Title: Exchange and Foundation
Summary: Watching along corners and before shadows, Damian could not help but think that this boy could not possibly be a part of him, or his father. If he were, he would have noticed him stalking just out of sight an hour ago.
Disclaimer: I do not own any named DC characters, animated or otherwise, nor do I make any money from this. Blah.
This was written in for the exchange I've become party to with Rose Midnight Moonlight Black. I am endlessly flattered by the reviews given to me by this particular author, and as such am presenting this. Another little one-shot featuring Terry's more psychotic, violence prone older brother. There is a slight connection between this and 'Twinning', but mostly it's based off of RMMB's fics. Live long and prosper!
"Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love."
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
If one were to look at the Bat clan, a person with mental capabilities and high intellect (and someone who knew them personally and not from afar like that leech Batwoman or old, old dead Gordon) would probably compare them to base animals with territory—Gotham—and laws of survival and competition—Batman, Birds, Batgirls and, of course, allies and Rogues—and write an essay on them. Not a very good essay, of course, after all nobody within the super hero community would read it except the nerds and squares like the Supers or, possibly on a good day, all those tall armored super models of Chastity Belt Island.
This is the thought that came to Damian Wayne as he stalked from the alleys and rooftops after whom Drake had suggested might be his—and here he is screaming on the inside and begging the universe to prove the know-it-all wrong—little, baby brother. Who is more than twenty years his junior and presently walking out of his school to some night club. With his girlfriend.
He will never forgive his father if Drake is right.
…Well, maybe not. He lost most of his will to be bitter and consistently filled with loathing toward his family almost thirty years ago when he realized (to nobodies great surprise but his own) that he was gay.
Clipping those thoughts away, Damian stopped just at the corner of the next intersection before him, far behind Terry—the boy—and his regal and rather frightening blue eyes watched the young man and his short-short skirt wearing, amazingly attractive Asian girlfriend enter into the club he had eavesdropped them talking about since that morning when he followed Terry to school.
Waiting, heels clicking on occasion and making little silver steeled metal clinging that would make tap dancers envious, the Wayne heir silently crossed the street and stalked up to the doors of the night club.
It was Gotham, nights came too early here than most places by the sea and dusk was already upon them, only an hour after school. Hyped up teenagers were milling about, loitering or simply walking into the neon decorated building, nobody being turned away as the place had only just risen from the ashes of being ransacked by Jokerz who had been caught soon after by the new (Damian felt his teeth grind with the humiliation of it all) Batman.
He is probably quite the odd sight as he walks into the place. Perhaps he looks a bit too much like a lech or a stone cold biker with a drug habit in his too big black leather jacket that he borrowed from Colin (his boyfriend of as many years as he's been aware of his sexuality) with the white undershirt and ever so slightly faded jeans with steel tipped bots to top off the look. Normally, and that was quite often as he no longer lived in Gotham, he would be seen as a prickly business type in pristine black and blue suits, exuding the aura of a king. But, tonight he exuded the aura of 'keep the fuck away' and nobody but an idiot or a whore would bother him.
He stops at the edge of the dance floor, bodies writhing around and about like a lake of wriggling worms or some kind of birds that thrive on affection and sex and the low watt flicking of multi-colored lights. He hates the whole feel of the place, but it gives him the opportunity to pretend to be looking for a dance partner rather than his quarry.
His eyes flicker about, hands in his pockets and fingering an old birdarang that Grayson gave him…years ago. Damian looks above the heads of high school, college and university students, a few people that are bordering along their twenties and up to his age, and finally, he spots Terry.
And like that, he trails over to the bar counter, to a spot where Damian can see the boy, but the boy cannot see him, not until he wants him to.
The bartender, a young brunette who's not ugly or attractive, comes his way practically in the same moment his ass touches the barstool and asks over the loud screaming and beat that qualifies as music, "What'll it be?"
He blinks a moment and finally answers back, "Just a diet soda," and hands her a tip in the next moment, so he can turn back to watch Terry and his…company…without being interrupted.
The kid is sitting in a round booth with his girl and two others. One is on his left, like a negative but pleasant copy to the young Asian girl. This one is a lovely cocoa color, with very bright pink dyed hair cut short, her hands typing away at a laptop with what Damian can assume and just barely make out as bumper stickers along the back, some in bold print, some not and he can just tell that while her hands are busy, she is still rooted in the their conversation. The other girl is sitting beside Terry's girlfriend and it is apparent that this prissy looking little blonde is Terry's girlfr-…Dana, Damian finally notices, reading Terry's lips as he leans in closer to the petite little thing.
As he feels the diet soda he ordered slide beside his hand resting along the edge of the counter, it is in that precise moment, Terry leaning in closer as though to whisper into Dana's ear and instead bringing her in for a light kiss, Damian knows Drake—why must it be Drake?—was right.
He can tell, in the way all those trained by Bruce know in their bones, heart and mind, like good little detectives, when they are among family. Even if they have never really met them before.
It's not just the right color of blue Terry has for his eyes, or the sleek black of his hair, or even those little genetic features descended from Bruce that even Damian has that instills his all-knowing feelings, it's also just the way he is.
Terry leans in and exhibits affection with a light brush of hand against hand and little kisses exactly how Bruce had so long ago; to Selina, to princess Diana, and even to Damian's own mother before their own personal wars took over and they lost affection. There is a boldness there that Damian has never seen in anyone other than himself.
Damian curses mentally and wonders about how this "blessed miracle" of another Bat brat has come to be. How did he find Bruce? As far as Damian could trace through various connections, the old man and the brat had not even known of or about each other until a little while ago, just after the murder of Terry's…father? But, as was Bruce's way, he had taken Terry in and, despite all odds and him being unable to physically, trained the teen, was still training and teaching him.
But he wasn't doing a very good job of it, or Terry would have noticed Damian a long time before they made it to the club.
That was not something he could tolerate.
Blue eyes still watching, lips and mouth taking in his fizzy drink, he followed after Terry and Dana. They started to dance closer towards Damian's area, though not nearly as sexually provocative as those among them. They were mellow and focused not so much on the beat, but on each other.
A decade ago, this would have made Damian want to wretch, but now, after years of having an actual relationship of his own, it just made him mildly uncomfortable.
When the music changed, the two of them smiled and Terry pointed Dana back in the direction of their friends and their booth, his thumb jutting over his shoulder, an implication of getting their little group a round of drinks. Right in Damian's direction, which would be climactic in the movies, but since Damian prided himself in being in control of himself and his emotions at all times, the dark man found himself groaning and spinning upon the stool, to finish his drink and be sure the kid didn't see him.
After thirty seconds, he felt the presence of the newest Batman beside him, the smell of teenage cologne and sweat all over him. The smell mixed rather unpleasantly with his own scent of that new 'Black Magic and Poison' cologne that Colin forced him to put on that morning in their hotel. Damian liked it, but he did not like Terry's. It reminded him of a long time ago, during his own school days and his less admirable nights on the town.
"Can I get a couple pitchers of the specials and, um, one large cappuccino," Terry ordered from the plain brunette, stifling a yawn behind his hand and taking out his wallet.
Oh, this Damian could not pass up.
"Burnin' the midnight oil, kid," he asked, a fake accent at his disposal on the southern end of description, close to Texas, but only just so.
"You have no idea," Terry grinned as he accepted the drinks, fumbling to give the bartender the credits owed, plus tip.
"Ya take it easy. A young guy like yourself can't be too careful."
"Thanks for the advice."
Observing the young man walk away, a little nod tilted in Damian's direction, with a smile too sincere to be learned and slightly reminiscent of Grayson when the Wayne heir was still learning and a bit too bold, but still managed to sometimes get it right, Damian found that, though it would have been fun to trip him up, he wouldn't.
Not tonight. He could wait.
After all, Damian Wayne is nothing if not patient.