A/N: Heads up, there are expletives in this fic. And it gets dark there in the middle.

It had been two days.

Two days without a trace of Damian. No flashes of color in the shadows at night. Nobody leaving treats where the cat or the dog or the cow could find them.

Dick had initially assumed Damian's hot-headedness and desperation to prove himself a hero had spurred him to go after the blackmailer himself, but after so long without contact, the seed of worry in his gut had grown into a stone. Damian was a smart kid, when he stopped to think. He would have figured out the blackmailer was an inside job.

And Dick had thought he was getting through to him; Damian was responding to routine and a constant stream of support with calm. It didn't make sense for him to run off like that.

Two days.

He rubbed his eyes when they started to sting from staring at the computer so long. He had complied a list of the information he had. Tim had always joked it was like reading Nancy Drew's notebook, but Dick needed something to focus all the thoughts racing in his head.

One: Damian was upset about being sent away. He was known for running off on his own to prove himself. He probably went after the blackmailer.

Two: He hadn't been seen since.

Dick's eyes traced over that line several times. The tracking devices installed in the Robin suit had gone offline, along with the comms. He almost regretted not implanting one in Damian the way that Bruce had insisted on one in himself, but that was a breach of trust Damian wouldn't come back from, he was sure.

Batman had 'interviewed' the usual suspects and had eyes and ears on the underground. Nobody had seen or heard anything. It meant Robin was being kept on the down-low. Or that the criminals were more scared of the perp than they were of Batman.

Both options were bad.

Three: The last person to see Robin was Michael Heymann, Gordon's new bodyguard.

He had reviewed the security footage of the police precinct. There was footage of Robin slipping up the steps to the roof, and of Heymann following a few seconds after. There were no cameras on the roof, because the relationship between the commissioner and the vigilantes were still, technically, illegal. There was no way to confirm which direction he ran.

All signs pointed toward the blackmailer having Robin. But for all of the bluster in the notes, the criminal had yet to act on any threats. And how would kidnapping Robin help? The kid was too troublesome to be held as ransom. The best Dick could surmise was that Robin had figured out who the blackmailer was and was being held so he wouldn't reveal the information.

It would be easier to kill a witness. Dick tried not to dwell on that.

He almost wanted to believe the kid was with his mother. At least then, he knew he wasn't dead. But Talia was anything but subtle; if she had Damian, Dick would know by now.

He had Alfred spread the gossip he had the flu to get away with spending the day in the Batcave, searching radio frequencies and security footage for even a glimpse of the familiar uniform. He spent his nights under the cowl searching the city for signs of his young sidekick.

Two days. The likelihood of finding a victim of kidnapping dropped exponentially after the first twenty-four hours, a fact that echoed in the back of his head while he reread his notes with blurry eyes.

"It is time you got some rest," Alfred said, stepping behind Dick with a tray of tea.

Dick blinked for the first time in what must have been several minutes. He pushed back from the Batcomputer to rest them on the dim-lit Cave. "I have to be missing something."

"You must have memorized the footage and reports by now. The Batcomputer can continue searching for Master Damian's tracking signal and the feed from the security cameras without rest. You cannot."

Dick smiled unhappily. "You're right." He stood, cracking his back (and his hips, and his shoulders, and his knees—he should work more breaks into his investigations). "How did Bruce manage to get anything done?"

Alfred's mustache twitched. "I drugged his tea. On occasion."

Dick's smile got a little more genuine around the edges, but quickly fell again. "I'll take two hours."

"Three."

Dick eyed that tray that Alfred had brought down. He wasn't Bruce; he knew better than to argue. "Fine. Three hours." He combed his fingers through his hair. "If the computer finds anything—"

"I will tell you as soon as you wake." Dick opened his mouth to protest, but Alfred cut him off again. "You will be no use to the boy otherwise."

Dick snapped his mouth shut. His eyes closed as he nodded in agreement. He turned to leave.

"Master Richard," Alfred called. "Do not let your worry consume you. Master Damian is too stubborn and prideful to let any scoundrel hurt him."

Dick wanted to let that comfort him.

But then, that's what they used to say about Bruce, too.


It was colder in the basement, a fact that crept up on Damian like the chill through his feet. Goosebumps rose along his bare arms and legs. He rubbed heat into the skin idly.

His feet hurt from standing, but the floor was too cold to sit on. His neck was warm and raw where he had tried—unsuccessfully—to remove the collar, then to remove the leash from the collar, then to break the leash, then to remove the leash from the stairs, then to break the stairs. Each step locked shut with one of those small padlocks that he could break through in a matter of minutes with the aid of a lockpick he didn't have.

By his estimation, it had been at least forty-eight hours since he had been taken. But there were no windows, and Heymann didn't seem to bring down food on any kind of schedule; there was no way to be sure.

He also surmised, from the pattern of Heymann's heavy footfalls overhead, that Heymann left for a majority of the day. He assumed that the man was keeping up the ruse of bodyguard with Gordon in order to keep tabs on Batman's search for Robin.

Assuming Batman was looking for him. And not focusing on the blackmailer. Who was also Heymann, sending the police on a wild goose chase while he silently began his vigilante career.

Damian grit his teeth against the chill that travelled up his spine. He had to get out of here.

The footsteps overhead began moving toward the door to the basement. Damian schooled his shivering into barely-perceptible tremors and rolled his weight into the balls of his feet.

Heymann was dressed in the Batman suit again, for the first time since the first night. In his hands was a paper plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the same thing he had brought—and Damian had refused—the last several times he came down. He wasn't convinced it was even a new sandwich.

Damian opened his mouth to tell him off, but Heymann lifted a hand in warning. "A deal," he said. "Eat the sandwich, and I'll give you more of your outfit."

Damian sneered. "How is that supposed to benefit me?" He positioned himself so the slack of the leash was behind him, further from Heymann's reach but far from out of it.

Heymann offered the sandwich to him. Damian barely glanced at it though his stomach protested.

"We are going out tonight. As Batman and Robin."

"No we aren't." His hands curled into fists at his side.

"You have a choice," Heymann continued, as though Damian hadn't said anything. "Eat the sandwich, and I will give you gloves, a cape, and shoes. Don't eat it, and you will receive none of those things. We go out regardless."

Damian gave the food another look. It looked innocent enough, but there was no telling what the contents of the sandwich were. The risk was too high. Setting his jaw, Damian shook his head. "No."

Heymann grunted. "Very well." Damian flinched when the man flicked his wrist, expecting an attack. The sandwich and accompanying plate crashed into the corner. While Damian watched it fall, Heymann pushed him back against the wall beneath the steps. "Face the wall. Head down."

Ice, unrelated to the cold room, flooded Damian's veins. He wouldn't be able to see if he followed orders. The second Heymann removed his hand, Damian stepped away from the wall.

Heymann's large hand clapped onto the back of his head, pressing his forehead hard into the cold brick. "I won't tell you again."

Damian growled, and pushed back against the weight. Heymann gripped his hair and tugged his head to the side, away from Heymann, applying more pressure than Damian could push against.

The tell-tale clacking of Heymann's utility belt.

Damian clawed at whatever he could reach. The Kevlar held against his ripped nails.

After a second of silence, there was a small click, and the leash fell slack. Damian's shock and relief lasted just long enough for Heymann to wrap the tail end around his free wrist. He released Damian's head.

Damian turned. There was a trickle of something warm down the shell of his ear.

Heymann didn't wait for him to react. He started toward the base of the stairs. "Come on, Robin."

That's when he remembered: patrol. Outside. Like this.

Damian grit his teeth. "Bite me."

The backhand wasn't unexpected, but it made the bruises already blossoming on his face ache. The new metal studs attached to the knuckles of the leather gloves made a horrid cracking sound against his cheekbone.

The burly man in the cowl growled. "That's not how you treat the Batman."

"You're not Batman!"

The collar around his throat constricted threateningly as the man pulled him closer. "The old Batman is gone. I don't know who it is that took his place, but he's not the real deal. Gotham needs somebody stronger than Flippy-McGee out there."

Damian narrowed his eyes. "He's stronger than you will ever be."

He almost regretted the words when the man's mouth twisted into a snarl. It was not his father's face under the cowl, or Grayson's, and it was never more obvious than it was now, when the man's face twisted with uncontrolled rage.

"You stubborn little shit," Heymann hissed. He used the collar and attached leash to drag Damian back to the steps. Damian choked. The man paused at the metal banister, switched hands, and began wrapping the leash around a higher baluster than before. He gave the leash a good tug, making Damian's breath catch in his throat. Locked it in place.

And then he stepped away.

Damian tried to gulp down air, but even on his toes the leash was almost too short. The collar was flush against his neck, digging into his trachea. He tugged at it with his hands, but couldn't put enough power behind it to relieve any pressure. Every breath was an audible wheeze.

Heymann began to ascend the steps.

"Stop!" Damian tried to shout. It came out as a raspy whisper. "You can't leave me like this!"

The hollow steps above him stopped. Damian tried to twist around to see, but moving his head only dug the collar in deeper. He listened instead, as the stair creaked under a weight shift. He almost jumped when a hand landed on his head. It swept his hair back roughly, the seams in the gloves catching strays and plucking them out.

One finger caught a piece in the front and tried to coax it into a curl. Damian had to resist the urge to reach up and break it. He couldn't afford losing his hands again. Not like this.

Heymann grumbled when the hair didn't cooperate. "You aren't the original, I know. But you'd think he could choose somebody a bit more similar." He gave up, patting Damian on the head like he was a dog. "Last chance, you ready to behave?"

"Fuck you!"

Heymann swept another pat across his head before removing his hand. "I'll be back in an hour."


"Master Richard."

Dick shot to his feet before gaining full awareness. What sleep he had gotten did wonders for his reflexes. "Alfred. Any news?"

The butler had a grave face. "It's the commissioner."

Dick's heart skipped a beat. "Is he—"

Alfred shook his head. "He wants to speak with you."

Dick nodded absently, already headed toward the door. "I'll go change."

"I should have been more specific. He wants to speak to Dick Grayson."

Dick froze in the doorway. "Why?"

"I'm afraid he could not disclose that information." Alfred's voice dropped in volume against some imaginary eavesdropper.

"He said it was urgent."