The child's face is a rather ugly shade of blotchy red as it wails. It's screeches could put a banshee to shame. The child's eyes are strained at what once was his brother but now is a corpse. Another victim of the murderous jester that was one of his father's rogues. The Joker had once again broke out of Arkham and instead of catching him it seemed like Damian was chasing the Joker only to be late to catch the supposed clown prince of Gotham. He, unfortunately and uncomfortably, wasn't too late to come across the victims.
Damian is not good with people. He knows this. He admits to it because admitting your weakness is the first step to learning to overcome it. Arrogance can cost you. Arrogance makes you unwilling to learn. Damian is proud of his skills but if he - and only he - are to eventually obtain his right to his father mantle than he must be willing to learn, to bend. After all things that do not bend do break.
Unceremoniously, Damian simply kicks Drake in his shin. The startled yelp that Damian can barely hear over the child's anguish cries brings a small smile to his face before it's quickly wiped off.
"Give me the child," he demands. The only reason he doesn't voice Drake's last name as though it's acid, as though it's a curse to even voice , is because they are in the field and Damian is many things but an amateur is not of those things.
Drake sends him a glare as he continues to fail (no surprise there since this was Drake) at comforting the child. Letting out a harsh breath in annoyance Damian once again kicked Drake in his shin though this time significantly harder than before as he leant forward and easily snatched the wailing child from Drake's incapable hands.
The shade of red and the snot running down the child's face is even uglier up close. Damian pays it no mind because his stomach, his chest - his something has been feeling ill ever since he's heard the first wails. Perhaps it because Damian knows what it like to lose your brother that he feels something besides annoyance at this child.
Carefully he gathers the still wailing child in his arms. The little boy clutches on his cape with chubby blood stained and grimy hands. Hesitantly, as though the child was that of a frightened animal, Damian raises a gloved hand and cards his fingers through the dirty blond locks.
Damian makes a noise that demands silence. Grayson calls it a shh. The child stares with rather large green eyes filled with tears. Drake is mumbling something about Robin you're incompetent at children or people in general. One would think by now Drake would have learnt not to his underestimate him. Well it doesn't matter what Drake thinks because Drake doesn't matter. Drake isn't his brother despite what Grayson preaches to him.
Gently he rocks the child, his hand still carding through the boy's locks. Softly he hums a song which while Damian had no feelings of comfort from it Terrance had loved it when he'd been alive. His heart feels even heavier than the weight in his arms. His eyes sting from the dirt and debris from the Joker's mindless slaughter. Tighter his fingers curl into the boy's hair but the child seems not to mind. The loss of losing a brother is far worse than the pain of fingers too tight in ones' hair.
Damian knows this all too well.
A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under youngjusticewriter. This is the first part of the series 'How to build a home in a graveyard.'