So, no, I don't like Damian. I have my reasons. They make perfect sense.
But here he is: in Batman's scenario and storyline, and no matter how much I disliked him, that wouldn't change anything.
I want to try something different, then: to understand him. Maybe, just maybe, he has something interesting to say.
This story is me, trying to listen to this little guy. I would like very much for you to join me in this.
Have fun!
AliaAtreidesBr
Selina heard the noises of the fight on the ground, many levels below the rooftop in which she was comfortably installed.
Her intention was to take a short break – she had just dealt with a drug dealer and his miserable gang, and although that was a simple job, well, she thought she deserved a minute to herself. Still, gunshots and the sudden noise of a vehicle crashing into something was tempting; many voices, heavy guns, maybe even a small explosion. That was attracting attention and seemed more than the ordinary crime-fighting gig.
She thought of Dick, of course. Not only was he the one under the Batman's cowl these days, the pyrotechnics and less concern for discretion was closer to his style. Bruce had always been the silent, resourceful one; he had the talent when it came to concealing himself in dark corners and making as much noise as a sly cat. Dick… well, Dick was more of a showman. Or a showoff, as she liked to call him when he was a kid. Now as Batman, he had improved his detective skills, his surprise attacks, his tactical thought, no doubt. But he wasn't Bruce, and it was interesting how less mysterious and how much more acrobatic the Dark Knight was slowly becoming.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she pondered.
In a dexterous jump she reached the next building, and looked over its north edge. Down there, right at the main avenue that cut the East Side, chaos ran free: a large van smashed against the wall of a small restaurant, a group of three men taking shelter behind it as they shot without restraint at the other side. Twenty feet away, protecting himself from the rain of bullets, a cornered Robin found himself precariously shielded behind his ruined motorcycle. Batman was nowhere to be seen, and Selina deduced he in fact wasn't around – no Batcar, no signs of him covering for his sidekick. She knew more than a bit about the way Bruce and his pupils worked, and this one wasn't their style, not even Dick's more directive approach. He was bold, not suicidal, and definitely not dumb. That mess down there?
That kid had done it all by himself, no doubt.
She took her time, of course. That boy down there, well, she had no love for him, of course. Damian. Damian Wayne, actually; allegedly the son Bruce had with that Talia al Ghul, damn woman that knew exactly how to make other people life harder and more complicated. Or worst. A talent her son seemed to have inherited.
That brat was a nuisance, to say the least. He had showed nothing but contempt for Selina and her counterpart Catwoman, but that wasn't the thing that really bothered her. Truth was, she had a past, and not a very honorable one. And, honestly, she didn't look for approval; never asked for Bruce's endorsement, why would she even care what a spoiled little devil-child thought? No, she could easily ignore new Robin's impoliteness and his potty mouth (yet another thing he must have learned from his mother, who so easily spread words like whore and bitch around). What she couldn't ignore, though, was how disrespectful he was about Bruce's legacy and lifelong work. She hated how he underestimated the power Batman had, its symbol, its importance in Gotham. She hated how he was so often unkind, or plain rude to Dick and Alfred, and how he took for granted all Bruce had built. Everything was stupid, or dumb, or old. He walked around in Robin's outfit like he deserved it, like he could even be compared to Tim – he wasn't half the boy wonder any of his predecessors had ever been. The despise he showed made Selina sick to her stomach, and she had often wished she had the opportunity of teaching one or two things to the new Robin about respect – preferably in a very physical manner, with a good amount of pain.
She couldn't do that, though. For all that matters, he was Robin right now, he was Dick's protégée, and he was Bruce's son. His flesh and blood.
Selina knew she could remain in her inner debate forever, but there was no point: it wasn't really a choice. Damian was despicable, but he was still a kid. Crawling under the pieces of his bike, gunfire over his head, a nasty cut in one of his arms, he looked more like a defenseless child than the overconfident, vain pubescent he tried so hard to be. And in his cold expression, his fierce eyes and determined features, she couldn't help but to see him; an imperfect, yet faithful reproduction of those things she had admired and loved in Bruce.
The advantage of her position gave her the leverage she needed. It was easy enough to calculate her jump and land over those guys, three seconds spend to get the effective result that saved Robin's skin. Guns out of the picture, the boy quickly approached the prize:
"I take it from here", he said, his voice forced in a tone meant to simulate a man's voice, not a kid's. It was comical, in Selina's point of view.
"Cool off, little boy", she roughly returned, "why don't you just take your scooter and go home to treat your boo-boo?"
His face turned bright red; his eyes, pools of deep anger and despise – now that wasn't Bruce. In all the years she had known him, as Bruce and Batman both, never she received such a sour, cruel glance from him. To be honest, she believed he wasn't capable of that: stare another human being as one stares an insect, in complete disregard for his life. No, the Batman she knew would never treat someone like that, not even one of his enemies. That look, that expression, that was Talia and grandpa Ra's in Damian eyes.
"You're lucky I've recently changed my modus operandi", he growled, "or your head would have fallen from your shoulders long ago."
She smirked. "Right. Lucky me."
Robin didn't answer; he kept that unpleasant expression and began to handcuff the men lying unconscious near their feet.
Without a word, Selina joined him in that task.
"What do you think you're doing?", he suddenly asked, his tone showing obvious outrage.
Catwoman rolled her eyes:
"What I've been doing for far too long, it seems: babysitting."
This time he didn't focus in her sarcastic joke; finger pointed directly to Selina's face – who was at least one foot taller than him -, he spoke in a way that suggested some sort of authority had been given to him by superior forces:
"Listen, woman!" He frowned in a particular way that reminded her of Bruce so much her heart skipped a beat. "Your presence in Gotham was shamefully tolerated by my father when he was alive, and his successor doesn't seem prone to change that, but you better be aware of this: in my eyes, you are my enemy! You are a criminal, and you belong to jail… if not worst."
"Oh", she said with a smile, "you should have told me that before I saved you ass, Birdie… spared me the trouble, spared me the time." She tossed one of the plastic handcuffs on her hand at him. "Enjoy."
"Thank you", he muttered, looking anything but grateful, "I will…"
Selina didn't waste another second: in a few minutes she was already over the city, nothing between her and the night sky. That was the end of her patrol, however – she suddenly felt she needed her own home and bed. That kid had drained all her good will and the disposition to do selfless things for that night. He was so obnoxious, and it felt so wrong to see him speaking of Gotham like he owned it, like he knew the first thing about crime-fighting, about being a hero, about her, even about Bruce…
That was the worst, of course; the one thing she thought she had finally been able to manage… how she missed him. In that last month or so Selina had been able to find a way of putting it behind. She had returned to her nocturnal adventures, she had found consolation in her good actions and in the idea that she was, by helping innocent people and helping the new Batman, honoring Bruce. Doing something he would like to see her do – that helped her feel close to him somehow, and in peace. Whole again. She thought she was finally over it. Coping. Getting her life back…
Tonight, she realized she wasn't. She still missed him too much. And she hated Damian, she hated his son. Because that boy brought all kind of thoughts, memories and moments to her mind, reminding her of how small was her part in Bruce's life, and how lonely she was… That crazy life of hers, the one that had, many years ago, been inspired by Batman's first adventures, had become her entire life. She lost friends, family, she had to give up her daughter because she just couldn't protect Helena from the repercussions of all this. And all this time, all these years, she had trusted this: Batman, and his presence in her life. As enemy or ally, in her good and her bad moments, Bruce would be there.
Except he wasn't. He had died, and it was so absurd, she now realized, to think it wouldn't end this way. And what did she had left? Bruce's boys?
Dick was such a wonderful kid, but now he was so overwhelmed by all that responsibility, by the burden of being Batman in Bruce's place. In a way, Dick had been stolen of his identity and his life too. He had to fill Bruce's shoes and, hell, who in a sane mind would want that job?
Tim, poor Tim… he had chosen to trail his own path, away from Gotham if he had to, away from all that reminded him of Bruce. That was painful – of all the "Robins" Selina knew, Tim was the one she had actually been closer to. Perhaps because of Helena, and how he had such a protective and caring attitude towards her. Or maybe because he was so smart, so brave, and yet so gentle. He could be a tough young man when he was patrolling the streets, but the rest of the time… he was a sweet kid. So faithful to his mentor, so loyal; he would do anything for Bruce, Selina always knew. And that's probably why he wasn't too happy about Damian wearing his old uniform and name…
Because Damian, that brat, he was undeniably one of Bruce's boys. In all his faults and problems, Selina was disturbed to notice how Bruce could be seen in that child. That wasn't because the kid mimicked his father – it was precisely because Bruce was his father. It was in their genes, in that unconscious gesture, or that way of pursing their lips. She had resisted the affirmation that Damian looked like Bruce, and it was true that, in the traces of his features, in his slim body, he physically reminded Talia and that vile "al Ghul" appearance. However, it was also factual that tonight, while watching the child's chiseled profile under the twilight of Gotham's artificial lights, she saw the exact expression Bruce displayed when focused in a hard task, and shivered when noticing both Damian and his father had the same forehead, same chin, same strong and agile hands.
That new Robin was Batman's son, undeniably. He was what was left on this Earth that carried the flesh and blood of the man she had loved. Still, she had never assumed it was reason enough for her to like him, quite the contrary; she had fervently believed that Bruce would never go easy on that boy, or tolerate that awful behavior simply because that creature shared his D.N.A.. That's the way it was with him, right? You had to prove you could be trusted; you had to give a hundred and ten per cent every day to even consider reaching Batman's high standards. His trust was a costly item, she knew that first hand.
And yet…
She had always seen in the former Batman odd signs that all the "merciless caped crusader" act was also that: an act. Bruce needed people fearing and respecting him, sure – in the end of the day, he was just a man, and though he was an extraordinary man, he also had to nurture every small advantage at his reach, fear being a pivotal one. It was easy to believe he was that harsh, ruthless person in every aspect of his life; it took time and rare opportunities to see he was actually more.
Batman, in fact, was a character built by loss – but Bruce had time and time again showed that it was his desire to fix everything that moved him. That, and his inability to quit or give up. And the fact she was there right now, fighting crime instead of perpetrating it, was enough proof that Batman, that Bruce, could forgive and forget, and be persuasive even in his lack of verbal requests. Proof that he believed in people changing, that he had hopes.
Perhaps it was that kind of belief that placed Damian in Robin's role. The boy was a child, not much older than Bruce was when his parents died. Just a child, who had lived his first years among assassins and criminals, under the influence of a mother that was probably closer to insane than to caring – yet another thing Selina could relate to.
Maybe the fact he was Bruce's biological son shouldn't mean anything; the fact that he had chosen to follow his father's steps, even if tumbling here and there, now that meant something.
And maybe that was also an angle Bruce would like her to consider, after all.
