar fragrance teasing his senses. The east-facing windows generally allowed the unfiltered morning sun to bathe the long corridor in its bright warmth; however, at this time of day the lengthening afternoon shadows had chased away the ambient light, shrouding the living quarters with encroaching twilight.

As he made his way to Damian's room, dormant memories stirred of his early days at Wayne Manor…

The week that Dick arrived, the Georgian windows had been covered by heavy drapes, closed against the morning sun. One day, he drew back the curtains, curious about what lay beyond. He gasped at the spray of rainbow colors that greeted him, basking in the warmth of the waking day, entranced by the picturesque beauty of the well-tended rose garden below.

It was early spring and the rose buds were just beginning to open their petals. A grassy footpath meandered in and around the flower bushes. Carved marble benches were placed in peaceful, out-of-the-way places along the path, inviting the occasional passerby to sit awhile in quiet solitude. Vine-covered trellises arched above and across the footpath at different points, providing much-needed cool shade from the late-summer heat. Nearby, a small fountain splattered merrily, attracting a family of swallows.

A feeling of being watched came suddenly over Dick, and he whirled to find his new guardian standing immediately behind him, gazing at the sun-splashed vista, lost in thought. Red-faced, Dick apologized for opening the curtains and made as if to draw them closed. "I'm real sorry, Mr. Wayne. I-I promise, I won't do it again."

However, before Dick could close the drapes, Bruce stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Dick still remembered the quiet words that Bruce said to him. "No…leave it, Richard. It's long past time we let the light back in." His enigmatic guardian gave him a slight half-smile, his fingers hesitantly touching Dick's cheek. At the unexpected contact so reminiscent of his parents, Dick beamed up at Bruce. He again looked out to admire the garden and eagerly pointed at a robin that had alighted on the ground.

"Look…a robin! That's my mom's favorite bird!" Dick turned back to where Bruce had been standing, but discovered that he was alone. Apparently, his guardian had left as silently as he'd arrived. It was only later when he had spoken to Alfred about it that Dick had found out that the garden view from the Georgian windows had been one of Martha Wayne's favorites. She herself had planned the garden and planted the first row of roses.

The view (and the garden itself) soon became one of Dick's own favorites. In those early days, if he weren't outside wandering among the fragrant rose bushes, he often stood at the windows, wondering at the incongruity of discovering such an open, airy space in the otherwise dark and gloomy mansion. By the time he had left for college, the interior of the home he had shared with Bruce and Alfred had undergone a positive change—less shadows and more light were allowed inside. Sadly, it had reverted to its original state of gloom following Jason's death, heavy curtains once more drawn against the light of day.

Recently, the manor had undergone somewhat of a rebirth into the light. Tim and Damian's presence had much to do with that, as well as Dick's returning to Gotham City to help with the younger boy's training. Robin may be Batman's partner, but Damian had been Dick's protégé. And, although the ten-year-old would never admit it, even on pain of death, Damian had bonded with Dick during their stint together as mentor and student, and he was closer to him than to any of the others.

Neither Dick nor Bruce saw any reason why the first Robin shouldn't continue as Damian's trainer. Despite the fact that Bruce had already trained three Robins, when push came to shove, Dick was much better with children in general, having trained several of the younger Titans throughout his years as leader. Part of this was due to his being closer in age to the junior heroes, but also, Dick was simply a more patient and understanding teacher—a natural leader who knew instinctively how to bring out the best in others.

Bruce was more of a drill instructor, a no-nonsense harsh taskmaster, who expected his protégés to instantly obey his commands without question. Unfortunately, Damian's and Bruce's personalities were too much alike. When they disagreed on something—which was often—neither would back down nor give an inch of ground. The inevitable showdowns oftentimes ended in epic shouting matches with Robin being grounded, and Damian confined to his room as punishment.

To circumvent the usual arguments between the mule-headed Bat and his equally stubborn son, Dick willingly stepped in as mediator. Of course, nothing was ever easy when it came to the infamous Dueling Duo, and more often than not, Dick had to figuratively duck and cover to avoid being caught in the crossfire of one of their mutual explosions.

Still, with Dick's almost daily presence, the manor and the cave echoed with his infectious laughter and Damian's acerbic comebacks. Dick generally kept his tone light as he encouraged his usually irritated and arrogant little brother to learn from his mistakes, even as he corrected Damian's form or knocked him down during a sparring session. And the younger boy had learned under Dick's gentle guidance and good-humored tutelage. Damian had blossomed into a brave and fiercely loyal Robin—a true heir to the legacy.

But it had all been for nothing. Damn Talia for her evil machinations! And damn Bruce for giving in to her cruel demands. Damian or Gotham? Dick knew his own answer to that question.

Pausing in front of Damian's room, Dick took a moment to compose himself before knocking. At the soft "Come in" from inside, Dick opened the door and stepped in. Damian was sitting quietly at his desk, hunched over his sketchbook.

"What do you want, Grayson?" Damian asked without looking up. "Shouldn't you be helping Father?"

Dick walked up to him. He glanced at the page filled with sketches of Damian's dog Titus, his new cat (whom he had named Alfred), the Bat-signal, and Bat Cow. A charcoal sketch of Bruce and Talia took his breath away. As always, the younger boy's artistic talent amazed Dick. If only Bruce could see that Damian was so much more than Talia's Frankenstein monster, created to destroy the world. As Dick once told Tim, Damian "practically bleeds the need to be accepted."

"Bruce sent me." Dick spoke softly, regretfully.

Damian finally looked up, the expression on his small face painfully stoic. "He's sending me back to her, isn't he?" At Dick's reluctant nod, Damian dropped his eyes. He seemed to shrink into himself, looking more vulnerable than he'd ever appeared before. "It's not fair," he whispered.

Dick knelt next to Damian, gently raising the younger boy's chin so that they were eye to eye. "Dami, I've no intention of letting that happen."

"But, you said that Father—"

"—Ordered me to take you to him, so that he can turn you over to your mother." Dick spoke intently, but steadily. "That doesn't mean I intend to carry out that order. Dami, I came to take you away from here."

Damian shook his head. "No…you must do what Father said. He saw the future…If I stay, I'll grow up to be Batman and destroy the world."

"It was a dream, Dami! A lousy dream," Dick insisted. "No one can really know the future…not even Batman!"

"But—"

"No buts! When William Cobb told me to embrace my destiny as a Talon, I told him that the only thing I embrace is that destinies don't exist. We're leaving—now." He stood abruptly. "Unless you want to return to your mother?" He watched the emotions warring across the boy's face. "It's your choice, Dami." At least this way, Dick figured Damian would have a say in what happened to him. "Leave with me…or return to your mother?"

Damian lifted his chin bravely and looked him in the eye. "Leave with you…I want to go with you."

Taking a deep breath, Dick closed his eyes and bowed his head in momentary relief. Looking up he smiled gently. "Okay, then…why don't we get you packed?"

"Can Titus come with us?" Damian asked, bright blue eyes alight with sudden hope. "Or Alfred the cat?"

Feeling his stomach clench tightly at the boy's innocent expression, Dick had to swallow as he shook his head. "No, we have to travel light for now. I'm sorry." Was this the same look that he had given Bruce all those years ago? A look that implied he could make the sun rise and set with a mere thought? The same expression that had somehow broken through the Bat's protective armor and made him start to feel again?

If so…then how could Bruce close himself off so completely from his own son? Looking into those eyes now—Bruce's eyes—Dick felt a little bit of himself break inside as the light went out of them.

Damian nodded sadly, his boyish expression changing to one old beyond his years. They would have to leave everything behind, everything that could tie them back here. They would have to disappear, maybe for a long time. Worse, they would have to hide from two of the most powerful people in the world—Damian's father and mother.

As Damian stowed the last item into his backpack—a snapshot of Titus and Alfred the Cat cuddled together against Bat Cow in sleep—Dick took the stuffed pack from him. He quickly secured a rolled-up sleeping bag to it and threw it over his shoulder. Before they headed out, though, Damian put his hand on Dick's arm to stop him.

"Grayson, why are you doing this?" Damian asked, keeping his eyes carefully on his sneakers. "Why are you disobeying Father?"

Dick lightly ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Because we're partners, remember? And partners—"

"—Partners watch each other's back," Damian finished, finally meeting Dick's eyes.

Dick nodded and flashed him a sad smile. He didn't add that big brothers were also tasked with taking care of little brothers. "Let's go, L'il D."

"Master Richard?" Alfred stood uncertainly in the hallway outside. He glanced at the backpack and sleeping bag. "What's going on, sir?"

"I'm sorry, Alfred, but the less we tell you the better," Dick's expression remained neutral as he faced his surrogate grandfather. "And besides, what you don't know, you can't lie to Bruce about."

"Is this about the boy's mother and all the havoc she's been causing?" Alfred demanded, his chin raised in challenge. "She gave Master Bruce an ultimatum, didn't she? Master Damian or Gotham."

"Pennyworth…please." Damian's barely whispered words resonated with heartbreak.

Two sets of blue eyes stared pleadingly at the kindly gentleman, a man who had devoted more years than either boy before him had lived to caring for the Wayne family. Nodding in resignation, Alfred turned his back on the two so as not to actually watch them leave. At the last minute, he turned and caught a glimpse of Dick leading Damian into the study, and in all likelihood the Cave below. Blinking back the sudden onset of tears, Alfred bowed his head in pain.

"Master Bruce, what have you done?"

End of Part 1

Author's Note: I've been working on this story for the better part of three months now, and it's a little more than halfway done. Updates will be slow, but with summer just around the corner, I should have more time to write. Hopefully, I'll finish it before I have to get back to work when the fall term starts.

Acknowledgements: To be posted at a later date.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright: May 2013