Stay

by lacemonster

[Age-Swap AU; Damian is Batman, Dick is Robin]Damian returns to Gotham for the first time in five years to take the cowl from his injured father. However, Bruce is unwilling to give up the cowl-and their past-as easily as Damian hoped. Then there's the matter of Dick Grayson, his father's recently added ward, who insists on wanting to fight crime. [DickDami, warnings inside]

2. Part 2

A/N: This is just a reminder that this story is meant to be read as one-shot, so the first scene in Part 2 takes immediately after Part 1.

---

Things slowly returned to normal.

Whatever normal was, anyways.

Damian was training, as always, when Bruce began to occupy the Cave at the same time. Bruce never said anything directly to him—but over time, the space they occupied began to overlap, and they could finally be in the same room as each other. Alfred started talking to him again, a few words here and there at first, but eventually with the same ease that he and Bruce were able to face each other. Then Dick picked up his training again and it was like everything had just been rebooted.

Dick never brought up what happened in Damian's room, and Damian didn't dare to mention it at all. But Damian did sense that Dick's apprehensions had slipped away. Dick started bothering him in the same way he bothered Alfred and Bruce—senseless chatter and questions. Damian would normally hate the unwanted attention—but he had expected this reaction, and was more than satisfied the few times he had caught his father watching them talk.

"When you travelled, did people know about Batman?" Dick asked, following him around the training room.

"Depends," Damian said. A lot of the places he stayed were hermited—but a lot of people did know Bruce Wayne, mostly because Damian had trained in the same temples that his father had trained, though few of them seemed to understand the connection between the man and the vigilante. The ones that did know the connection hardly cared.

"What about you?"

"Few people know about me. I wanted it that way."

"You caught so many criminals though," Dick said. The speed at which he talked began to grow faster and faster, his excitement rising, "Like that one time, when there was a Blackgate breach, and you and Bruce caught every single one of them in the same night. Bruce got a lot of them, but you caught more people than he did. Why wouldn't you want anyone to know about that?"

Damian suddenly felt oddly defensive being under Dick's scrutiny, even though Damian had nothing to fear from this child that was half his size. "I didn't do it for glory. It was easier to work in the shadows, anyways."

"Is it because you're shy?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous." Damian felt almost insulted by the insinuation. He wasn't sure where Dick came to that conclusion. Indeed, Dick just looked up at Damian blankly, lacking a follow-up argument. "I'm not timid. I'm just—"Damian wasn't sure of the right word so he used what he thought was the closest"—reserved."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No, it's not."

"Damian," a voice suddenly cut in. It was Bruce. "Come with me. We're going to test out some new equipment."

Damian caught a glimpse of Dick, who actually looked disappointed that Damian was being dragged away, even though they were just talking nonsense. After Damian had followed Bruce a bit, Bruce finally spoke up.

"I'm glad you two are talking."

Damian's first reaction was to get defensive—but the whole point of being nice to Dick was to get his father's attention. To prove that he was capable of following instructions and working with others. This was the reaction he had been waiting for.

"We have to work as a team," Damian said simply. Bruce nodded, seeming pleased with his answer.

"He's a good kid," Bruce said. It was a short, almost terse, compliment—but it was a compliment nonetheless. Damian raised an eyebrow, his expression dry. "Things may be difficult now—but he'll grow on you. He has a lot of heart."

Damian doubted his father's words. It seemed more like his father was talking about himself rather than considering how poorly Damian got along with others.

They were going over a new prototype when Alfred quickly approached them, practically running from the other side of the room. Bruce and Damian immediately put down the prototype, giving the butler their full attention.

"Sirs, there is an important matter going on in city hall. It appears the building has been taken hostage."

"When are they going to increase their security?" Damian said, wondering out loud. A similar situation had happened back when Damian was twelve… and once again when he was sixteen… some things never changed.

Bruce frowned deeply. Damian could sense his concern—they were supposed to be starting small. They still couldn't operate their missions properly. He looked at Damian, deep thought in his eyes.

"Do you think you can do it? Properly?" Bruce asked.

Damian wasn't going to be sent on a city-saving mission just because he was the only option. His father would never resort to that. But the way he was asking him seemed to betray a small level of trust.

Damian nodded once. "Yes. I'll get dressed."

Dick had arrived to the congregation late. "What's going on?" he asked, glancing back and forth between them.

"There's a hostage situation in city hall. Suit up," Bruce told him.

There was some conflict in Dick's eyes—he didn't seem afraid, just uncertain. Almost insecure. "That seems really important. I don't want to get in the way."

Bruce's eyes faded a little, the realization sinking in. The adults all looked at each other, in a way of understanding. It was a dangerous mission. Perhaps too dangerous for a minor. This was Dick—not Damian, who had his life threatened multiple times back when he was a League of Assassins disciple and could afford to go on scarier missions as a child.

"Perhaps Master Damian should go alone this time around," Pennyworth suggested, in a tone that was almost cautious. Even so, there was a noticeable shift in Dick's mood. His eyes had fallen to the ground.

Bruce didn't say anything but he was considering the thought. He seemed to agree. Damian's heart began to thump a little—he was probably going to regret the decision, but he spoke up anyways.

"He should come with. I'll need the backup."

The last thing Damian wanted was backup. Indeed, everyone seemed to look at him in surprise. Damian looked directly into his father's eyes. Bruce seemed mixed—underneath the shock was the face of a man who wanted to be proud but was too cautious of it.

"Alright," Bruce said. "Alfred and I will keep surveillance on the cameras to instruct you through it. Be careful."

Even though Dick had been the doubtful one, he was the first one to finish getting changed.

They drove directly to city hall, where GCPD and the media stood outside. Damian, from a distance, spotted Commissioner Gordon—it was his first time seeing the commissioner since his return to Gotham. His hairline was receding and his facial hair had wisps of grey.

Damian didn't stare for long—he and Dick quickly snuck past the police lines and into an open window on the second story. As planned, Damian released a bat-droid as soon as they stepped inside. It was tiny, not visible from a distance, with a camera attached. The Cave controlled the droid, getting vision over the inside of city hall.

"I'm picking up police feedback. They're speaking to the armed gunmen. There's several of them," Pennyworth advised.

"They're in the lobby," Bruce said. "I'll keep scouting to see if there are any others elsewhere. Stay put and stay quiet."

Damian turned on the scanner on his bracer, which tracked heat signatures in any given area. It was just him and Dick. After a moment, Bruce spoke again.

"There's some men guarding the outside of the mayor's office. I can't get any closer without risking being seen, I'm not sure how many there are. But they most likely have the mayor with them. The guards also appear to have radios."

Damian felt frustrated. They had two groups of hostages but he and Dick still couldn't afford to split up.

"So who do we choose to let live?" Damian said into the commlink, an edge to his voice. He was being sarcastic. Mostly. "The mayor or the group of hostages in the lobby?"

"Focus on the lobby first. Your highground advantage will let you take them out quickly and efficiently. If you can take out their radios first, then they'll have no way of contacting the mayor's office. However—the gunfire will most definitely alert them. Take out the radio signal, take away their guns, then take them out."

Damian headed toward the main staircase, staying concealed behind the railing. On the ground below were the gunmen circled around some hostages. There were four of them. Standing by the doors were another two.

Damian reached into his belt, pulling out a small device. He set up the radio jammer, disrupting the audio. Many of the guards were unmoving, though one of them did glance down at his belt—likely hearing static.

All of the men were armed and two of them were at a safe distance.

"We'll smoke the group," Damian decided, speaking in a low voice. "Disarm and tranq the two in the back, then take out the rest of them."

"That seems too risky. What if we don't make it back before the smoke clears up?" Dick asked.

"It's the only solution I can think of. We can't take all six of them at once. Be ready. I'm going to throw the bomb, you're going to tranq the one on the right. I'll get the left. Then we'll have to get down there, quick."

Dick breathed in. There was something subtle about it. Damian had been trained to sense the fear in a person—and while he may not have understood people and the things that made them afraid, he did recognize the shakiness in Dick's breathing, the tension in his form.

Damian had limited experience in giving positive reinforcement, if he had any. He almost wanted to leave Dick right there and handle the situation on his own. But despite Dick's fear, he wasn't running. He sat there, side by side with Damian, listening to his plan.

If this was going to work, Damian had to say something.

"I need you to do this," Damian said. Simple, perhaps too blunt, words. Dick looked up at him. Damian pushed himself, adding, "I can't do this without your help."

Dick looked at him for a moment. Damian sensed the wariness in his eyes. But whether or not he believed Damian, he nodded slightly, saying, "One-two-go."

Damian nodded in agreement, grabbing the smoke bomb from his belt. They both readied themselves.

"One. Two. Go."

---

Dick's mood had considerably changed. The boy's enthusiasm seemed to skyrocket. Damian didn't bother disparaging him. In truth, his mind was practically floating. After shaking hands with the commissioner and the mayor, it felt like nothing could bring him down.

"I feel invincible," Dick said, beaming. Damian tugged on his cape when he started wandering in the wrong direction. The batmobile was the other way. But Dick didn't skip a beat, turning on his heel and hurrying to walk by Damian's side. "What did the Cave say?"

"'Nice work'," Damian repeated, his father's words echoing in his mind.

"It was more than 'nice'," Dick said, grinning. He added, "Did you see all of those cameras? I think those Gotham Gazette reporters took photos of you."

"Tt. Great," Damian said sarcastically. Dick's head tilted to the side.

"Is that a bad thing? At the Cave, they said Gotham might not like the new Batman. But if those journalists talk about how you saved lives, maybe Gotham won't be so afraid of you."

"They're supposed to be afraid of me," Damian said, taking off. Dick followed him.

Behind him, he could hear Dick ask, "Is it easier if people are afraid of you?"

Damian pretended he didn't hear him.

---

Bruce didn't say anything when they returned—but Damian could feel it. His father was pleased that they made it back, together, in what was their first successful mission together. They had taken a leap forward.

Over time, Damian started to slowly venture out of his room, his territory making its way outside of the bedroom and the Cave that he had confined himself in. He started to explore other parts of the house more openly. He wasn't reluctant to eat in the dining room and kitchen or visit the library or walk in the garden—although he still managed to time it when no one else was around.

Damian was passing through the parlor when he heard faint music—followed by little beeps and sound effects. He circled around the couch, peeking over, and was startled when a face looked back up at him. Dick was laying on the couch upside down, one leg propped up on the back of the couch, his head hanging off of the seat with his hair splayed out in different directions.

Damian sighed a little. He didn't even know why he was surprised.

Dick put down the video game in his lap long enough to look at him. "What?"

Damian glanced down at the screen, suspicions confirmed. It was a game he played as a kid but it must have been re-released for this newer system. He was pleased to see the graphics and music remained the same as what he remembered.

"Do you wanna try?" Dick said, noticing Damian looking at it. Damian did but he felt too old. The system was all shiny and thin, unlike the brick he used to play on. Dick handed it to him without waiting for an answer, poking it against his hand.

Damian sighed a little and took it. Dick sat up properly on the couch, hovering over Damian's arm so he could watch the screen.

"Don't look with your face," Damian said, grumbling, when Dick's head blocked his view. Dick backed up a little. Damian restarted the level. The buttons were the same but the wide console design felt odd in his hands.

The little knight ran across the screen, in a level that Damian recognized. He hopped over obstacles and swung his sword at enemies. The knight ran to a treasure chest.

"If you open that, it'll change your weapon," Dick said, in what sounded like a warning.

"I know," Damian said, opening the chest and grabbing the bow and arrow.

"The sword does more damage," Dick said, frowning.

"The arrows are quicker," Damian said. The little knight hopped throughout the castle, rapid-firing arrows at enemies that exploded in pixelated messes. Damian scrolled through the level and got to the boss, hopping around the room and firing arrows, jumping out of the way whenever the boss attacked. The health bar slowly chipped away until the gargoyle finally gave an electronic scream, the screen flashing as it died.

"How'd you do that?" Dick asked, taking back the game. He looked at it as if Damian had unlocked the secrets to the universe.

"I've played it before—when I was young."

"I didn't think you played games."

Damian raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should be slighted by the comment. "What do you think I did in my spare time?"

"I dunno. Sulked?" Dick said. Damian's expression soured. Brat. Dick just tilted his head back on couch, looking up at Damian. His grin was all teeth.

Damian left Dick on the couch and continued with what he was doing—but he heard the couch squeak, followed by light footsteps.

"What are you doing?" Damian asked without looking back, even though he already knew the answer. Dick was following him simply for the sake of wanting to follow him.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked.

"Sulking."

Dick kept following him anyways, into the back hallway. They passed the long line of Wayne family portraits. Dick raced ahead of him, stopping at the portrait of Alan Wayne.

"Is it weird knowing that you're related to all these guys?" Dick asked. "I don't even know who my great grandparents are. My grandpa was adopted by the circus." Dick didn't wait for an answer, he was already speeding down the line of portraits, looking at them all. He stopped at Solomon Wayne, laughing. "You should grow facial hair like that."

Damian rolled his eyes. Dick's immaturity was showing.

"Be respectful," Damian said. Although, as a child, he had said similar things. He finally stopped at a door, opening it up. It led into the storage room. Pennyworth managed to keep it remarkably organized and cleaned—though it was still teeming with junk. Damian carefully walked through the aisles of shelves, passing tons of boxes and big antiques. He finally came across a box with his name on it.

It was a little heavy, even for him. He plucked it off the shelf, growled in annoyance so Dick would get out of his way, and set it down. He opened it up, going through it—reuniting with all of the things he had to abandon when he left five years ago.

Dick watched as Damian dug through the items. Dick's eyes suddenly lit up, grabbing a case from the box.

"Hey!" he said, showing Damian the cover. It was the game that they had just played, except in its original format.

Damian shrugged. "You already own it. It can probably be tossed or donated. I'm not even sure if I have the system."

Damian didn't bother to comment when Dick started digging through the box too—maybe he'd find what he was looking for. Suddenly, there was a familiar jingle—the single sound bringing an onslaught of flashbacks. Damian looked up at once, saw Dick reading the nametag off of a collar.

"Who's Titus?"

It wasn't what he was looking for. Still, "Set it aside."

Damian shuffled through, beginning to wonder if there was a second box with more of his stuff packed away—still, he couldn't recall having left much behind. Just as he was about to give up and look anyways, he noticed a small wooden box painted with arabesque designs. He immediately grabbed it. He spared the wooden box and Titus' collar and packaged up the rest of the things to put back on the shelf. Dick looked at the small wooden box but this time, he didn't go rifling through it without permission. He seemed to recognize its value. Damian grabbed the items and got up.

"What is it?" Dick asked, still following.

"Just a box," Damian said, brushing off the question. It wasn't really the box that was important, although he had owned it for a long time as well, it was what was inside the box. Damian was far from materialistic or sentimental but this particular item he had a softspot for. Dick seemed unsatisfied by the answer but he didn't push it.

"I don't think I've ever been in that room," Dick said. "Your house is really big."

Damian found that wording to be odd.

"I'd almost say it's your home more than mine."

"It's not my home," Dick said at once. "The road is my home."

Damian looked at him. Dick must have realized what he said only after he caught the look. He suddenly seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed.

"I mean, everyone has been really nice to me," he said, eyes darting to the side. He seemed worried, maybe because he almost sounded ungrateful. He seemed to want to explain himself. "I like the old cars that Alfred drives. I like how big everything is here and that I have my own room. I like going to a real school and eating a dinner at an actual table. But it's not—"he stopped himself, looking uncomfortable.

"It's like being stuck between two worlds," Damian said, thinking. Dick considered this for a moment.

"Yeah. It kind of is." Dick looked up at him with big, blue eyes. As if reading his mind, he asked, "Was it like that for you, when you first moved in with your dad?"

"Yes," Damian confessed. It wasn't something he had admitted to anyone before. Damian's brow furrowed a little—he felt a need to clarify himself. He said, "I was ready to give up my old life when I came here. I wanted to give up my old life, despite what it meant to leave everything behind. But it was a difficult transition."

"I don't think I could have done it, if it had been me. I only came here because I didn't really have a choice," Dick said, shrugging a little. "But this place must have felt like home to you eventually—you did come back, after all."

Damian's gaze lowered a little. It was true. Those early, beginning days of living in the manor had been so difficult. The rules were different. The way people acted were different. It wasn't all bad—in other ways, the manor was easier, and over time, everything became easier. He felt an acceptance, a love, inside of that manor that he had rarely, if ever, felt during his time in the stuffy League of Assassins with his mother.

Now he was back and it was like going through it all over again. This time, however, instead of trying to find something, anything, that was better than his old life—he was now jaded, deciding things would never go back to the way they were.

"It'll start to feel like home for you too," Damian said, the words spilling out before he could think about it.

Dick was visibly surprised, not expecting to hear such kind words—even Damian began to feel embarrassed for what he had said. He didn't mean to sound so inviting. But Dick didn't comment on it, he just smiled—not in a mocking or teasing way, like on the couch, but in a way that he took Damian's words to heart. In a way that showed that Damian's words had comforted him, even filled him with happiness.

Damian couldn't remember the last time he had said anything supportive to anyone—he especially couldn't think of a time he had made someone smile, much less just through the use of words.

Damian didn't think he could create that reaction in anybody.

Sighing a little, he stopped, taking a moment to open up the box. Dick watched carefully as the latches were lifted. Damian showed it to him.

Inside the box were tiny figurines carved from ivory. Damian had it since he was an infant, a gift from the al Ghul bloodline. They were modelled after warriors and royalty and animals and mythological beings alike. He used to rearrange them on his bedside table every night. It was one of the few things that he took with him when he moved into Wayne Manor, but he had left it all behind when he made his travels.

"Why is there a hedgehog?" Dick asked right away.

Damian's face fell. In the box were warriors with scimitars and chariots and kings and lions and tigers and djinns, and all Dick could focus on was the stupid hedgehog.

"I don't know."

Dick looked at it, giggling a little. "It's cute."

Damian was starting to think that between this and the fruit bats, Dick thought everything was cute. Damian watched Dick as he stared at it fixedly and he sighed a little, saying, "Just take it."

---

It was a few weeks later that they came across their first death.

It wasn't anything that Batman and Robin had any control over. They were attending other matters when they got the signal. A woman had been taken hostage—but her capturer panicked when GCPD arrived and tossed her over the roof. Now she was dead and the killer was on the run.

Damian went to take a quick look at the body, talking to the police officers about the case. It was brief and quick—they needed to chase after the killer. When Damian was done, he turned and saw Dick looking at the body, face expressionless.

Damian watched him for a moment, briefly wondering if Dick had never seen a dead body before—but then he remembered that Dick had watched his parents fall to their deaths, and it suddenly made more sense.

Damian glanced at the woman once more, her neck twisted and blood surrounding her. Body completely still, motionless, like it was frozen in time. The police watched carefully, almost interfering, when Damian kneeled next to her. He looked at her eyes, still wide open, and closed them.

There was something noticeably different about Dick for the rest of the night. Something changed. He didn't say much, hardly said anything at all, even when they captured the man. But there wasn't a sadness to him—instead there was this quiet, subtle intensity.

It all bubbled up at the end of the night, when they finally returned to the Cave. Damian caught Dick and Bruce talking while he was taking off his equipment. Dick was still fully dressed in his uniform—he had went straight to Bruce. Damian eyed them suspiciously, watching Bruce as he listened to Dick quietly, a strained expression on his face.

Finally deciding he couldn't keep to himself any longer, Damian dared to move in closer, hearing the words better with every step.

"...it's been months now. I can't keep waiting—"Dick stopped when Damian approached them. Damian looked back and forth between them.

"Are you talking business without me?" was Damian's first assumption.

"It's not like that," Dick said, sounding irritated. Damian couldn't remember the last time Dick had spoken that way—he wasn't bothered, just looked at Dick curiously. Damian heard Bruce sigh a little.

"I think you two have been making great progress. But I'm not sure if you two are ready to start taking these big cases—it takes more time, more commitment, and it can be dangerous."

"We saved city hall—"Dick started to argue.

"That was different. It was an emergency situation," Bruce said a little more firmly.

"Every day we waste is just another day where a criminal will get away," Dick said, more insistently.

"You help people by going on patrol—that's not a waste. Remember what I told you: first and foremost, this is about helping people." Bruce seemed to be getting irritated himself. He shook his head. "I thought you understood that."

"I do—but you promised we would work on these cases," Dick said, sounding a little more desperate.

"I can't risk these cases getting ruined by a team that can't commit. It's a lot of work and effort to compile evidence and have it dropped halfway through." Bruce looked at Dick for a moment and added, "I understand what you're feeling right now. But trust me, the case can wait a little longer while you two collect your bearings."

There was something deeper to this conversation that Damian wasn't grasping. Still, he felt he had to interfere.

"How much longer?" Damian asked, in a voice that was almost challenging. "Will there ever be enough time for you?"

Bruce's anger began to surface, an emotion Damian always managed to ignite without fail. He flashed Damian a look. "Don't patronize me. You always want to charge in first and think second."

"Not true, I always analyze the situation. We just disagree on when to charge in," Damian said at once. He continued, ignoring the look his father gave him, "What happened with city hall was an emergency—but you still asked me if I wanted to do it. You could have forbidden it. When I told Richard to come with, you didn't object. You trust us, to some extent." Damian shrugged. "It's been long overdue—you've been out of commission for months. Those cases could run cold if we don't pick them up now. You can't expect me to believe that you're satisfied with them sitting around."

Damian and Dick both waited for Bruce's answer. Bruce was quiet, thinking. Bruce finally murmured, "I'll think about it. Get some rest."

Damian got ready for bed. On the bedside table, he had his ivory figures on display—save for the queen, who he kept locked inside the box. He was in the process of laying out the futon when he heard a faint creak at the door.

Damian paused, watching Alfred—the cat—enter his room. The cat approached him, laying on the carpet near him. Not too close, but close enough to reach. Damian looked at him, wondering if he should risk petting him or not—he could bite him or, worse, run away.

Damian held his breath and reached out, touching him. The soft fur greeted his fingertips. The cat blinked slowly, almost lazily, but did not hiss.

Damian set down the pillow he was holding, scooting in closer. He pet Alfred over the neck a few times, gauging his reaction. Alfred accepted it, so Damian began to pet him behind the ears, remembering the spot. Alfred rolled over, closing his eyes, encouraging him to continue. When Damian finally stopped, the cat looked up at him and gave a disgruntled meow.

Damian's face softened at the sound. He hadn't heard it in so long. He went back to petting him.

Moments later, Damian heard another noise. His eyes looked toward the ceiling. He heard it again.

Richard.

Damian felt conflicted for a moment. The last time he had gone up to the roof, it was just to see what was going on. Then he brought Dick back into his room, playing nice so he could gain his father's favor. Damian felt some responsibility to go up and check on him but he didn't want to get too close to the boy. Didn't want to get too close to anyone, not even his father or Pennyworth. Not again.

He continued to go to bed, abandoning the cat. The window was left untouched, even as the footsteps continued to wander aimlessly.

Damian pulled up the covers, deciding it'd be better to ignore it. Better to stay away.

---

"Hey, someone still has their Christmas lights up," Dick said, pointing.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Focus, Robin."

"It kind of reminds me of fireflies," Dick said, passing him.

"Let me guess: you have some bonus round trivia information about fruit bats eating fireflies."

"Fruit bats don't eat fireflies. They eat fruit, duh. Weren't you the one who said that?" Dick said, sounding more than amused. Damian didn't bother responding. He was too busy focusing on the coordinates Bruce had sent him. "I can't wait til it's summer, then I can see real fireflies... Hey, have you ever actually seen a fruit bat eat?"

"I can't recall," Damian said dryly. They came across a wide gap between the roofs. Damian stopped, briefly wondering if it was too wide, but Dick was already moving ahead of him—kicking off an adjacent wall to properly make it across. Damian followed after him.

"It's so funny. When they eat grapes, their faces get all stuffed up, and they look like this." Dick quickly glanced back at Damian, holding his breath and puffing his cheeks up to demonstrate. Damian would have chided him but in the end, Dick was still moving and keeping up. His silliness wasn't distracting him from doing his job.

Despite himself, Damian found himself curious about this bit of information, his heart skipping at the mental image that floated in his head. But he'd never let Dick have the satisfaction of knowing that he had any sort of interest in his stupid fruit bats.

"Tt. So that's why you're glued to the computer all of the time. How many fruit bat videos do you have favorited?"

"Just one. But I also saw a documentary on bats," Dick said. If he caught onto the teasing, it certainly didn't bother him. He added, "If you were a bat, you'd probably be a fruit bat."

"What?" It was such a strange comment, Damian wasn't sure where to begin.

"Fruit bats have a good sense of smell. You're constantly smelling things."

This was just getting weirder. "What proof do you have of this?"

"Well, you have an incense holder in your room and you always come downstairs when there are cinnamon rolls."

"The incense is for meditation. And you're the one who keeps asking for more cinnamon rolls—they're always in the house," Damian said.

"I guess," Dick said, in a tone that suggested that he didn't agree. As if he somehow had a better idea than Damian did about matters concerning his senses.

"Grapple down there," Damian said, pointing. Dick withdrew his grappling gun on command.

They swung down to the alleyway, continued their trek.

"I'm starting to wonder why you chose Robin as your moniker. Was Bat Kid too degrading?" Damian said.

"I like robins too. I like all animals that fly."

They hopped a fence that blocked their path.

"Was a robin really the best choice?" Damian said in a low voice, skeptical.

"Well, I picked it because of a song that my mom used to sing. I guess I could have picked something cooler. Like Owlet." After a moment, Dick made a small humming sound. "Although, owls eat bats, so I guess that wouldn't make sense. I dunno. I like Robin. What do you think?"

"Chicken Boy."

"Not funny," Dick muttered, actually sounding a little annoyed. Damian had to bite back his smirk.

Damian grabbed Dick and had them duck down behind a stack of empty cardboard boxes sitting in the alley, observing their targeted building.

Bruce had assigned them to this place on a specific task. Damian had no idea how closely this tied into their cases—but his suspicions began to rise when Bruce specifically instructed them to find out who the men were working for.

It had been a couple of days since Dick had confronted Bruce. Damian started to notice that the police signals that were being picked up were of the more dangerous variety. Bruce was letting them move forward, working on more serious assignments.

It had an effect on Damian's partnership with Dick. Dick proved he could handle himself in dire situations. Proved that he could keep up. Damian hardly thought about Dick when they were on patrol, which was a good thing. He wasn't constantly watching after him or worrying about where he was positioned, who he was fighting, how he was faring. It boosted his ability to work, knowing that Dick could handle himself, and their teamwork, confidence and success all increased as a result.

They were infiltrating a safehouse—some miscellaneous for-hire mobsters. He observed the inside of the building, finding no apparent firearms. Easy.

Damian broke through the lock, where they snuck in. The building only had one door in and out. Damian stopped, looking around the narrow corridor they were in, an idea formulating in his head.

Dick was going off without him, peeking his head around the corner. Damian resisted sighing and yanked him back. Damian knelt, whispering, "Do you know what a funnel is?"

"Obviously," Dick said at once. Then he looked at Damian, saw the box-shaped device he had withdrawn from his belt, and said, "Oh."

Dick quickly tugged up his boots before ducking around the corner. Damian waited patiently in the hallway. He could hear the mobsters talking casually amongst themselves for a few moments, their voices hushed by the distance.

Then suddenly, a loud crash. An uproar followed suit—a mix of startled yells and curses and a child's laughter somewhere in the mix. Furniture scooting across the ground, things falling to the ground in a clatter, footsteps stumbling around. Damian felt a dull crick in his neck—tilted his head to relieve it. Cleared his throat a little.

The noise grew louder and louder. Closer. Damian got on one knee to steady himself. A flash of red and green came around the corner, easily hopping over Damian's head. Damian felt the recoil as he unloaded the box, the net parachuting out at the group of mobsters. The tangle of bodies stumbled over each other, tripping around in the confined space.

"Come on," Damian said to Dick, hearing some noise in the other room still. They moved around the bodies and Damian just barely caught a body climbing through an open window.

They both took off after the runaway—but the man clearly didn't know where he was going, didn't realize what he was accidentally setting himself up for. They chased him towards the dead end.

The light in the alleyway was dim and flickering—still, it was apparent that there was no escape. The man tried to climb up the fence that blocked his path but Damian easily plucked him off of it.

"Don't worry," Dick said lightheartedly. "Blackgate looks a lot better than that dump you were working in. And I heard the cots are pretty nice."

"Don't be patronizing, Robin," Damian said, because someone had to act professional.

The man had given up on fighting—he managed to twist far enough in Damian's hold to look up at him. Damian looked at him at the same time, both facing each other fully.

The man suddenly jerked away—not in a way that was violent, but in a way that he was almost afraid. Damian wasn't expecting it—the man managed to pull out of his grip, but it was clumsy. He stumbled backwards.

Damian didn't rush forward. The man seemed too afraid to run. He simply just crawled back on his hands.

Damian's brow furrowed, confused by this man's seemingly delusional behavior.

"Uh," Dick started, clearly noticing it too. He moved in a little closer, to Damian's side.

"I've seen you," the man finally sputtered out, eyes widening. "I recognize you. You're not Batman. You're that guy."

Damian stared.

The fear grew in the man's face. Somewhere in those wide eyes, the man was lost. His voice shook as he said, "I was there. I was there."

The man's arm drew closer to cover his face, the horror setting in. Damian's gaze settled on the man's wrist, seeing the tattoo of a black spade. And he finally understood.

Damian's eyes narrowed, a cold feeling washing over him. A sound echoed in the back of his head, from a different time. A sound almost like laughter.

"Batman?" Dick asked quietly, looking up at him. He had witnessed the silence, no doubt sensing the tension in the air, but Damian paid him no mind.

Damian paused for a moment and tried to compose himself. But just looking at this man was tearing apart every wall he tried to build, unleashing a deep rage inside of him that he thought he had forgotten.

That he wished he had forgotten.

"Yeah. It's me," Damian said. He stepped forward. "So let me ask you this: why are you still here? After all of these years? Why are you still running around on the streets, spreading crime?"

The man immediately crawled back, keeping the distance between them. He shook his head. "No. This isn't right. You were gone. I told people but no one believed you were real—they said he planned it, because he was crazy, but I saw—"

The man stopped, swallowing. He changed his words.

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry. If I had known—"

"If you had known what?" Damian hissed, the anger poking out. "Say it. Say how you'd still be robbing and harassing people, killing innocent people and working for monsters, if you hadn't known that I'd be watching you."

The man's fear, for a moment, was gone. He looked at Damian, a sudden assuredness in his eyes, "Monsters. Maybe. But I'm not like you. You're a demon."

Maybe, Damian realized, he was right.

Damian stormed forward, picked the man up forcefully by his collar. Now the man was fighting back, trying to punch at Damian but the layers of kevlar protected him from feeling the comparatively weak blow.

Still. The punch only fuelled his sudden rage.

His grip on the man tightened. He forced him into the fence. It should have been enough to subdue him but the man was afraid, irrational. He yelled and cursed and tried to get out of Damian's hold.

"All these years—"Damian started with a growl. He paused long enough to get a punch in, the blow striking the man across the face.

"—all these goddamned, fucking years—"

His trained eloquence was gone. Words sputtered out, heated and hissing. The man raised his hands to his bleeding face. Damian aimed low instead, getting him in the gut.

"—and this forsaken city hasn't changed one fucking bit—"

The man was crumpling. It was enough. It was enough to take him down. But Damian didn't stop. He kneed him in the face while he was stooped over. There was a splatter of blood.

"What's it going to take?!"

Damian picked him up just to toss him again. But when he hit the fence, he didn't fight back. He just fell over.

Damian reached over to grab him. He took him by the collar.

"I thought I was the problem—I left and gave up everything, but you—people like you—"

The man was turned over, his head rolling back almost lifelessly.

Damian finally stopped, looking into the bloodied face, barely breathing. He couldn't.

He couldn't.

Damian let go, the man's barely conscious body falling to the ground. Damian felt shaky, the adrenaline still rushing through his body, his heart beating unbearably fast. He stepped away, the puddle of blood sliding underneath his boots.

He had to call GCPD. He had to call them and leave. He was done.

His hand moved toward the cowl, to adjust the settings and radio the police. His mind was racing but he called them anyways. When it was all done and over, he moved to turn back around, but stopped when he suddenly remembered who would be waiting for him when he did.

A sudden heaviness fell over him. He could feel the pulse of his heart, thunderous, beginning to normalize. He exhaled lightly, willing himself through it, and turned around.

Dick wasn't looking at him. His body was turned ever so slightly away. His eyes were glued to the ground. Damian couldn't tell—couldn't tell if he was afraid, or worse, disappointed.

Damian didn't know what to say. I'm not like this. I'm not who he says I was. I'm not a demon.

But that would have been a lie.

It was all a lie.

---

When they returned to the Cave, Dick didn't say anything to Damian. He answered Pennyworth's usual questions casually enough that it didn't raise eyebrows, but Damian noticed his reluctance to smile, and how quickly he had gotten out of uniform and hurried to the manor.

Damian stood by the equipment table, removing his items. As he did, he noticed the linked handcuffs on the wall—the same pair that his father had tricked him and Dick into wearing on their first obstacle course together.

He remembered how when Dick had stumbled, Damian was jerked around too. He remembered how when they were crossing the river on the rocks, Damian had jumped too early and they had both fallen into the river.

He remembered how Dick had told them that they had to stick together and Damian ignored him, followed by Dick's blood on his shirt.

He stared at the cuffs, remembering how he and Dick had been forced to work together, and how those links had dictated their actions. Their teamwork. That neither one could succeed without the cooperation of the other. How Damian had tried to force that cooperation and it ended with Dick's blood.

Nothing was tying Dick to him now, except maybe a mask.

Damian's eyes lowered a little. He had to say something.

Bruce listened carefully as Damian recounted the story, taking in the information of what his cameras hadn't been able to pick up on. Damian couldn't read his father's expression, had no way of knowing how furious he was as he confessed about how he beat the perp, beat him until he was bloody and unmoving.

"Did you stop?" Bruce asked when Damian was finished.

"Yes, but—"

"Let me clarify: I want to know if you stopped," Bruce said, leaning forward. He looked him in the eye. "I want to know if you stopped yourself."

"Yes," Damian said. Bruce sat back in his chair, eyes lost in thought. "No one else did it. Dick, he—"

Damian stopped, not sure how to describe it. He wasn't looking at Dick when he did what he did. He had no way of knowing how the boy reacted to watching him beat a man out of anger, to the point of unconsciousness.

"This behavior. I don't know if I can allow it," Bruce said, frowning. "That man isn't dead and you did stop yourself, of your own volition, but I still can't trust in that. We catch criminals, Damian. We don't punish them. We always hand things over to the law first."

"I know," Damian said. He couldn't bring himself to argue. His father was right and the guilt was beginning to settle in besides. He had never been happy, not even as a child, but it had been a long time since he had felt that angry. He had hoped that he had rid himself of it.

"There's a couple reasons why I let you take over the cowl—most of which were for selfish purposes, I admit. I needed eyes out in the city. I needed someone to solve my cases. But there is a specific reason why I wanted you to work with Dick," Bruce said. He frowned a little, continuing, "I needed to know if you still had empathy inside of you. I needed to know that when you were out there, whether it was taking a bullet to save a life, or losing self-control when fighting an enemy, that you'd remember that you had someone there, side by side with you, watching you. But my main reason for doing it wasn't to control you. I wanted that for you, the same way I had it for me."

Bruce's eyes shifted to the side, going somewhere distant. Mind lost somewhere. He continued, "I know I had an awful way of showing it, but when you came to live with me, work with me, you brought out a better part of myself. I was reckless, selfish, before I met you. That cowl isn't meant to be carried alone. It takes you someplace dark, as you already know. I thought by giving you a partner…"

Bruce trailed off, his brow furrowing a little. He clenched his mouth shut. He had gone over his word quota, it seemed.

Damian's gaze lowered a little. His father never spoke to him that way.

"I won't take the cowl away from you. Though, if it happens again, that will have to change. Consider this your last chance," Bruce decided. Damian wasn't sure if he should be relieved. Bruce looked at Damian one final time before returning to the computers. "Just remember that next time when you're out there, when you lose control, he sees you like that. You and I will never be good role models, but we need to at least try to be better than ourselves."

---

Damian stopped to catch his breath, staring down the punching bag. His heart wasn't in it. He was losing track of time. Losing his concentration. It felt like with every strike, he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. He thought about his training routine, thought about the places where he learned to fight—places that taught how to win, even if it meant killing, and it bothered Damian in a way that it hadn't before.

"Could you teach me?"

Damian glanced out of the corner of his eye. He had been so distracted by his thoughts that he hadn't seen Dick enter. Damian glanced at the clock on the wall—Dick was down there, early. He lingered near the doorway, as if unsure whether or not he was welcome in Damian's presence.

Damian didn't answer right away. Went to rebandaging his hands. Thinking.

"I know I asked you before, but I really want to learn what you know," Dick said, watching him.

"You should stick to my father's regimen. He has a better grasp of how to train you than I do. My training isn't suited for a child."

Dick grimaced a little at the word but didn't comment on it. He said, "But you grew up learning how to fight."

At that, Damian tensed a little.

"I mean, could you just show me a few things?" Dick asked, looking up at him. There was a lingering innocence there.

Damian suddenly felt defensive, something inside of his chest twisting. Something in the back of his mind telling him that Dick should leave, should run.

Damian gestured him to come over instead.

"Because of your stature, you should focus on hitting low—like Father taught you. You should continue learning how to evade enemies, using their size to throw them off balance. But there are some offensive moves you can do that can cause damage to adults."

Damian moved towards the punching bag—Dick moved to follow but Damian pushed him back, keeping him in place, at a distance. Damian stared down the punching bag. He imagined it as a person. He pointed, indicating to certain spots.

"The jaw has some of the most nerves in the human body. The correct strike can cause a black-out. At your height, you can't kick someone in the jaw while planted on the ground. But since the height of your jumps are well practiced..."

Damian demonstrated a jumping kick. The sound of impact was loud, reverberating in the room. Dick watched, nodding. Damian paused for a moment.

"But if you do it strong enough, you can cause permanent nerve damage to the jaw," Damian said.

As he spoke, his gaze faded. His mind was travelling elsewhere, remembering his teachings as a child. Remembering the same advice his mother, his grandfather, his mentors, had all given him. Just a kid, like Dick, who wanted to spend his spare time with video games and ivory hedgehogs, but was too focused on getting stronger. Getting better.

On proving himself. Proving his worth.

Damian looked up at Dick, who was still standing there. For once, Damian wondered. Wondered what Dick thought of when he looked at Damian.

Did he want to be his friend?

Did he want to be just like him?

The idea of it pissed him off.

"What you want to do, when you've perfected jumping that high, is striking the throat in the hopes that it will crush it, killing in an instant. Or you can strike the temple, stopping blood from getting to the brain. If they're down and still alive, you can stomp on their throat. Even with your weight, it should be enough."

Damian could sense the tension coming off of Dick when he turned to face him. His gaze was lowered. Damian kept going, unfiltered.

Damian gently placed a hand on Dick's shoulder, drawing his attention. Dick looked at him. Damian tapped Dick's temple.

"The same goes for children. For children, you don't have to do a jump kick. You can hit them in the temple, knock them down."

The hand slid from Dick's shoulder to his upper back, the other hand placed on Dick's chest, squeezing lightly. Compressing his chest. Dick breathed.

"What you really want to do, though, is strike the lungs," Damian explained. "Limit their ability to breathe. A child's lungs are small. So the most effective thing to do is crush them. When they're down on the ground, you can knee drop on their chest. If done right, the lungs should collapse."

When Damian let go, Dick still didn't release the breath he was holding. He suddenly touched his temple that Damian had indicated earlier. He was silent and breathless, the tips of his fingertips just barely touching his skin, and his gaze lowered. There was some thought behind his eyes, some distant emotion.

It was weird to see him stifling himself. And suddenly Damian was watching Dick's fingers pressed against his temple, and his mind was reeling back to another time, when he had placed lavender on that spot and kissed him.

But he doesn't think back on it with any feeling other than numbness.

Damian went on, lecturing almost monotonously, "If they're elderly, you can easily strike them in their knees. With enough force, you'll knock them down. If it's an infant, the back of the head is especially sensitive."

Dick didn't say anything. But he did look at Damian now, his expression less pensive. There was a deep layer of emotion in his eyes. Damian couldn't quite connect to it—but it felt maybe sympathetic, or perhaps he felt ashamed and embarrassed for asking.

"I didn't grow up learning how to fight, Richard. I didn't learn how to give people a chance to defend themselves, I only learned what was most efficient," Damian said, tearing his gaze away. "Resorting to fighting only meant that I had failed to complete my mission effectively. Stick to my father's training. He knows better."

Damian could admit that now.

His father's words echoed in his head:

That's why you can't do it. That's why you'll never be Batman.

"Has it ever happened by accident?" Dick said suddenly, looking at Damian cautiously. He had this strange, expectant look in his eyes—like he was waiting for Damian to answer correctly.

Damian couldn't give him that.

"No," he said. "Never by accident."

Dick's brow furrowed a little. His face was deep in concentration, bothered by whatever mixed emotions he was experiencing.

"But it couldn't have been on purpose. You were just a kid—"

"You know, deep down, that's not true," Damian said, cutting him off. "It's how I was raised. I was proud of it."

"But—"Dick tried to argue but Damian cut him off with a single intimidating look. Dick's gaze fell, looking defeated. "I guess I just don't understand how anyone could want to do it."

"It wasn't about wanting to. It was about duty and loyalty to my mother, my grandfather, my organization—"

"And your father?" Dick asked, looking up.

Damian stared, stunned into silence. Dick looked at him in a way that made him feel almost exposed.

"I—"he started, but when he opened his mouth he froze. The words lost.

Dick suddenly surged forward, wrapping his arms around Damian. Damian leaned back, away from the hug, but Dick held on.

Damian felt almost embarrassed, heat rushing to his face, especially with the awkward positioning of Dick's head against his middle. He frowned, trying to untangle Dick's arms, doing anything to get out of this overly affectionate and touchy display, beginning to protest.

"Richard—"he started, a low growl to his voice.

"You won't do it again."

Damian froze, speechless.

"You won't," Dick said, voice muffled against Damian's shirt. Arms squeezing tighter.

Suddenly Damian felt his stomach drop. A rare feeling rushed through him.

He was afraid.

He managed to pry Dick off of him. He didn't know what to say when Dick locked gazes with him. Didn't know what to think of Dick's gaze that watched him with concern—concern for him.

Didn't know how to deal with the sudden dread of disappointing someone.

"I should go," Damian said, feeling foolish, and he took off in the direction of the manor.

---

Damian tried to focus on his breathing.

He inhaled through his nostrils, felt the air rush through him, felt the swell of his lungs. He slowly released, pushed out the air fully and completely.

He did this, over and over again, trying to lose his mind to the repetition. But then there'd be a flicker—a way that the air felt, or an awareness of a smell or sound, an imagined sensation on his skin, and his mind would suddenly start reeling backwards. Thoughts, memories, drowning him.

Damian forced his eyes open. He clenched his fists slightly, feeling frustrated. When he was gone, he could do it. At his training at the temples, he could completely lose his subconscious. He could drift into nothing. Feel nothing. But here, he just couldn't.

He gave up on meditating. He'd have to try it another day. But between the failures of his meditation and training, Damian wasn't sure what else he could do. He could feel his control slipping away and it worried him.

Perhaps the issue was that he shouldn't be there.

Perhaps the healthier thing, the nobler thing, would be to leave.

A sound at the door interrupted his thoughts. Damian got up to answer the door, let Pennyworth into his room. The butler carried with him a neat stack of folded clothes.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian managed to say but his mind was all sorts of distracted.

"You're welcome, Master Damian. I promise it wasn't a trouble at all." Pennyworth set down the stack on top of the dresser but lingered in the room a moment longer, watching Damian. He considered Damian a moment, eyes shifting to the side. He adjusted his lapels and hesitantly said, "You know, Master Damian, I must say: it's been good to have you back."

Damian glanced at him, not sure what to say. He knew Alfred's affection was genuine—the years they had spent together had formed an undeniable bond, with the butler almost acting as a second father-figure. Alfred, who always knew the right thing to say or do. Alfred, who remained loyal and loving no matter what argument or harsh words were thrown at him.

Still, Damian wasn't sure how to feel about Alfred's words. He was certain that Alfred just missed him. In truth, their relationship just didn't feel the same since Damian returned, and he was sure that things around the manor must have been better when he was gone.

Pennyworth cleared his throat a little, adding in a tone that was a touch quieter, "I'm sure Master Bruce and Master Dick feel the same way."

Damian sighed a little, saying, "What did my father tell you?"

Pennyworth crossed his hands behind his back, thinking over his words carefully, before answering, "When you know someone long enough, you just start to pick up on things. But yes, Master Bruce talked to me. And Master Dick, for that matter. He thinks it's best if we remain cautious and watchful."

"I'm sure he wanted it to be a secret as well," Damian said, crossing his arms. He nodded toward Pennyworth. "So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think it's important to be supportive as well," Alfred said. "Should you ever feel the need to talk, you can always come to me." Alfred turned to take off but stopped, looking at Damian once more. "You're a good person, Master Damian." There was a brief look of hesitation, a fear of saying too much, but he straightened his back and said, "Your guilt, I think, is proof of that."

---

Guilt didn't change what was already done.

Guilt wasn't enough to hold back the fear of what could be done.

Bruce had talked to Dick.

Damian wasn't supposed to know.

Damian wanted to know the exact words. He knew Dick would probably tell him, if he pushed hard enough. Lately, however, he felt he had dragged Dick far enough into his affairs.

For their case, they were examining an abandoned safehouse. It was a tall but narrow building, the ceilings high and pitch black in the dim lighting. A staircase leading up to a walkway overseeing the first floor. A basement that Damian uncovered access to.

They headed down the stairs, flashlights on their bracers.

"What exactly are we supposed to be looking for?" Dick asked as they headed down. He made a disgusted noise when he charged through a spiderweb.

"Just signs of what type of work they might have been doing. Who might have been here," Damian said.

In the basement, there was a table and some chairs. Nice, aside from the age. The safehouse must have been abandoned for years, judging by the dust. Damian looked around, finding some shelves—including a winerack.

"Fancy," Dick said, whistling, when he wiped away the dust on the chair to unveil the intricate designs.

Damian took note of this. There were meetings down here—but it wasn't just any gang. It was a gang with influence, power and class. There wasn't much else left in the room. They headed back upstairs. The ground floor had been stripped completely—the floors and walls barren. Dick and Damian moved up the staircase leading to the walkway, the metal steps noisy. Somewhere along the lines, Damian thought he sensed something.

He held out his hand, stopping Dick. Dick froze immediately.

They were silent for a moment. Dick glanced up at Damian, questioningly. Damian was starting to think he imagined it until he caught a flicker of something red on Dick's vest—a red that didn't match the fabric.

Damian didn't say a word, he just acted. He reached out, practically plucking Dick up, and ran for it. He heard the gunfire behind them, barely dodging it. Once they were behind a safe pillar, he looked Dick up and down to check on him.

"Are you alright?" Damian asked, even though he knew he was. He felt on-edge. That bullet hadn't been for Damian. It had been for Dick—and that realization had Damian's heart racing.

"Where did that come from?" Dick said, ignoring the question. More focused on the mission.

Damian stopped and looked around, adjusting the lenses on his cowl. Eyes scanning carefully. There was another walkway, another story up. He caught some movement in the shadows.

He quickly reacted, throwing a batarang. He moved Dick in time before the gun could fire at them. However, there was a sudden loud crack—the batarang Damian had thrown had detonated a second later. A low grade explosion, nothing that would be lethal. Damian waited for another shot. It didn't come—still, Damian was cautious, adjusting the bulletproof jacket.

"Stay out of range," Damian said. He grabbed the grappling gun off his belt.

He moved quick, shooting himself up to the higher level. He caught the gleam of the gun but pounced in time, removing the weapon.

Whoever the man was, he was trained. Aside from the fancy firearms, the blows they exchanged were practiced. Even the man's breathing seemed to be controlled, purposefully silent, and while Damian wasn't sure of the man's abilities, he didn't appear to be bothered by the darkness in which they fought.

Damian was confident in his abilities—but the man was still difficult. When Damian finally got a hold of him, the man suddenly backed up—knocking him into the wall. Damian's hold loosened just enough for the man to get the advantage, a punch landing across his temple. The reinforced cowl helped lessen the blow but still, Damian was momentarily staggered. Several additional hits landed—and Damian realized, a second late, that the man's gloves must have been reinforced to hit harder. A particularly bruising blow staggered him to his knees. Damian braced himself through the onslaught, biding his time for the opening.

The man reached towards his belt when suddenly, he was yanked backwards. It was difficult to make it out, even with his lenses, but Damian could see the familiar form climbed on top of the gunman. Dick flipped the man over.

Damian didn't trust their opponent still. He yanked Dick out of the way, putting himself between him and the assassin.

The man didn't move. Damian cautiously made his way forward. There was a flicker of movement.

"Watch out—"Dick started but Damian had reacted in time.

Damian caught the gleam of metal—he blocked the swinging dagger, the metal biting through the glove into his hand. Damian hissed but easily knocked the man's hand against the nearby railing, knocking the knife out. It clattered to the ground.

Damian ignored the blood dripping from his hand. He exchanged blows with the mercenary—having the clear advantage. As he delivered each of his hits successfully, an anger began to build up inside of him. He knew the man's strategy. He wanted to kill Robin first, to throw off Batman. He knew because this was a strategy he would have used.

It enraged him that he knew this. It enraged him that it would have worked.

Enraged him that someone would send an assassin on a boy.

But not just any boy.

Damian felt a swell of rage, thinking about it. He rushed forward, grabbing the man. He struck him against the jaw, not caring how hard he hit. The mercenary stumbled instantaneously, falling down. Without thinking twice, Damian picked up the fallen dagger in an almost graceful movement, poising to to strike again.

"Wait—"

Damian wasn't prepared for Dick grabbing onto his hand, jerked away from the touch out of instinct. Dick immediately recoiled, cut by the knife. Damian didn't have time to think about it—the mercenary took the momentary opening, striking.

Damian was knocked back a step, felt a pair of hands on him. Wringing around his neck. Damian tried to knock him off, ramming him into the railing, felt the hands digging into his throat. Tried to pry but the hands only seemed to clamp down tighter and tighter. He settled for jabbing his attacker but the mercenary would not concede. In the midst of their scramble, Damian caught a glimpse of Dick. Panic crept up, not wanting Dick to interfere. Then there was determination—determination to fight a way out without risking Dick.

But he should have known better.

Of course Dick was going to get involved.

Dick struck at the man's knees, both of them fighting now to get the man to let go. The assassin finally did—but only to kick Dick hard, the hit landing his gut, a blow that instantly crumpled him to his knees.

Damian saw red. He swung back his arm, hard, not holding back. He hit the enemy at full force, the strike sending the man stumbling backwards, falling over the railing. Damian turned quickly to grab him but just barely missed, the assassin falling down two stories and Damian without his grappling gun in hand to go after him.

He quickly slid over to Dick. Dick didn't react as Damian quickly placed his hands over Dick's ears.

The sound of impact reverberated throughout the building as the body smacked against the ground. What followed were Dick's shallow breaths. Damian removed his hands, lifted Dick's face. Dick just pulled back, shaking his head to himself.

"That really hurt," he said, trying to force a laugh, but he was visibly in pain. He muttered, sounding almost out of breath, "Mammoth feet. I swear."

Despite himself, he found Dick's humor to be a little contagious. He made a single, amused sound.

"Tt. Of course it hurt," Damian said. "He was three times your size."

"Hey, I'm not that short. I'd say it's more like, twice."

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you stayed put like I told you to," Damian said. It had an unexpected effect—instead of arguing back, Dick lowered his head. Damian shifted in place, wondering if he had been too harsh. Wondering when he started caring about what tone he spoke to Dick in, for that matter.

"I'm sorry," Dick murmured, sounding almost guilty.

"This isn't your fault," Damian said. "He caught us both offguard."

"He's not going to be happy," Dick said. There was no need to specify who. Still, Dick looked up at Damian. "He told me that you can't do anything like that. He told me he'd take the cowl back."

"I know," Damian said. "I already talked to him."

"You could just tell him it was me," Dick said. When he saw Damian's hard stare, he quickly added, "I mean, I'm to blame too. You said it yourself, that I should have stayed put—"

"No, Robin—"Damian started, feeling frustrated, but he stopped when Dick eyed him sullenly. Damian sighed exasperatedly, changing his tone, but still saying what he need to say, "I took it too far. That's what happened."

"But—"

"Enough. I need to go check on the body."

Damian grabbed the grappling gun off the floor. He and Dick both made it down to the ground level, where Damian moved to check on the body. This time, Dick listened when Damian told him to stay behind.

The man was in a puddle of his own blood—but when Damian bent down, he saw the body was moving. He was breathing—though from the angle his legs were twisted, Damian doubted that was much of a relief. If the man recovered, he'd be heavily paralyzed. Still, Damian felt some relief that it was not fatal. He called for an ambulance.

At the sight of the blood, Damian suddenly remembered something. He waited until they were out of the building before checking. He grabbed Dick's hand—the boy didn't protest. The hand had bled quite a bit but seemed to have stopped. Damian stared at it, knowing it had been caused by the blade he had wielded in his hand. The cut was deep—red and angry. Damian touched it before Dick could object, testing it. Dick winced in pain. Damian looked down a moment longer.

The blood stained the fabric of his glove. It looked all too familiar.

"I'm sorry," Damian said. Dick glanced up at him but looked back down at his hand.

"I know you didn't mean to. It was just an accident, and that wasn't the right way for me to step in, so…" Dick shrugged.

Damian frowned, a heaviness in his chest. He didn't understand why Dick kept making excuses for him. Damian could have just left his apology at that. But he needed to confess.

"That day we argued. When you ran away. I blamed you for what happened to my father." Damian frowned, the guilt slowly beginning to rise. "It wasn't true. I didn't know the story. I'm sorry."

Dick stopped and looked at him. He had a serious look in his eyes, likely remembering what had happened. Damian frowned a little, understanding that being sorry wasn't going to take back what he said. What he did. But then suddenly Dick spoke up.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Apology accepted," he said simply. He paused for a moment, looking at Damian's hands. He turned one of them, looking at it. Damian wasn't sure what he was doing but he didn't yell at him. He simply watched Dick. Suddenly, Dick smiled. "We match."

It took Damian a second to remember that he had his hand sliced as well. He glanced at his palm, noticing the direction of the cut was similar to Dick's, and that they both had gotten their right hands hurt. Though, his was nowhere near as deep as Dick's. He looked back at Dick, who was smiling and holding his hand up for comparison.

Damian slowly shook his head—but without any bit of negativity he murmured, "You're so strange."

They wrapped up Dick's hand and waited for the man to be taken away by the emergency vehicles. Their mission for the night was done. Damian was unsure of whether or not they should continue patrolling or return to the Cave. After what had just happened, Damian wasn't sure how he was going to relay everything to his father. His pending termination was all a matter of time.

Dick seemed to decide for him, heading for the rooftops. Damian chased him but not in a hurry.

"We should probably go back," Damian said.

"We have to finish patrol first," Dick insisted.

For a little while, they stayed perched on a roof. Dick immediately sat on the edge of the skyscraper, his legs dangling off the edge, as he always did. After a bit of silence, he finally broke the ice.

"What do you think he's going to say?" he asked quietly. Damian didn't need him to specify who.

"I don't know," Damian said with a tone of finality. With his last chance spent, a thought suddenly occurred to him that this might be his last night with Dick.

"Do being on top of buildings ever make you feel super tall?" Dick asked him suddenly. Damian glanced down at him. Dick gestured out to the city. "Sometimes, when we're up really high like this, all of the buildings down there look fake. Like they're toys or something."

"What would you do if you actually were that tall?"

"I dunno. I guess I'd have to make a giant house first, in case it rained or snowed," Dick said, thinking. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. "I could make a giant snowball!"

Damian eyed him skeptically. "If you threw it, it'd probably demolish a city."

"Like Godzilla."

"Tt. Now you're just being silly."

"What would you do?" Dick asked, ignoring the comment.

"I'd probably be Godzilla." It was a joke but the idea of destroying everything, becoming a monster, felt too close to reality.

"Don't steal my ideas," Dick said. His voice sounded like a whine but the corner of his mouth was still quirked up.

"Tt. It's not as if I actually can."

"Yeah. But it's kind of nice, right?" Dick said, swinging his feet. He hummed a little. "Pretending like this."

Right, Damian remembered.

Pretending.

"Richard," Damian said suddenly. Dick stopped and looked at him, surprised. His legs stilled.

Damian kneeled next to him.

"What's wrong?" Dick said at once, catching on. His voice a touch quieter.

"That night when I found you on the roof…" Damian started, but stopped. Dick looked up at him, a curious look in his eyes. He knew what Damian was talking about, of course he did. But there was a tenderness to his eyes too, something almost fragile. Insecure, especially for a boy who acted so loud and confident. Damian hesitated for a moment, knowing he was about to crush that esteem. "I was only nice to you because I wanted you to work with me."

Dick looked at him, frowning a little. For once, he didn't say anything.

Damian went on, talking almost monotonously, "And another thing—that moment when I kissed your head, that didn't mean what you thought it meant. It didn't mean anything. I was just trying to gain your loyalty."

"You're just saying that to scare me away," Dick said, shrugging a little.

"My father said that I needed to work with you in order to stay as Batman. That's what this has been about: being Batman. Gaining your trust was necessary."

"So why are you saying this?" Dick said, frustrated. He crossed his arms, scowling. He seemed flustered, in an almost immature way. He seemed to be seconds from covering his ears and making loud noises so he couldn't hear Damian speak. "If you are telling me the truth, then that means you care enough to be honest with me. Right?"

He waited for Damian's answer. When it didn't come, Damian could see the uncertainty in his expression crawl back up. Damian considered dropping the conversation, taking all of his words back.

"I needed this cowl," was all Damian could say.

"You tricked me," Dick said, leaning back. For once, he didn't yell. His gaze just lowered, looking hurt. Disappointed.

Damian recognized the look a little too well. His gaze lowered, briefly thinking of his father.

"We need to return to the Cave," Damian said.

He didn't dare to call it home.

---

Alfred saw Dick's shoddily bandaged hand almost straight away. He instantly went to cleaning it. Meanwhile, Damian removed the cowl, looking at it. When his father walked up to him, Damian immediately shoved the cowl towards him.

Bruce didn't take it, just looked down at it for a moment.

"What's this?" he asked, looking back up at Damian. For once, he seemed perplexed.

"You were right," Damian said. He poked Bruce's hand with it, insistently. "I can't do it."

"You're quitting?" a small voice asked.

Damian didn't dare to look at Dick. His father's eyes on him were already more than he could handle. Bruce regarded him for a moment before finally, almost gently, taking the cowl away.

"If this is what you want, I can't stop you."

Want? No.

It was what had to be done.

No amount of people he saved would compare to the damage he had done.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow," Damian said. The sooner he cut off ties, the easier, and he decided he'd rather spend his life running than risking going down the path he was so afraid of.

"No, you're not," Dick said insistently. Alfred moved to pull him back but Dick forced his way between Damian and Bruce. Dick didn't give Damian a choice not to look. Damian simply steeled himself, meeting Dick's desperation with a stony-eyed gaze. A bit quieter, Dick said again, "I'm not mad at you. I'm not."

He still didn't understand.

He didn't understand that he should never have to say those words.

"Dick," Bruce finally interceded. He paused for a moment, looking almost sympathetic. "It'll take some time but I promise I'll get back on my feet. We'll pick up those cases again—"

"That's not it!" Dick said, cutting him off. Dick's face scrunched up a little, looking torn and frustrated. But after a moment of thought, he sighed, finally saying, "It's not about the cases. That's all in the past. It's the other things. Like playing knights and making fun of Alfred and showing me all of your stuff. Who am I going to talk to in the training room? Who's going to show me the manor?"

"This doesn't concern you," Damian finally snapped. Dick clenched his jaw at the accusation, the tenderness in his eyes breaking. Fire in his eyes.

"Of course it concerns me! I'm in this as much as either of you!" When no one responded, Dick suddenly turned towards Bruce. "Say something already!"

Damian couldn't help but glance up at Bruce, expectantly. But the man simply stood there, looking uncomfortable.

Dick made a frustrated sound and took off, shoulder bumping into Damian on the way out. Damian watched him go. It wasn't the first time he had seen him run off but this time, it was a lot harder not to chase.

Alfred glanced at them once, a bit concerned, but then turned to go check on Dick.

"What's this all about?" Bruce said. "There has to be a reason."

"When we went to check on that safehouse, there was some assassin. He was trying to kill us both. I knew he wanted to kill Richard first, to get to me. I was trying to protect us but I went too far. I threw him over a railing and—"

"Slow down. Alfred and I already heard parts of it over the police you called in. Damian, I know I said you only had one more chance. This isn't taking that chance." Bruce frowned, his brow furrowing a little. "A trained mercenary is different. You had Dick with you. You had a responsibility—"

"This all started when you kept making excuses for me," Damian said, cutting him off. "I can't handle it. I tried listening to you. I tried becoming you." Damian paused for a moment, feeling a surge of emotions rise up. He exhaled a little, trying to compose himself. "This heroism thing is never going to work for me the way that it did for you. It brings me too close to what I used to be. I've tried everything. The best thing I can do is go my own way."

Damian had nothing more to say. He turned to leave.

"Wait. There is something I should say," Bruce said. Damian stopped. "Dick was right—this does concern him. I need you to at least stay to finish this case. After that, you can go where you like. I'll even pay for it, if you wish."

"I can't," Damian decided. Just thinking about going out there again, or even donning the cowl, made him more and more afraid of himself.

"The case I'm having you work on has to deal with the murder of Dick's parents. It's time-sensitive. I don't know if I could get back out in the field in time."

At that, Damian stopped.

"Murder?" he said, not sure if he heard right. "You told me they fell."

"They did. But the ropes were tampered with." Bruce sighed a little. Clearly, telling the truth wasn't a part of his plan. "When he first discovered who I was, he told me a story about a man threatening the owner of the circus—threatened to kill Dick's parents, specifically. Dick never told the police, he didn't want to risk anyone else getting involved. Naturally, I had to look into it for myself. To see if there was any truth to the accusation. I promised him I'd find the killer and bring him to justice."

"Did you?" Damian said.

"I found him, yes. We picked up on a trail, led it to the man Tony "Fats" Zucco. I was compiling the evidence to throw him in jail. Dick had been training as Robin, insisted that he wanted to be there when it happened. But then..."

Bruce stopped, a look akin to shame crossing his features.

"But then you got hurt."

Bruce nodded slowly.

Damian sighed, frustrated. Why was he just hearing about this now?

"So what happened? Where is the killer now?"

"He died of a heart attack a year ago. In the comfort of his own home. Never set foot in a courtroom, much less Blackgate."

Damian shifted in place. A deep pang hit his heart. He thought of Dick, lamented that he was never able to see justice attained.

"It was a difficult time. But I had discovered Zucco's employer was Carmine Falcone."

The name was familiar. "The mafia boss? It thought we ruined him years ago. We had half of his family and all of his thugs arrested."

They couldn't find evidence directly linking Falcone to his crimes though—so he walked. But that didn't stop him and Bruce from getting their message across. They visited his house and made their message clear.

"He built his territory back up, literally. He took over the grounds Haly's Circus occupied, as well as a bunch of other neighborhoods. He uses it to pass his goods. That safehouse you infiltrated was one of many. I suspect he used it to run his gambling and sex trafficking operations. He's stronger now. It's going to take time and evidence to bring him down. But I promised Dick I'd do it. And at this point, we both owe it to him."

"You should have told me from the start—"

"Would you have cared?" Bruce said, looking at him. At that, Damian stopped. Bruce shifted in place, staring down at the cowl in his hands. "The biggest reason is that I didn't want to reveal too much about my cases. I didn't want to give them up, I wanted to keep them private. And in truth, I wasn't expecting us to come this far."

Neither did Damian, if he was honest.

"If you did want to give up the cowl though…" Bruce trailed off, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked like there was more he wanted to say. Damian wasn't sure what—but he did know that this news changed things.

"I'll do the case," Damian said.

After winding down for the night, Damian set up his bed as usual and laid down. It was difficult to sleep. He had a lot of things to reconsider and think about.

Damian heard footsteps on the roof.

As much as he tried to ignore them, he was still aware of them. He heard them get closer to his room, pausing. Damian sighed a little, getting up from his bed. He went to the window, opening it with a noise. He stepped back, listening to silence. After a moment, he resigned, going back to his bed. He had just sat down when he heard a creak at his window. He glanced back, seeing that Dick had come in after all.

He stood there for a moment, one hand still on the pane. He seemed apprehensive.

"So you're really leaving then?" Dick asked quietly.

"No," Damian lied. He couldn't stand the way Dick looked relieved as he said it. "My father told me about your parents."

"Oh," Dick said softly, his shoulders slumping.

The room was silent for a moment. Damian wondered if that was the wrong thing to say.

"Can I stay here awhile?" Dick asked. Damian saw the subtle way he played with the hem of his shirt, almost anxiously. He acted casually but Damian could sense the fear of rejection.

"Yes," he said. He knew it wasn't a wise decision but he said it anyways. With some restraint, he said, "But you'll have to be gone before dusk."

Dick readily accepted that. He took a seat at the edge of Damian's futon—close enough to be in his presence, but still sitting at a distance. Dick touched it, testing it. He looked back up at Damian, his gaze curious.

"Why do you sleep on the floor?"

"I want to be close to the ground," Damian said. His mind slowly filled with memories, memories of camping in foreign territories. Sleeping in tents in the desert or on the grounds of a forest. He remembered training in temples where the futons were thinner, sleeping on hard floors with ricepaper walls and nothing but coal stoves to keep him warm in the winter. He remembered his first day back in the city, after five years of living between the wilderness and hermited villages—remembered renting that hotel room, finding the bed to be a relief, until he actually laid down on it and it kept him so awake that he eventually had to carry a blanket and pillow to the carpet.

The habit was so trained that he had carried it with him, even when he returned.

"Are you used to it?" Dick asked, as if reading his mind.

"Yes," he said, and he adjusted his pillow, laying down on his side.

Dick tucked in his knees, drawing his feet up onto the futon. He rested his chin on his knees. "I used to sleep up."

"Up?"

"The circus trailers had bunks. I was always the top bunk. I kind of miss being up high."

"Is that why you stumble around on the roof every night?"

Dick's gaze lowered. He hadn't considered it. "I think I just like the fresh air."

There had been a few times where Damian also slept high. In jungles, when the ground was stalked by animals or had poisonous plants, and he had to sleep in hammocks or tie himself to the branch of a tree.

"What was your favorite place?" Damian asked suddenly. Dick looked at him. "Of all the places you travelled and performed."

"Italy," Dick said at once. "My grandparents are from there—I mean, I never met them. They died a long time ago. But my parents and I did a European tour and when we stopped in Italy, they took me everywhere." Even in the darkness, Damian could see the light in his eyes as he talked. "Have you been to Venice? At night, you can go on these boats, and travel through the canals. It takes you through the city and you can see all of the buildings and lights. But when it reaches the end, it's so dark that you can't tell where the water ends and the sky begins."

"No, I haven't been there," Damian said, after a moment of thought. Dick turned around fully so he could face him, but it was hard to make out his face in the shadows.

"What about you?"

"I don't know," Damian said. Suddenly he was thinking of where he was going to go, after all of it was over. He wasn't sure. He thought of the places where he had been—the deserts, the tundras, the steppes, the plains, the jungles. He could go anywhere. Maybe he'd even go to Venice.

Maybe he didn't have to go anywhere at all.

He could just keep running.

Dick laid down in the space next to him, without permission. They faced each other.

"You don't usually ask me questions," Dick told him.

Damian didn't know what to say to that. He was vaguely aware of how close Dick's face was—he could just barely feel his breath against his skin. He watched Dick's hand, fixated, as it clenched and unclenched the material of the futon. Picking at it. That anxious feeling was back, the same one he expressed when he was waiting for Damian to invite him in.

Fear of rejection.

"I'm not mad at you," Dick said after a moment.

Damian's gaze lowered. He knew Dick was telling the truth.

It worried him.

"Richard, do you know why I left all of those years ago?" Damian said.

Dick's hand stopped. They locked eyes. Dick suddenly seemed conflicted. Possibly afraid. The room was silent and tense for a moment, even Dick's breathing seemed to still. But he finally nodded a little, saying it.

"You killed someone," he answered quietly.

"I didn't just kill him. I murdered him," Damian said. Dick listened quietly, gaze downcast, almost like a child who was being scolded on what he did wrong. "I found him. I tracked him down. And I murdered him. I'm not a good person, Richard. I'm not a hero. I've done terrible things."

"But—"Dick stopped himself. He seemed uncertain for a moment. There was more he wanted to say. Damian knew he had to shut off any thoughts of doubt. He kept talking.

"It'd be better if you stayed mad at me. It'd be better if you hated me, like all of the rest," Damian said. That look was back—that look of uncertainty. Damian felt a little frustrated—he wasn't sure what else to say. Wasn't sure what to do or say to Dick that would get him to forget about him without hurting him.

Damian didn't want to hurt him.

"Do you understand?" he asked. Dick reluctantly nodded.

"Yes," he said. After a moment, he added, "But you're still going to help me with my parents, right?" Damian nodded. Dick shrugged a little. "Then you can't be that bad."

"Don't think that," Damian said, bristling a little. "You'll only be disappointed."

"Maybe," Dick said. "But you can't expect failure—if you do, then there's no point in trying."

Damian tried to think of an argument, anything to prove to Dick otherwise. Anything to shut down his hopelessly naive statement. But he swallowed his words.

Dick started to scoot in closer, Damian eyeing him cautiously. Suddenly, his lips met Damian's. It was for just a brief moment, the touch so bare that it was hardly there. Still, Damian moved back, looking at him in shock.

"Have you forgotten everything I've just told you?" he said, but his voice doesn't even come out angry. It sounds like disbelief.

"I know," Dick said. But he doesn't look concerned anymore. His hand reached out, his slender fingers wrapped around the back of Damian's head. Damian stared as Dick closed in again, kissing him.

It's a little firmer this time. Damian allowed it, even closed his eyes. Felt the kiss deepen. Savored the softness pressing against his lips, over and over, until they were wet. As it went on, he felt a heat rise inside of his chest. Spreading throughout his body. He heard Dick sigh, heard the sounds of their mouths meeting, and it filled Damian with a genuine desire.

His hand ran down Dick's side, felt the soft and cool fabric of his shirt. Snuck his hand underneath the hem, just barely, so he could touch the small of his back. He was amazed by how smooth the skin was—how unmarked and unhardened.

It wasn't like before—wasn't like the last time Dick had climbed in through his window. There were no tricks, no games, just real desire. A desire to keep kissing him, to keep making him feel good.

He wanted him. Bad.

He felt a surge of lust, pulling Dick in closer. Slipping his thick tongue into his mouth to taste him better. Lust fuelled by short, hot gasps and hasty kissing and small hands fumbling at the fabric of his shirt.

And it'd be simple, really, for Damian to just turn him onto his back now. To climb on top of him and take him.

But this wasn't right.

The obvious aside, even if he were willing to ignore the ethics of having this boy—his father's ward—in his bed, Damian would be leaving. He'd be leaving very soon. He knew he was past redemption, knew that it'd be easier to slip into the skin of the monster he had already created, but he couldn't keep playing with Dick's emotions. It'd be more sparing, on multiple levels, to stop now.

So he buried the desire, pulling away.

"You should go," Damian said.

Dick didn't argue—even nodded in understanding. But he was still. Awfully still. Like there was something that had yet to be said.

"What?" Damian said, but not in a way that was demanding.

"I think I knew it was a trick," Dick said in a hushed voice, almost a whisper. Damian's brow furrowed slightly, trying to figure out what Dick was trying to tell him. "I even asked you why you were being nice to me."

Damian remembered now. The first time Dick had been in his room, and Damian had put lavender on his skin and kissed him.

"You were trying to get me to be on your side. And at the time, I knew it."

"Why didn't you leave?" Damian asked, frowning. "Why did you kiss me?"

He searched Dick's face for answers. The younger had a deep, pensive look on his face. As if he himself didn't understand.

"Because even though it was a trick, I still knew that you were lonely," Dick said, almost tentatively. "And then, after some time, I just forgot that it was a trick."

Damian stared at him, eyes widening, a heavy realization weighing on his shoulders. He looked at Dick, laying before him. He thought of their time together, the jokes and disobedience that grated on his nerves, but also the surprising amount of compassion and heart that Dick displayed every single night. How each time that Damian spoke to him, pretended to get along with him, it became easier and easier.

Because it wasn't a trick.

It had stopped being a trick a long time ago.

And the capability of affection, of emotion, that he had tried to bury so long ago still existed—and Dick had pulled it out of him, when he thought he couldn't. When he thought he had to pretend.

He wondered if he could ever show the true side of himself. Wondered if he could ever really confess that to Dick.

He kept his mouth closed.

He had a lot of things to reconsider.

---

In truth, he had figured out how to shut off the cameras in the Cave awhile ago. He had made it his mission to figure it out since the first day he returned.

It was the other parts that were more difficult. Luckily, his father's schedule was still consumed with his work at Wayne Enterprises and his other projects, and he spent a decent amount of time out of the house. Alfred gave him free reign of the house and Dick, if he ever suspected what Damian was doing, would never interfere.

The first step was the batmobile. Luckily, his father had trained him in all of his skills. Figuring out the inside of the batmobile and all of its bells and whistles was rather easy. The same went with the trackers. The trackers were all placed inside of the belt buckles.

Although, when Damian started to pry open Dick's belt, a moment of doubt crossed his mind. He had spent a lot of time thinking over his plan. In truth, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to carry it out. But he decided that something needed to be done, and there was no one that could do it but himself.

They started out on patrol, as usual. His father was a little more open with the case now that Damian knew the truth behind it.

It was downtown. He and Dick were on the rooftops, as usual. It was then that Bruce started to notice something was amiss.

"Batman, what's your location?" Bruce asked. It was amazing how easily the man stayed composed, in control. Damian knew, deep down, Bruce was anything but calm. He knew something was happening, he was suspecting it.

"Downtown," Damian said simply.

"Where downtown?" Bruce asked.

Dick suddenly looked up at Damian. He seemed to notice something was happening too, namely by the subtle edge to Bruce's voice.

"Do you remember our conversation before I left? The one from five years ago?" Damian asked quietly.

The other end of the line was silent. Listening. Knowing.

"When we were arguing, you told me you wanted to do it. That you wanted to kill him. But you never did, that you couldn't, because even the worst of people deserve second chances—"

"Just tell me where you are." There was a certain tone to his words. An emotion. Desperate.

"How many more chances are you going to give them?" Damian asked.

"It's not about giving them chances. It's about being better. There will always be someone to take their place. Someone to carry it on. It'll go on forever. It's something we can fight but never win. It's awful. I hate it and I know you do too. But you have to understand—"

Damian wasn't going to bother any longer—his father's words about chances and inheritance was too much to handle, even if he was the one who asked first.

"I was never taught to fail," Damian said, leaving it at that.

"Damian—"Bruce started, but Damian turned off the commlink.

Damian glanced down at Dick, who hadn't quite picked up on what was happening. He looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"They're trying to talk to you," he said.

"Turn off your commlink," Damian told him.

There was conflict in Dick's expression. He was listening, no doubt hearing Bruce's voice in his ear, trying to decide who to listen to. He sighed a little and pressed the button on the side of his mask, turning off communications, and he looked up at Damian—waiting for the next instructions to follow.

Damian hated it.

"I need you to stay here," Damian said.

"We're supposed to stick together," Dick said, in an insistent tone that showed that he was beginning to sense that something wasn't right. "Remember?"

"I'll be back. I'll meet you on this rooftop. Don't move or I won't be able to find you."

Dick shifted in place, antsy. "But where are you going?"

"I'll be back," was all Damian could give him. The lie felt heavy.

---

He took out all of the security cameras. He had spent time studying the property, managing to memorize all of the alarms. He dismantled each and every one. He had taken out the last camera, attached underneath a sconce, when he heard a noise coming from the bushes.

Too large to be an animal.

He gritted his teeth to himself, a dull rage rising inside of him.

He reached through the bushes, dragging Dick out. Damian immediately glared at him.

"Tt. What did I tell you?" Damian said. He was so flustered and angry he didn't even know where to start. "Don't you ever listen? Go back."

Dick shrugged off the hand. "Of course I'm going to follow you! You're acting weird!"

Damian plucked Dick by the back of his cape and dragged him behind the pillar of the nearby gazebo. Even with all of the cameras dismantled, Damian had to be careful. There could be bodyguards watching from inside the mansion.

"This doesn't involve you. Go back to the city. You're just going to get in the way."

"You're lying," Dick said at once.

Damian sighed, frustrated. He should have predicted this.

"Why won't you ever leave me alone? What's it going to take? How many times am I going to have to hurt you for you to get it?" he hissed.

"I didn't tell them," Dick said, voice thick. Damian narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"What? Didn't tell them what?" Damian said, impatient. Dick shifted in place, his head hanging. He looked at his feet almost guiltily.

"My parents. The police. Anyone. I didn't say anything," he said, his words running together. His confession seemed to tumble out of him. "I heard him threaten to cut the ropes if Mr. Haly didn't give him the circus. But I didn't tell anyone. And then we were doing the show—the ropes snapped and I—I didn't tell anyone."

Damian stared at him.

"And then the police asked me about it," Dick said, his voice getting lower. "But I didn't tell them. I was afraid he'd kill Mr. Haly and everyone else."

Damian shifted in place. He should have been angry. He should have been vengeful.

He didn't.

He felt empathy.

"Maybe the police could have caught them." Dick's brow furrowed. "Maybe my parents wouldn't have—"

Damian shook his head to himself. This wasn't right.

"You didn't know," Damian said. He frowned. "You were just—"

A kid.

Damian stopped, staring.

You made a mistake.

Damian's throat felt dry.

Dick sniffed. At the sound, Damian paused. He bent slightly at the knees, trying to get a better glimpse at Dick's eyes behind the visors of his mask.

"...are you crying?" he had to ask.

"No," Dick said immediately, voice filled with scorn at the insinuation. Still, his face seemed to redden. He ranted, stammering, "I just—you're pissing me off!" Lower, almost forlorn, "Let's just go back. Let's go home."

"I can't go back," Damian said. It was tempting. But no matter how many times he slept and woke the next day, things never changed. He always felt out of place, like he didn't belong. He was always going to be stuck between worlds. Damian felt almost guilty by how upset Dick was. "But you have to. While you're still able to."

"It doesn't feel right unless you're there," Dick said at once. "Sure, maybe things were nicer before you came, no one argued and stuff. But I didn't fit in. No one understands like you do. And we work together, we save people—"

"There will be other people," Damian said, impatient. The pressure of his task was beginning to weigh in on him.

Dick just sniffed again and Damian frowned a little. He didn't understand how someone could be so emotional, he never encountered anything like it. But he could feel his body responding to it—he felt a tension in his shoulders, heavy, his heart beating erratically. A twisting in his chest. He wished Dick would stop but didn't know what he could do to make that happen.

One thing was certain: he had to get Dick out. He wasn't sure how, since pushing him away wasn't working, and he doubted persuasion would be effective. He'd either have to force him or trick him—and since he didn't want to hurt Dick, the only thing he could think of was leading him out of there and maybe ditching him in a safehouse.

"Come on," he said with a sigh, and Dick immediately stopped sniffling.

When they passed through the teeming gardens, Dick finally asked, "What is this place? It's not as big as the manor but…"

In one of the crosspaths, a pedestal stood. On top of it stood a ten inch statuette in marble. Dick stopped and looked at it.

"It's Diana," he said. Damian glanced at it, saw the bow and arrow and the wolf standing at the tiny goddess's heel. He wondered how Dick had managed to guess it was the Roman counterpart, when everyone would have assumed it was Artemis, until he remembered Dick's stories of Italy. "There's this story where some creep watches her taking a bath and she turns him into a deer. Then she sends her wolves to hunt him." Voice a bit quieter, he said, "I learned about it in Rome."

Damian could sense the cogs turning in Dick's head. He was brighter than Damian ever gave him credit for.

Suddenly Damian noticed a light in the corner of his gaze. He quickly grabbed Dick and ducked down, using the tall stalks of flowers as coverage. Dick didn't question it, he instantly went silent, controlling his breath as he was taught. Through the stalks, Damian could catch a glimpse of some figures exiting the mansion. While the figures wrapped around the house, leaving, one remained.

Damian narrowed his eyes, watching as the person headed in their direction. Slowly approaching. They were downwind and Damian could catch the scent of a cigar wafting in the air. Dick had been watching too, and when the man got close enough to be seen, Dick turned back and looked at Damian. Damian never turned back to lock eyes with him, gaze too focused on the one coming closer and closer. But he could imagine Dick's face—the shock, the slow realization in his eyes.

It was too late to go back.

The figure got close and stopped, finally seeing through their poor camouflage. Damian saw him reach into the inside of his jacket but Damian was quicker, easily taking the gun from him. When he resisted, Damian tossed him aside on the path.

Carmine Falcone looked at him, glaring.

"Great seeing you again, tu pezzo di merda."

Damian wasn't his father. Wasn't the person who Falcone thought he was—but they had still met before.

"Did you not like my present?" Falcone said. "I figured as much, when I heard about what happened to his spine."

Damian knew he meant the mercenary. It should have made him angry but he just felt cold, a strange numbness overcoming him. He pointed the gun at him.

"Batman—"Dick started at once but when Falcone's eyes shifted to look at the sidekick, Damian immediately spoke up.

"Eyes up here, Falcone."

"If you were going to kill me, you would have done it years ago."

This wasn't part of the plan.

Dick wasn't supposed to be here.

Damian turned to Dick.

The way Dick looked at him, knowing, scared him.

"Do you want me to kill him?" Damian asked him.

"You fucking cocksucker, you don't have the gall—"Falcone started.

"If you want me to kill him, I'll do it," Damian said, talking over the mafia boss, shaking the gun. Dick stared at him.

"You can't do that," Dick said, shaking his head.

"This is exactly what I can do," Damian said. He believed it. He knew he believed it. But he could feel something inside of him, something like repulsion rising up. "He'll be gone. He'll be dead. He'll never get away with another crime, he'll never make anyone suffer ever again. And it'll be on my hands, not yours."

"Is that why you killed him?" Dick said, face falling. "Because Batman wouldn't do it?"

Damian stared at him. His heart rate was a low, steady pulse.

He could still remember it.

It was never going to stop.

His father had already put so much of himself on the line, his sanity at stake. But no matter how many years they fought him, no matter how many times they threw him in Arkham, he just always came back.

Damian still remembered how easy it had been. How easily the white neck twisted in his hands. Remembered thinking that it shouldn't have been so easy—that he executed far more difficult assassinations as a child. One snap and that was it. It was over.

He wanted to be the hero. But the only way he could have done it was to cave into the demon.

It was only later that he realized it wasn't heroics at all.

It was fear.

He could take on the loneliness. The pain. The aimlessness. It was what he was raised to do. But if anything happened to them—if his father had to step back on that field with one leg, if Pennyworth had to be the one to bury him, if Dick never attained his justice—

Damian could do this.

It'd be easier than twisting a neck.

Dick glanced at Falcone, who was too busy staring down the barrel to try and interpret their conversation. Finally, Dick shook his head.

"No. I don't want him dead. And you don't want him dead either," Dick said.

"You're wrong," Damian said. He did want them dead. It was in his nature. The killer, bred for the purpose of greatness and dominance. Trained and raised in temples by masters who had perfected the art of killing. He searched and searched for so long, trying to find a way to escape it.

So maybe there was no escaping it. He had tried to redeem himself, time and time again. But maybe this was just the monster he had become. Maybe it'd be better just to embrace it, to keep killing the criminals who hurt the people he cared about.

That repulsion was still there.

"They've already forgiven you."

Damian froze.

Dick looked at him with honest eyes. "The whole time you were gone, you were all they talked about. They were waiting for you."

The gun felt heavy.

"Waiting for you to come back home."

Damian turned his head toward Falcone. He should just do it anyways. Just like he had done back then, even as his father had managed to catch up in time. Even as he yelled for him not to do it. Then he felt a hand overlap his—small, gentle. Damian looked down, tracing the hand to the person. He looked at Dick, whose eyes were no longer filled with fear but trust.

"It's okay," Dick said.

Damian wanted it to be.

Damian's brow furrowed. His grip came undone. Dick took the gun from his hand.

"I'm sorry." His mouth felt dry.

"I already told you," Dick said quietly. "I'm not mad." He shrugged a little. "So let's go back home."

Damian nodded. He turned back Carmine Falcone, who seemed to relax when the gun was out of Damian's reach. It annoyed him.

"This isn't over. You will pay for your crimes," he said, growling.

"I've got a lot of angry men after me. You don't scare me," Falcone fought back.

"You can't run forever," Damian said. "Wherever you go, I'll always be right on your trail."

---

"What the hell were you thinking?" Bruce said, grabbing him by the collar with sudden force. Damian realized, almost with surprise, that it had been awhile since he had been so angry.

Damian didn't fight him off. Didn't even respond. Bruce's eyes searched his face, as if looking for his answer in Damian's expression, but nothing. He let go.

The Cave was emptied. Alfred had shuffled Dick out quickly enough when Bruce had started yelling. Bruce staggered over to the computer desk, taking a seat in the chair. He buried his face in his hand for a moment.

"If Dick hadn't been there, would you have done it?" Bruce asked, voice soft.

"I lied when I came here," Damian said.

Bruce stopped, looking at him.

"I didn't know how. But I already knew that you lost your leg," Damian said. He looked out into the distance, the memory returning to him. "I saw it. I had returned to a city. It was my first time back to civilization in nearly five years. And right there, one of the first things I saw, was your face on the television. They talked about it, how Bruce Wayne had lost his leg in a freak rock climbing accident. But I knew the truth."

Bruce didn't say anything. He just listened.

"I wasn't ready to come back. I hadn't forgiven myself for what I did. I didn't trust what I'd do with a mask on again," he confessed. He frowned a little, the guilt seeping back in. He still wasn't sure if he had forgiven himself. He continued, "But I knew you weren't going to stop. I knew one day, you'd find a way to come back, and you'd keep fighting. I knew you'd let it kill you. I couldn't accept that."

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, quietly, he said, "You could have talked to me. You could have just told me—"

"No," Damian cut in. "Someone had to take it from you. I know. Because you also haven't forgiven yourself. You won't ever stop fighting crime."

"Throughout all of the years we've been doing this, I've wondered about the choices I've made. I've wondered how they have affected you." As Bruce spoke, his eyes became more faded, his mind going somewhere distant. Damian watched his father's face carefully, the creases near his eyes and the dark circles. "When you first came to me, you were so angry. For years I would look at you and I would make excuses for myself. I'd tell myself that you needed it. That you needed to fight crime because it would give you discipline, purpose, a sense of right and wrong and make you good. I told myself that after every mission. After every birthday. That you needed it more than kids needed baseball games and going to movie theatres. That you needed Batman more than your father. After that day—after what happened—I realized how foolish I had been. How wrong. That I let my insecurities as a parent and my own selfishness dictate how I had raised you, and how it was my actions alone that betrayed me. I wish I could take that back. Not just that day. Everything."

"I don't," Damian said. Bruce looked at him. Damian had never seen him so astounded. Damian looked elsewhere, wanting to stare at anything except his father's eyes. He looked around the Cave. His old uniforms. The batmobile. The training room. Every memory resurfaced. Every argument, every jest, everything he learned and experienced. Right there. Him, his father, Alfred.

And Dick too.

He had spent a lot of time moving. Going from home to home. Country to country. Master to master. But nothing felt as true and right as that cave.

He only regretted that it had taken him this long to truly come back.

"You have this idea in your head that you have to take on these burdens. That you have to be the one to cross the line, since no one else will. That you have to take the cowl, because you can't risk not to. It doesn't have to be that way, Damian," Bruce said. He shook his head. "You don't need an excuse or reason. Just be here. That's all I ever needed."

---

Damian didn't even bother trying to sleep. He waited, almost hoping.

He heard the noise.

Damian stopped, looking at his ceiling. He didn't wait for a second indication. He quickly got up and opened his window.

On the roof, he found Dick wandering. He watched him for a moment as he took a few steps further away, stopping to look at the sky. There wasn't anything to look at. While a few more stars were visible this far out from the city, Gotham's lights were still too bright. Most of the sky was black.

"Richard," he said after a moment. Dick stopped and looked at him.

"I can't sleep," he finally confessed.

"Come on," Damian said.

They ducked back into his room, Dick quietly following him. Damian pulled out his case of vials from his drawer. He sat down at the edge of his futon, motioned for Dick to do the same. He was getting ready to open the case, to give Dick the same remedy that had helped him fall asleep so long ago. But just as Damian put his hand on top of the box, Dick settled his hand over his. Stopping him.

The soft touch laid over his, smooth skin brushing against his knuckles. Damian looked at him. Dick looked back, their eyes locking.

"I don't want to fall asleep," he said.

Damian felt the hand move on top of his. Felt Dick's fingers wrap around his hand, holding it. He didn't tear away his gaze, saw the serious look in Dick's eyes. Dick was not without his insecurities but he played confidence so well. Damian leaned in, kissing Dick's forehead. He heard Dick's breath hitch, felt his fingers tighten around his hand in apprehension. Damian kissed along his face, in awe of his smooth skin. He had missed kissing it, had dreamt of kissing it again after the last time Dick was in his room—had thought of it more than he was willing to admit. His lips feathered against his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

With each movement, he felt a yearning for more. To touch more. To taste more.

Dick leaned up, greeting Damian's lips with his own, hands on Damian's shoulders to balance himself as he got on his knees so he could reach Damian a little easier. At first, it was a tentative touch, their lips brushing against one another. But Damian cradled the back of his head, fingers lacing through the ends of Dick's dark hair, pulling him in deeper.

Dick made a small noise, crushed between their closed mouths. His hands tightened their grip on Damian's shoulders, pulling gently at the fabric of his shirt. It took away some of Damian's inhibitions—he angled his head, kissed Dick a little deeper, a little rougher. His tongue pressed against Dick's mouth, and the boy pliantly allowed Damian to taste him. Damian felt the velvet tip of Dick's tongue against his, the sensation exciting him. He filled Dick's mouth with his tongue, listened to his stifled moan, felt his face warm up beneath his hand. They parted for a moment, Dick trying to catch his breath like he had forgotten to breathe. Damian turned his head and kissed him again, quickly, lips crushing against each other.

His hands ran up Dick's knees, just barely catching where his sleeping shorts met his skin, his fingers daring to caress past the hemline. Dick shuddered at the movement, his skin beginning to break out in goosebumps. Damian liked the reaction. His hands moved over the fabric to Dick's hips, where he then tugged him in, pulling him into his lap.

Dick's face pulled back, looking almost startled as he was placed on Damian's thigh, his face flushed. Their bodies were pressed closer together now, their chests touching, Dick's arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly, almost clinging. Damian pressed his lips against Dick's heatedly, hastily, like Dick could slip away at any moment. Since the last time Dick had visited his room, there hadn't been a night where Damian didn't think of doing just this—holding Dick in his arms, kissing him until he was breathless. Couldn't help but think that it was a mistake to let him leave when he should have held him tight, kissed him more, touched him more.

It was so easy, and so difficult.

Damian sighed against Dick's lips, feeling Dick's fingers slipping underneath the collar of his shirt—touching the nape of his neck. It was a simple touch against sensitive skin, and it was Dick's touch—curious and affectionate—which made Damian so eager to feel more of him.

Damian rubbed his hands up and down Dick's sides. Gently. Almost comforting as they kissed, lips moving against each other with steadily rising intensity. Dick's body reacted to every movement, shuddering and tensing and relaxing as Damian caressed him with hands and lips and tongue. Damian loved every hitched breath. Loved his warmth and gentle sighs. And Dick just seemed to wrap his arms around him tighter. Closer.

Damian tried to ignore it but it was obvious. He could feel Dick's erection rubbing against his thigh. He was aroused. And Damian would be lying if he denied that he was aroused too. Aroused from Dick, who was too affectionate. Too sweet. Dick just rubbed himself against Damian harder, almost as if trying to make his hard-on more noticeable. As if expecting Damian to take care of him.

This was getting too far. Damian pulled away from Dick's mouth, just wanting to gather his bearings, but he could still taste him. Taste Dick's kiss on his lips, remembering the soft sensation, the warmth of his mouth and tongue. When he pulled away, he saw Dick—flushed, lips wet, aroused underneath his clothes. Because of him. They locked eyes and Damian could see it—the hazy desire in Dick's eyes, a desire for something he knew but didn't understand.

Dick probably never kissed anyone before him.

Damian wanted to be the one to show him. Wanted to suck on his sidekick's throat, chest, stomach—wanted to show him how deep his crude desire sunk, ending with him shoving himself deep inside—

But he couldn't.

This wasn't right. On multiple levels.

Damian pulled himself away and he hated it. Hated that look Dick gave him, like he was a bad guy for stopping.

"You should go back," Damian managed to breathe.

"I'm not leaving," Dick argued. Damian could feel Dick's hands creep up underneath his shirt, the soft hands warm against his skin. Fingers dancing on the sensitive areas of his flesh. Damian held his breath, his volition weak. Wanted to feel those hands elsewhere. On his face, between his legs, or maybe racing down the length of his back as he pushed inside of him, penetrated him, hard and fast and—

"Another time," he tried instead. He only realized the trap he had set for himself after the words had fumbled out of his mouth and it was too late to take them back. Would he be able to handle himself another time? How many times would he be able to hold himself back?

But Dick couldn't even be satisfied with that answer. Damian turned his head in time when Dick tried to kiss his mouth, but Dick just as easily settled for kissing his jawline instead. The kiss so brief and light that Damian could have imagined it. The nearly delicate hands moved from his sides down to his hips. Heat rose to Damian's skin, a spark of electricity up his spine as the fingertips threatened to move past his waistband—

Damian caught him by both wrists, stopping him. Dick looked up at him, blue eyes senseless and wise all at once.

"I wouldn't mind—"he said, almost stammering. Damian's face flushed. It was obscene for Dick to even be speaking this way, to even suggest what he was about to. It shouldn't have been turning him on.

He felt Dick shift against him. The temptation was slowly escalating, higher and higher. Damian's heart was racing fast. He was trying to control his breathing but all he wanted to do was taste Dick's tongue again.

"Are you afraid of hurting me?" Dick said, almost cautiously.

"Yes," Damian could confess. No one, not even himself, made him feel afraid like Dick made him afraid. No one made him feel so safe either.

Damian could see the love and devotion in Dick's eyes everytime he looked in his direction. Willing to forgive. And if all else failed, if everyone in the world hated him, Damian knew he could depend on Dick. There was comfort in that. But Damian didn't know what to do with that level of devotion, how to respond to it when the circumstances were so drastic. When it wasn't just Dick, but his sidekick, his father's ward, in his lap.

He had given up on his morals so easily in the past.

So why was this still so damned difficult?

He buried the guilt with excuses. That he wasn't going to do much, even with Dick so ready and willing within his grasp. He wasn't. He wrapped an arm around Dick's back, steadying him. His other hand stuffed between their bodies. Even underneath the sleeping shorts, Damian could feel the dull heat against his hand.

Dick tensed at the touch, but he seemed to be anticipating it. Seemed to lean in toward the touch, readjusting his legs to feel Damian's hand better. Damian palmed his erection through his clothing. Felt the warmth, the soft fabric bunching up in his hands, the faint shape of Dick's arousal beneath his touch.

Dick's grip on Damian's sides seemed to tighten, clenching into the fabric, his breaths audible now. Shaky. Damian kept rubbing him, kissing his ear. Their cheeks touching, hot from their flushed skin. Heard the unsteady sigh, responding pleasantly to the touch.

It excited him more than it should have. Every breath, every movement, increased his want. He knew this wasn't going to be enough. Every sensation on his fingertips, his lips, made him greedy for more. He could feel the heat on his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with every moan spoken in Dick's voice.

It was difficult. He was pulling himself back for once—but at the same time, he was still doings things he shouldn't. Wanting things he shouldn't. And he was too far gone to keep making excuses for himself.

A small voice kept telling him that this was the line he shouldn't cross. He felt happiness and shame. And uncertain of himself, uncertain in something that he wanted so bad. It almost felt unfair how difficult it was.

Dick looked down for a moment, cutting off Damian's kisses. He wrapped his hand around Damian's wrist. Not with any sort of pressure, just hanging on, as Damian continued to palm him through his clothing. He seemed to lean toward the touch, eyes shut tight. And that little bit, that slightest suggestion of desire, was almost enough for Damian to lose control.

He still wasn't used to not having what he wanted.

He knew. He knew that there was a high chance that Dick never would have looked at him like this if he hadn't manipulated him first, if he hadn't lied to him with kisses and false support and comfort and words of needing him, and as much as he wanted to believe that Dick was here of his own volition he couldn't be certain of that because of the choices he made, and it hurt to think that he screwed that up. That alone should have been enough to pull him away but his selfishness kept him anchored in.

This wasn't going to be enough.

He started to tug Dick's shirt up—Dick pulled it off the rest of the way, the garment slipping from his fingers. Damian's mouth felt dry as he took in Dick's form, so slender and light.

Easy to pick up. Toss around. Fold underneath him as he buried himself inside—

It wasn't enough.

But he can't hurt him.

Damian saw the crook between Dick's shoulder and neck, the contour almost graceful, and wanted nothing more than to suck on the skin. Nip it. But as his gaze lowered, he found himself looking at the dark marks near Dick's ribcage. Back from when he had been kicked by that assassin. He gingerly touched against the mark, felt Dick flinch.

Damian pulled back his hand. He had gotten too curious. But Dick said, "It's not so bad. Just sensitive. It only hurts if you press really hard. I've gotten worse in trapeze practice."

Damian was still balancing between guilt and desire. The mark on Dick's skin was enough to lean him towards the former. Strong shame washed over him. Shame for not protecting Dick better. Shame for lying to him. Shame for still not wanting to stop. He already hurt him, he was only going to make the damage worse. All he was capable of doing was hurting.

Dick put a hand around the back of his neck, dragging him back down to his height, and pressed his mouth against Damian's. There was a different nature to this kiss, something almost forceful—hard and quick. Just this once, Damian kept telling himself. He pulled from Dick's mouth, had to bend his back to kiss at Dick's neck, his collarbone, his chest. Took Dick's nipple into his mouth, pressed against his tongue. Heard Dick's breath catch, kept him balanced in his arms as he writhed in response.

Dick moved, more purposeful now. Hand sliding downward—Damian caught a glimpse, saw Dick's hand slip beneath his shorts. Damian watched, face heating up in response. It's not that he was surprised, of course Dick would know his body well enough to do that, but to do it in front of him—

The sounds he made began to sound more raw, evolving from hitched and careful sounds to something more passionate. More longing. He stroked himself as Damian teased his chest and Damian was so hard it hurt. Just once. Not enough.

Dick laid his head on top of Damian's. Damian could hear him, breathing hard, his breath tickling his hair. Could feel Dick's arm bumping against his as he thrusted into his fist. Felt him shift around in his lap, eagerly, as he finally tugged his waistband beneath his erection.

Upon seeing him exposed, flushed and hard, Damian's heart began to race impossibly faster. He really wanted to feel him. He resisted, the heat might be too much. Too tempting. But Dick was already back to touching himself, and even just watching it, the lewdness of it all, matched with Dick's heavy moans, was enough to push him further.

Damian felt his weak semblance of control finally unravel. He wanted to see Dick's face, wanted to see all of him. And he was so hard it hurt to ignore it any longer.

He knew.

He knew this wasn't what good people did.

But all he could focus on was what he wanted, right there in that moment.

He was never good at holding himself back. And Dick, whether it was wrong or right, accepted that. Accepted the lesser parts of him. Not in a way that he excused or condoned it—he wasn't that blind—but in a way that showed that he understood.

When no one else did, however hard they may have tried, Dick understood. Understood in a way that he knew Damian was capable of better. And somehow, that understanding and confidence in him and affection gently whittled away at Damian, in a way that he wanted to be better.

This isn't what good people did.

But Dick wasn't running away.

Holding tight onto Dick, he repositioned them. He laid Dick down on the futon, climbing over him. Dick looked almost tiny laid before him, despite the length of his limbs and the hint of muscles in his form. But with the slender contour of his waist and their height difference, Damian felt almost massive in comparison.

Dick's clothing was tangled beneath his hips. Damian dared to grab at it, felt the smooth curve of Dick's thigh as he dragged the clothing down his legs. Felt his hand brush against his slender calves and skinny ankles. He could feel Dick's gaze on him, watching him undress him, and Damian almost felt this need to steel his face. To hide his desire with composure.

Damian took in the sight of Dick's body, a stirring of lust threatening to rise up. Couldn't let it get too far. But the faint glow of the moonlight on Dick's skin was enough to tempt him, and he found himself tasting, his lips brushing against Dick's stomach, careful to avoid the spread of his bruise. Kissed his hipbones. The joining between the thigh and the body. Each kiss more languid, sucking on the skin, Dick shuddering and arching up to every touch in response. So willing. So beautiful.

Can't go too far.

Damian finally sat up, pulling his shirt off. Something in Dick's gaze shifted, as if looking at him with new eyes. Studying the parts of him that he had never seen before. When Damian undresses the rest of the way, Dick's eyes changed again. He seemed almost too quiet, almost shy in a way that Damian had never seen him act.

Damian wasn't sure how to feel. He could feel his strained erection pressed up against his body. He was so hard. But it also felt awfully perverse to be exposed in front of Dick this way, especially as he caught Dick glancing down.

Damian had to lean over Dick's body to grab the case from the side of the mattress. As he did so, their bodies pressed together. Damian gritted his teeth a little, feeling the heated flesh against his erection. Dick made a soft noise in response.

This wasn't what they were used for—not quite like this, anyways. They dried too fast. But Damian wasn't sure what else to use. He opened the case, withdrawing the vial of oil. He uncapped it, smelled the gentle, sweet spices. Spilled some into his hands, stroking his erection with it.

It was the first time he touched himself all night. He gave a low groan, feeling his hand sliding around his cock. The stroking brought him pleasure, relief. Pumping into it, with his eyes fluttering shut, he could pretend. Pretend that he was fucking something. Imagine that the tightness of his hand was something more. Almost.

And there was something in the scent that awakened the desire trapped inside of him. A fragrance that filled his senses, felt rich and sultry.

Damian pressed his erection against Dick's. Saw Dick staring down, fixated, his cock twitching at the contact. Damian grabbed both of their erections, the oil guiding his hand, and they both gasped lightly in response.

Damian could feel the heat rushing through his body, his erection strained and pulsing. He rolled his hips into the stroke, felt Dick, hot and hard and pressed against him—their cocks sliding against each other, in his hand. Damian's head felt hazy. Tried to keep his pace controlled. Felt good fast. But not too fast. Can't go too fast. He heard Dick's noise beginning to pick up, lots of gentle gasps and stilted moans and sounds that were almost like whimpers.

Damian wanted to kiss Dick again. To make him taste his tongue, to suck on his lip. But with their cocks joined by his hand, he couldn't bend that far, so he settled for balancing his weight on his knees and stroking Dick's hair instead. He felt the softness of his locks, eyes watching his reactions as he moaned and bucked up against Damian's cock, increasing their pleasure.

Damian's hand travelled from his hair to his cheek, gently touching. Thumb tracing over Dick's soft lips. He felt Dick's kiss against his hand. Damian stared, watching intensely, as Dick grabbed the hand. Kissing the palm. Sucking on his fingertips, and Damian gritted his teeth. How badly he'd love it if he could just slip his cock past those lips. Just once. Just to feel his lips, his tongue, the warmth and wetness of the inside of his mouth.

"This isn't enough."

Damian froze. The words didn't escape from his lips. He glanced down at Dick, who was weakly rolling his hips up. Expression thick and drunk with pleasure. But there was a look in his half-lidded gaze. Something yearning.

"I want more," he said, and Damian knew what he meant. He could sense it in the way Dick's thighs were spreading impossibly further to accommodate Damian's comparatively massive frame. Could sense it in the wantonness of his voice. And it freaked Damian out—not just the precociousness of this boy, but the fact that he wanted him.

He felt Dick's hand wrap around his wrist, sliding up his arms. Feeling the skin. Touching the muscles. Dick's eyes fluttered, eyelashes thick, as he stroked Damian's skin. Clear, unfiltered desire in his eyes.

He wanted more.

Damian's heart beat erratically, almost anxious underneath Dick's expectations. When their eyes met, Damian could see the honesty in his eyes. The trust and love. Damian finally pulled away, backing up.

"Turn around."

He could barely breathe as Dick drew his legs in, turning over. Damian lightly repositioned him, helping him get on his hands and knees. He bit back a groan as Dick was presented to him. He was almost afraid to look, lest the temptation be too great. He still didn't want to hurt Dick, though it was so easy to want to in that moment. All he'd have to do is spread his legs a little further, maybe press his fingers inside of the heat, get him used to his size, shove himself in once he was open and slick and—

He grabbed the oil, slicking his cock. The scent wafting through the air.

He aligned their bodies. He put his hands on Dick's hips, pulling him back so their bodies met. It was hard. Hard to fight back the temptation to push inside. Dick was already bent over on his hands and knees, his hips pushed up into the air. It'd be so easy. His backside didn't quite match up with Damian's form—he was still a bit too low to the ground, bumping somewhere around Damian's upper thigh. But somehow, that only filled Damian with more fervor.

He imagined hooking his hands around Dick's thighs. Imagined pulling him up to meet his thrusts as he shoved his cock inside.

He couldn't resist running a perverse hand over his ass, feeling the soft flesh. Watching as his hand wrapped almost completely around the cheek, Dick shivering beneath him. He tried to imagine Dick taking his length, stretched around him, all the way to base until he was completely filled. But there was no way, Damian convinced himself, especially as he laid his heavy cock against Dick's backside. Not without seriously hurting Dick.

So instead he rolled his hips, rubbing his cock up against him. Running over his entrance, along the crease, without ever prodding inside. Damian's gaze fell. He could feel the heat coming off of Dick. Felt his cock trapped between the softness and warmth of Dick's body.

Damian had to bend further at the knees to properly rub against Dick—but the sensation was worth it. He felt a little more confident with each roll of his hips. He wasn't inside—their bodies were not meeting fully, completely. But the sensation, the act of moving behind Dick, was enough for Damian to pretend.

He placed his elbow on the futon, to steady himself. His weight came down on Dick, pressing their bodies closer to the mattress. Closer together. So close he could smell Dick's own scent. Close enough to feel Dick's back pressed against his chest and waist, the warmth of his body. Damian felt shaky now, low sounds escaping the back of his throat every time he pushed his slick cock against Dick's body. Heard the sounds Dick was making, each inhale and exhale as Damian's weight moved on top of him, until it was all Damian could hear. All that he cared about.

He felt Dick move underneath him. Dick placed his head down in the crook of Damian's arm, consequentially arching his hips up higher. Bumping back up against Damian's erection in a way that made Damian curse under his breath. Felt Dick hook his small arms around Damian's, the same one he used to balance himself as he thrusted up against him, pretending to fuck him.

Damian could feel it. Feel Dick wrapped around his limb, feeble hands gripping into his bicep. Holding on.

Holding onto him.

He groaned, rutting against him. A little quicker now. A little harder. His cock pressed against his warm body. He could feel the heat coming off of Dick, pretended what it felt like inside. Pretended that there was tight heat wrapped around his cock. Imagined the sounds that'd escape his lips as Damian fed him his cock.

But he couldn't. He'd just hurt him. He didn't want to hurt him. Didn't want to scare him away.

Dick was still holding on.

Damian slipped his free hand between Dick's legs, grabbing his still erect cock. Wrapped his hand around it, encasing it. Damian's hands were still soft from the oil and Dick moaned between closed lips in response to the action. Every time Damian rutted up against Dick, he pushed him into his hand.

Their voices began to align. He felt Dick's grip on his arm tighten. Felt lips brush against the skin, kissing his arm. There's something about that, something about the level of devotion and affection that made Damian's heart skip a beat. It made Damian believe Dick wanted him, needed him, when he knew it was the other way around.

Damian would have kissed him again if the boy wasn't already tucked underneath him. Damian's form completely covered him, his body a cage. He could only express his feelings, his affections, through the movements of their hips and the sounds that escaped past his lips. And Dick responded to it all, pushing back against him, rocking between Damian's hand and the cock pressed hot against his backside. Damian's cock was slick with oil, rubbing off against Dick. Dick's skin was soft, the smell alluring. Damian rutted against him, faster now. The actions, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the hitched breathing and steadily rising voices, needed to be silenced. Damian had to hush Dick, who couldn't keep his voice down as Damian stroked him. They couldn't be caught, couldn't let anyone else find out. No one would understand. So Dick held back, but even his stifled moans and whines still turned Damian on.

He could feel Dick beginning to leak precum onto his hands. Dick's entire body felt flushed against Damian's skin. He was panting softly, his grip on Damian unrelinquishing, his legs trembling. He stayed in position, perhaps dutifully but Damian knew it was out of want. He stayed on his hands and knees but enjoyed it, seemed to moan almost longingly every time Damian pressed past his entrance. Dark desire began to drown out Damian's senses. He wanted Dick to come. Wanted him to finish for him, by his hand. He stroked him a bit faster, hearing the keening sounds drowned out in the crook of his arm.

"It feels hot," Dick finally said, voice breathy, struggling to maintain at a whisper. Damian just barely heard him—too lost in his desire and actions to pick up on the soft voice—but when he did, he felt a rush go through him. Desire racing. "I'm—"

"Come," Damian said, and could hear the husky desire in his voice. He wanted it. Wanted to feel Dick tremble underneath him.

"With you," Dick murmured.

"What?" Damian asked, not sure if he heard everything. Dick's voice was muffled, and lost between moans besides, his lips brushing against Damian's skin as he spoke. Damian kept moving, felt Dick's swollen cock pulsing in his hand as he stroked him. Bodies pressed so close he could feel every tremble that travelled through Dick's body. He was on the brink, Damian could sense it, and just the idea of it turned him on so bad.

"I want to finish with you," Dick finally said, with effort.

Damian's gaze lowered, felt something swell inside of his chest. He looked down at the hands on his arm, all calluses and blunt nails, small but damaged, clamped down on him. Dick, holding himself back, just because he wanted to do everything together with Damian—Damian understood, and he also didn't.

"So perfect," Damian whispered, the words slipping off his tongue without any thought.

He pulled off, gently turning Dick onto his side. Off of his knees. Damian reached down, grabbing his own cock—the tight heat of his hand making his eyelids lower. He saw Dick twisting to look up at him, trying to understand the change in position. Damian quickly took the opportunity to kiss him, their tongues dancing, swallowing Dick's delicious moans before finally pulling away.

Holding himself, Damian aligned the head of his cock, wedging forward, the softness of Dick's inner thighs hugging around him as he pushed through. Then he felt heat. He was pressed against the underside of Dick's erection.

Dick made a soft noise, a moan behind crushed lips. The sound filled the still air. Damian should have been terrified but he felt his breath hitch, heat rushing through his body. Somehow Dick's reaction, just knowing that it felt good for him too, fuelled Damian's desire. Made his breath shake.

Dick's hand blindly grasped at his body, trying to feel him. Hold onto him. Damian thrusted forward, his cock brushing the underside of Dick's. The position allowed Damian more control, allowed him piston in and out. He ran his hands over Dick's body, rubbing circles along the surface of his heated skin. He could look into his face, see the flush, his mussed hair, blue eyes peering up at him beneath dark strands, his lips slightly parted as he gasped in response to every contact between their erections.

Damian kept one hand placed on top of Dick's thighs, feeling the smooth skin, keeping himself steady. Dick's thighs kept him tucked inside, smooth and warm and tight. Even more than the rutting, Damian believed it. Believed he was making love to Dick. Imagined being inside of him instead of the area he managed to situate his cock.

A hand brushed over Dick's chest, pressing against the peak there. Teasing and pulling it. And Dick's expression slipped away all at once, turning his head to bite into the sheets. He finally trembled, his hand reaching down to grab his cock and properly stroke it.

He made a long, almost mournful sound, stifled by the sheet, as he climaxed in his hand. Damian could barely breathe, pushing in faster. Bucking up between Dick's quivering legs as he watched him jerk and tremble, unloading his seed onto his hands. Dirtying his fingers, the sheets.

Dick's entire body relaxed but he didn't leave. He looked up at Damian, his hand still filthy. Damian could see the lingering desire in his eyes. He wanted Damian to finish too.

Damian groaned softly, unable to tear his gaze away. Dick's eyes were pulling him in, tearing him apart, making him undone. Damian wasn't sure if he'd ever understand, wasn't sure how this boy could make him feel so damned weak.

He doesn't understand it but he doesn't fight it. Doesn't run away.

Eyes locked, the heat rushed down to his groin, body trembling as Damian finally finished. He felt himself release between Dick's thighs. Felt his ejaculate, hot and thick, guide him as he thrusted eratically, riding out his orgasm. The tremors and heat ran through his body until his entire being felt weak. He removed himself, grabbing the sheet to clean himself. Saw the mess on Dick, dripping down his thighs and wrists, and helped clean that too.

Dick didn't say anything, just reached out. Touched Damian's side, fingers just barely grazing against him. Tenderly. Damian could read the look in Dick's eyes as he looked up at him. The silent request. Damian obliged, leaned down and kissed his face. Kissed his cheek, behind his ear, his hairline. Kissed him in short, brief contact between his lips and Dick's skin, light and swift but still with fondness, and Dick just touched his skin all the while, hands moving over what he could touch. Each touch gentle, soothing. Calming Damian's spirit.

Damian was vaguely aware of the exhaustion in his body. He laid himself down on the futon next to Dick. He was vaguely aware of the time, wondering what hour they were approaching.

As if reading Damian's mind, Dick asked, "Can I stay here a little longer?"

Damian doesn't know how to say no.

They lay for awhile, unsure of the time. On the bedside table, fantastical ivory figures stood in permanence. On the dresser, amulets hung still. They talk in gentle whispers but in time, the words fade into comforting silences. Everything unmoving. Damian glanced around his room, taking it all in.

Damian didn't understand.

Didn't understand the invisible link that kept him tethered to this place. Didn't understand what bound him to what was so capable of hurting him. Didn't understand why it invited him in even though he could hurt it back.

When it all just seemed easier to run, some force just kept bringing him back.

Because no matter where he ran, whether it was from his mother or his father, he always ended back up in that house.

Maybe he had been looking for forgiveness. But if that was the case, then he was finished. He could leave now.

He felt a pull at the sheets. He glanced down at Dick, whose hand was tangling in the sheets that covered them. He saw the shut eyes, heard his light breathing, and realized he was asleep.

His first reaction was to wake him up. To make sure he returned to the boundaries of his own room. He placed his hand on his shoulder, ready to wake him, but hesitated.

Dick's body was still, save for his hand which twisted a little tighter in the sheets. Hanging on.

Damian waited. It was risky, but he decided just a little while would be okay.

Just a moment longer.

---

Damian stood in the Cave, his gaze resting on a display case. He found himself touching, his fingers just barely pressed against the glass.

"You could go back," Bruce said, who had been watching him from a distance. Damian's eyes tore away from his old uniform to look at his father. "It wouldn't be too difficult to make you another uniform. Maybe we could even come up with a moniker for you, this time."

"Gotham needs Batman," Damian said simply. He raised a brow. "Although, you would probably want that, wouldn't you? I've seen your blueprints and I've caught you exercising against Pennyworth's orders. You haven't given up yet."

"I wasn't going to," Bruce admitted. "Things were rocky for awhile. I needed to be prepared if I had to take the cowl again." He looked Damian in the eye. There was a semblance of trust there that Damian hadn't seen in a long time. Something reminiscent of far away, almost forgotten days. "That's not going to change—I'll always be prepared, if you change your mind. But for now, for however long you're willing, the cowl is yours."

Suddenly there was a loud clanging sound from the other side of the Cave.

"Whoops."

A heavy, exasperated sigh. "Master Dick, for the last time, do not juggle my medical instruments. It's incredibly dangerous not to mention silly and pointless."

"I think for now, the dynamic works better as Batman and Robin," Damian said, turning towards his father, but Bruce was too distracted in the scene, wondering if he should intercede.

"It's going to be difficult being stuck in here, watching from the sidelines," Bruce said, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you ready?" Damian called out. At the sound of his voice, Dick finally stopped terrorizing Pennyworth and hurried to catch up with Damian.

"Hey, you never finished telling me that story," Dick said, once they were inside of the batmobile. Damian started up the vehicle, trying to recall what Dick was speaking of.

"Which one?" Damian said, as they took off through the tunnel.

"The one about the lake with the giant lilypads," Dick said, but they were cut off by forwarded police signals. Once they began to move throughout the city, they followed the coordinates toward the emergency situation. When Dick had the chance, he started listing off other details to ignite something in Damian's memory. "You know. You said you had to take an old boat and there were flowers sticking out of the water—"

"Are you talking about a lotus?" Damian said, a little confused. He couldn't recall. "There was never a story to it. You just asked me what the temple looked like." They were getting close. "Grapple over on that post."

They easily swung to the ground. They raced around the corner, closing in on their target.

"I guess I just want to hear about it again. It just sounds nice," Dick said.

"Tt. Sure, if you like being yelled at by crotchety old men in the meantime."

"That's nothing new," Dick said, and Damian could hear the smile in his voice.

They approached their targeted building. Damian easily kicked the door in. They hurried their way up the steps.

"What did you miss most about Gotham when you were gone?"

"Who says I missed it?"

"Oh, come on."

They burst through the door. Damian was responsible for taking out all of the armed guards. Dick helped, easily tripping a few of them. One guy runs toward Dick but Dick easily outmaneuvers him, spinning him around and flipping him off balance—Damian feels impressed. Once they were surrounded by fallen bad guys, tying them up, Damian found himself shrugging.

"This, I suppose."

When they were done removing the threat, they hurried over to untie the victims. The mother and daughter who had been taken hostage immediately embraced. Meanwhile, Damian moved a bit away, reporting to the Cave and calling for GCPD.

Damian felt a small nudge. Damian looked down at Dick, confused by the small smile he was flashing at him, until he heard a stammer behind him. Damian looked over his shoulder, the mother approaching him. She looked relieved.

"Thank you for saving us," she said.

Damian looked at her, slowly nodding.

He'd never admit it.

But he had missed that too.