"No," I said softly, eyes wide.
I was afraid this would happen; had harbored the secret fear that he would return incomplete, another angry spirit left to his own devices.
Damian was hard to see. I had to keep squinting and blinking to get him in focus, and even then he and kept fading in and out of my field of vision. His features were washed out, making his tan skin look whiter than I've ever seen. His once-dark hair, now a lackluster shade of gray, was the only color that stood out against his pale face. He was wearing exactly what I'd last seen him wear, the Robin uniform.
It had only been about a week since his death. His funeral was a few days ago, and I had been dreading this, half hoping I could avoid it in spite of the fact that I knew it would happen. As much as that kid annoyed me, he hadn't deserved to die.
From my own experience, the spirit of the victim of a violent death will often linger for a while before they can find peace. But there was always something wrong to keep them there-a murderer to chase down, or a family to protect. So, simply because of the fact that he was here, the message was clear.
Something was keeping him here.
Looking at him now, the thing that hurt me the most was the look on his face. It was sad, so broken inside. There had been so many things he had left unfinished, so many things he had never had a chance to say. It made my eyes sting with saltwater.
Because I was once in the same situation.
Only I had gone completely unseen. I had only been able to watch as my body was found, cared for, and buried, and pound my fists against the wall-which wouldn't even honor me with a sound in response.
Damian's expression didn't change at first, as he studied me. Then, his eyes narrowed and he wore the same look he always had when he was alive. Serious, arrogant, maybe even a little angry. Several heavy moments hung between us, and then he lifted his hand and extended it towards me.
"What?" I asked him. "What's wrong?" Obviously, there was quite a bit wrong... being dead sort of gets you down; but I thought he had something more to tell me.
Damian opened his mouth, as if to speak. Then he closed it and shook his head, bringing his arm down slowly in a gesture of defeat.
"Can you talk?" I asked. "Or are we going to have to play charades?"
He narrowed his eyes again, and pointed to a picture propped up on my dresser. I stood up and scooped it off my dresser. It was a photograph of Bruce and me on the night I became Robin, when I donned the cape for the first time.
Best day of my life.
I still remember that moment clearly, as if it was yesterday.
Bruce had grabbed me close and smiled one of his rare real smiles, not the fake ones he put on for the press' cameras. Dick had stood in front of us with the camera and snapped the picture. I was shocked it was still in my room, in the exact place I left it before I died.
"This old thing?" I asked, turning the picture over in my hands to avoid the awakening of more bittersweet memories. "What's so important about this ?"
Damian came closer and pointed at Bruce, and then spoke in a whisper. "The… future… he… saw," He paused, almost as if to catch his breath. Maybe he was just now learning to speak. It takes a while, when you stop using air and have to rely on a ghost's inexplicably shaky manner of speaking.
"Will… come… true…"
The future? I eyed him skeptically. "What do you mean? You were going to become Batman and destroy Gotham, and no offense, but that's not happening."
He shook his head.
Damian said only one word.
"Clone."
It all fit together perfectly. Of course it wasn't Damian who would destroy the city. It would be one of the clones Talia created, or possibly even the Heretic himself.
My eyes widened at the realization. Damian nodded, noting my reaction.
I put a hand to my forehead. So Damian's murderer was the same person who would, in the future, bring the apocalypse down on all our heads.
Great.
Now we had another problem on our hands. As If losing a brother (he mattered, even if we weren't that close) and all of Talia's Leviathan bullshit wasn't enough, we now had to deal with our own imminent deaths, and a psychopathic murderer taking over as Batman.
"So kid, any chance you can give me any help here?" I asked.
Damian crossed his arms, rolled his eyes and started to fade, blowing away like sand in an invisible, intangible wind.. But not before uttering a lingering
"-Tt.-"
