A/N: Another reminder, this chapter takes place around one year after Chapter One.
A few additional warnings pertaining to this chapter: mentions of past torture, murder and violence against women (all related to a case). Also, still be aware of the warnings included in the prologue.
Second Winter
Damian usually awoke on his own. That was always the first plan. Pennyworth waking him came second, and the alarm clocks came third. When the clock's chirping rattled the room, he opened his eyes groggily. Rough start, he thought as he slammed the alarm button. The past few nights had been rough. It had been getting harder to sleep.
Normally Pennyworth was the one to awake him if he needed waking, but these days, it was him that had to be attended to. He was sick again and had been spending more time sleeping in his room. Since Pennyworth didn't wake him, he'd probably have to make his own breakfast that morning and drive himself to school.
He grabbed his school uniform from the closet and carried it to the joined bathroom. He showered, trying to will himself awake the entire time. After finishing his usual morning routine, he dressed and headed for the kitchen. Maybe he'd just grab a breakfast bar or a piece of fruit or something.
Titus was sitting outside his bedroom door waiting for him, per usual. Damian patted his head as he walked by and Titus immediately set to trailing after him.
They were walking down the grand staircase when Damian caught something in his peripherals.
What? he thought, frowning. He even paused in place. He almost thought he saw a body moving into the kitchen, but Pennyworth was in his room, his father should be heading into the office by now and Richard was usually still asleep during the day.
"Titus. Stay," Damian said under his breath. Titus immediately sat down on the step, though he seemed to look up at Damian curiously.
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Damian descended the rest of the staircase and cautiously toed his way into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise. He looked around the doorway and saw the fridge wide open, being rummaged through. Whoever it was, they were moving around pretty familiarly, but…
Damian didn't lower his guard. He padded around the island to get a better look at the intruder who was bending over to dig in their fridge.
He was greeted by long, creamy legs and a large posterior that was covered in black lacy underwear.
"Who are you?" Damian said and he was responded with a woman's yelp, followed by the sound of the butter tray being bumped into as she jumped in place. When the woman turned around to reveal herself, she was a stranger wearing nothing but her underwear and a shirt that was too big for her.
She looked at Damian with big, startled eyes. Her red hair settled around her shoulders.
Damian's face fell. Oh.
"Shit. I-I'm so sorry. You scared me," she said quickly, putting her hand to her chest. Obviously, Damian thought, remembering the pitiful noise she made. "Dick said everyone would be out of the house or asleep and he said I should make myself at home so I..." She trailed off, biting her bottom lip.
Damian had no time for her clumsy pattering. "Move," he said bluntly, and he reached past her to grab his already-packed lunch out of the fridge.
After Damian grabbed a granola bar and an apple off the counter, the woman held out her hand and offered an awkward smile.
"Hi. I'm—"
"I stopped caring," Damian said, taking a bite out of his apple. He walked out of the kitchen, Titus finally moving from his spot to bid him goodbye.
"Bruce brought women over all of the time," Dick said, looking annoyed. "And he wasn't subtle about it. I've actually seen Vikki Vale's breasts in-person, you know. He just happened to slow down by the time you entered the family."
"It's obscene," Damian said with a flat tone, scowling all the while. "You've been living here for, what, a year now? Believe me, I'm used to you flaunting your women around—my point is that they can at least wear clothes if they're going to parade through the manor."
"I don't flaunt anything," Dick said, and when Damian snorted in disbelief, Dick corrected himself. "Fine. I don't flaunt my… friends. I only bring guests when no one is home. Sorry. I thought you were already in school. My mistake."
"Again, you moved back in a year ago. You should know what time I go to school by now."
"I'm usually passed out until late afternoon because of all this bullshit," Dick said, lifting a barbell above his head almost for emphasis. "It's not my fault she turned out to be an early riser. Now quit lecturing me and spot."
"I can talk while spotting you," Damian said, rolling his eyes. He looked down at his phone to change songs, one earbud hanging down to listen to Dick. "It's not like you need my help anyways."
"I don't know," Dick said as he did another rep. He took a deep breath. "I've been lifting more since my little promotion. The weight could be a little too much—whoa!"
Damian jumped as he saw the barbell wobble, his phone dropping out of his hands. He immediately lurched to help hold it for Dick but when he leaned over to grab the bar from Dick's hands, their eyes locked, and Dick started laughing. Damian deadpanned. It was just another one of Richard's dumb pranks.
"Idiot," Damian said, saying it as if it were a curse. "If you actually start to drop it, I'll let it fall on you. We'll see how long you laugh with crushed lungs."
"Meh. Batman doesn't need to talk."
"Also, redhead?" Damian said, reverting the topic. "Seriously? Could you be any more predictable? Did Vikki Vale jumpstart your campaign of sexualizing gingers?"
"I have my weaknesses," Dick said, hanging up the barbell. He sat up, looking at Damian with a small smirk, and said, "She told me how you found her. I guess you've discovered my other weakness."
The image of the woman's ass in the air reappeared in Damian's mind. Damian bent to grab his phone off the ground, hiding his pink face. He muttered, "Tt. Pervert. You better not bring her over again."
At that, Dick didn't laugh. "Probably won't," was all he said, grabbing his towel at the end of the bench to wipe the sweat off his face. At his words, Damian made a face. He wasn't sure what to scold Dick for—sleeping around with multiple women, or sleeping around period. The former was impossible to avoid unless Dick wanted to resolve his commitment issues, and the latter felt unfair to ask of him. In the end, Damian had little say in what Dick did in what little spare time he had.
Besides, what did he care?
"Fine. Sleep with her. Just don't do it here again."
Dick shrugged. "I don't have time for her. Which is a shame." He rubbed his hands over his face, groaning, "I met her through some old circus friends. She's a contortionist."
"For fuck's sake, quit it."
"Your face is turning red."
"Only because of secondhand embarassment—it's like you don't even listen to yourself when you talk."
"Sure it is," Dick said sarcastically. Damian pretended to look at his phone but he could barely concentrate on the titles of the songs he was scrolling past. "You avoid the subject, but I was sixteen once upon a time. I know how it is. You have working hormones, I assume. I'm sure there are lots of girls at Gotham Academy." Damian flashed Dick a disgusted look. Dick raised a brow. "Boys?"
"Second. Hand. Embarrassment," Damian repeated, piece by piece.
"Avoiding. The. Subject."
"Maybe I'm not like you. Maybe I don't feel a compulsive need to fuck anything and everything that moves," Damian said, becoming annoyed at Dick's prying.
"Hey, not everything. Also, heh, cussing does not suit you at all."
Damian grew more irritated. "If you need to drown yourself in one-night stands just to feel loved, that's your life. I don't need to share the same insecurities."
Dick gave a sad look that reminded Damian of Titus whenever he was scolded. "Ouch."
Damian couldn't tell how much of that was Richard being genuine or Richard pretending to be hurt for sympathy. He shrugged, telling himself that it wasn't his problem. "Whatever."
"Suit yourself. But I'm sure your piss-poor attitude is breaking a lot of teenaged hearts," Dick said, grinning. Damian just rolled his eyes.
Dick stood up, tossing his towel on his shoulder and moving to another machine. Damian's gaze followed him. More often than usual, at least as of late, Dick had gotten in the habit of working out shirtless. Damian wasn't sure what was more suiting—his narrower, lithe frame back in his Nightwing days, or the extra muscle he had bulked up on in the past few months. Damian saw him everyday so it was hard to compare.
Dick kneeled down to set the weights on a machine. Damian could see the size of his shoulders, the muscles in his back, the curve of his spine.
More often than usual, as of late, Damian caught himself staring.
When Richard looked over his shoulder back at him, Damian wondered if he noticed him watching. But then Dick gave a small smile, his deep blue eyes seeming to strike Damian right through the chest, and he said, "It's a shame."
It is, Damian immediately thought, his mouth dry. But then he remembered what they were talking about.
"I have myself," Damian said. "That's all I need."
They were running late that night. Monthly maintenance, involving citywide camera and radar installation, kept them a few minutes off-schedule. It didn't help that GCPD kept uninstalling every bat-cam they came across—their workloads had increased as a result. By the time they reached an alley to meet with Barbara Gordon, she was shivering and pale.
"Sorry," Dick apologized when they approached her.
"It's fine. I know how the vigilante business gets," she said.
"You cut your hair," Dick noted. It was hard to tell underneath her hat but Damian caught a few short strands sticking out. It was the shortest he had ever seen it. Barbara eyed Dick cautiously.
"It kept getting in the way," she said stiffly.
"It, uh, looks nice."
Damian rolled his eyes. Why was every conversation with these two awkward? He knew why, of course, but the two should be able to make small talk at this point. It had been years since their big fight, and more years since they had dated.
Barbara crossed her arms a little closer to her body, her eyes darting to the side. "Are we going to talk about the case?"
"Right," Dick said, looking at the ground. "So what have you found out?"
"I'm going to show you," she said. She looked a little conflicted. "The crime scene is off limits. Like, I can get fired off limits."
"Then we'll have to make sure no one sees us go in," Damian said.
"Technically I'm not allowed to even be seen with you now," Barbara said, pulling her jacket around her a little tighter as a cold gust passed them. "If the commissioner finds out that any of GCPD is working with you guys—"
"Maybe he should focus less on us and focus on catching the bad guys," Damian said, annoyed. Any sentence involving the new commissioner changed his mood. He could tell by Dick's tight expression that he agreed.
"To him, you two are the bad guys," Barbara said, frowning. "But enough of that. Let's get to business."
Barbara led the way toward the crime scene, a small house. She paused at a doorway that was blocked off with caution tape. She bit her bottom lip and looked at them.
"I'll be honest. This scene… wasn't pretty. Even with my experience."
Damian raised an eyebrow at that. Barbara had a pretty strong stomach—it came with the vigilante gig. Soon it all made sense. When they tiptoed over the caution tape and into the house, most of the house had been emptied of evidence. A few things were marked with cards.
But the noticeable thing was a lingering smell.
"How many bodies?" Dick said, coughing.
"Just one," Barbara said. She reached into her jacket, pulling out an envelope. She showed them pictures.
Damian's eyebrows furrowed at the first picture, a small sense of nausea overcoming him. He matched the pictures to the crime scene, blood splatters all marked with little numbers.
"This house was home to a young widow. No children. We believe the perpetrator infiltrated her house, kept her prisoner and tortured her in her own home," Barbara said. Dick and Damian huddled to look at her pictures, all describing her theory.
"Disgusting," Damian said, his anger rising as Barbara showed pictures of recovered objects.
"The neighbors noticed she wasn't coming out of the house as often. She stopped showing up to work. There were two noted police reports but whenever officers came to her house, she answered the door and appeared fine. But there was no way that any of this happened recently—her murderer must have made her lie." Barbara shook her head to herself. "That smell? Most of the house is an absolute mess. Hasn't been cleaned in months. There are blood and urine stains in the carpet, the blood dating as far back as June."
"So who are we chasing after? Any sights of anyone else entering or leaving the house?" Dick asked.
"None," Barbara said, frowning. "We're thinking that she was killed because of the growing suspicions. The attacker must have killed her and ran. We have fingerprints but no matches, and the house hasn't been cleaned in so long that we don't know whose fingerprints belongs to who. Whoever it is who killed her, he or she is running free, and who knows if it'll happen again? But once we find the attacker, we'll be able to pin them. We have too much evidence for them to walk free."
"Or they'll end up in Arkham like last time," Dick said with a sigh.
Damian already started to wander around the house, moving into the basement where most of the pictures were taken. Dick and Barbara's voices faded into the background as he descended down the staircase, each creak growing louder with each step. There was a foul air in the room as Damian made it to the final step, an ominous feeling growing into the pit of his stomach.
Most of the basement had been cleared or sectioned off but Damian was able to put it together with the pictures. The workbench had been over there. The restraints had been over there. A bad feeling seemed to spread inside of him. Every etching in the floor and wall seemed like a scar. Pain and fear and sadness seemed to seep into the walls.
But it was just a basement. A simple room with four walls, a window in the top corner, a water heater tucked under the staircase.
As he circled the room, he tried to look for clues of anything that GCPD might have missed, but it seemed like it had been wiped clean.
Detective work was never Damian's strong suit. He always thought of how people should think instead of what they would think. He left those areas to his father, with his uncanny ability to notice details, and Dick, with his natural talent of being able to empathize. Damian was better at the punching business.
But he knew he had to at least try. If he had any ambitions of becoming a greater crimefighter, which he did, he would have to be able to solve his cases. So he tried to think of what the killer might have done and what secrets might have been clumsily left behind.
He sighed a little in frustration. What reason would there be to torture someone unless it was for more information? Damian had never seen a case quite like this, but he had enough experience to know that the perpetrator did this for pleasure, not for business. He knew that but he couldn't understand that.
She had been in that corner.
Damian slowly approached the little spot in the corner of the basement where the GCPD had found restraints. The more Damian looked at the spot, the smaller it seemed. Without thinking, Damian took a spot on the floor and turned his back to the wall.
The first thing he noticed was the window. So clear in his vision, but so far away. The restraints would never have allowed her to get that far. The more Damian looked at the window, the more uncomfortable he felt. If it was him, he would have broke those restraints and ran for that window. But it wasn't him… it was her…
Damian tried to imagine. Tried to imagine what it would be like to sit on that cold, hard ground in that filthy basement and have to stare at that window. It seemed to mock him, teasing him with thoughts of freedom. Insulting his strength and resolve. But then he remembered that the restraints were simply chains bolted to the wall.
Maybe he wouldn't have to face that window. He turned away from it, and even though he knew it was there, he didn't have to look at it. Didn't have to face it. Turning around also tore his gaze away from where the workbench had been—the one filled with instruments used for torture.
But the new view wasn't much better. Nothing but concrete and bricked walls. These walls that had witnessed everything, filled with pain and secrets.
These walls.
Damian's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He scooted in a little closer. There were scratches in the brick. Making sure that his gloves were on so it didn't tamper with evidence, he reached forward and managed to wiggle the brick out. As he leaned in closer, he noticed something crumpled sitting inside.
He pulled it out, finding what appeared to be a piece of frayed linen. He unraveled it, a little scrap of fabric that looked like it had been ripped off—maybe from the clothing she had been wearing?
Signed in blood was a name.
Damian quickly moved back up the steps to report the findings to Batman. As he climbed the staircase, Dick and Barbara's voices began to drift into his ears.
"Your dad… you never told me…" That was Dick's voice.
"I don't feel the need to tell you about every little thing that goes on in my life," came Barbara's response, her voice sounding a little cold.
"He was important to me too, Babs."
Damian reached the top of the staircase. They had been surveying the living room, the only lighting being their flashlights. Even so, Damian saw Barbara's face turn red. "Don't you dare call me that. Not in that voice."
Damian cleared his throat. Dick and Barbara stepped away from one another, creating distance. Barbara turned her head to hide her embarrassment. Damian shrugged it off.
"I found something."
He handed it over to Dick.
"Anna Brown?" Dick said.
"A woman?" Barbara said, raising an eyebrow. "Of course it's possible but it's unusual with these sort of cases—"
"It could just be a name the victim picked up. Anna Brown might not necessarily be the perpetrator. She could be someone close to the case—whether a friend, a loved one, or—"
"Another victim," Barbara finished for Dick. She shook her head to herself. "It seems like a common name. There could be dozens of Anna Browns in Gotham. You'll have to look into it. It's the only real clue we have. I'll see if any of the hair and fingerprints found match that name."
Dick tried to hand the fabric to Barbara but she shook her head.
"I can't use this evidence. If I did, I would have to explain to GCPD how and when I found it—and no one is allowed here. Besides, unless CSI picks it up or there was a witness, the courts won't give a damn." Barbara crossed her arms and said, her voice a shade lower, "We're on our own now."
Dick and Damian started to return home. The night still had an hour left for them so they took to the rooftops to patrol the city as they made their slow trek back.
"You did good."
The rock salt scraped beneath Damian's boots as they landed on a clear rooftop—the rest were covered in melting snow. His heart jumped at the praise but he managed to feign indignation.
"Tt. I always do good," he said.
"I meant finding the lead," Dick said, and the corner of his lips manage to quirk into a smile. The look was almost smug, like he could see right through Damian's front—and he probably did. "That was good detective work. You're learning."
"Was there any doubt?" Damian said, returning the smug look.
"I mean, your strong suits are usually the punchy-thing, not the thinky-thing, so… yeah?"
"You're right. I am good at punching things."
"Hey, it wasn't meant to be an insult. Can't I compliment a guy?"
"I don't believe thinking is your strong suit either," Damian said, launching his grappling gun to the next rooftop. He could hear Dick beginning to apologize but Damian was already swinging forward. His lead helped him hide his smile.
"Great," Bruce said sarcastically, his voice a low rumble. Damian glanced over to the computer, where Bruce and Dick were practically glued to the monitors.
"But that's not him. It can't be, could it?" Dick said, scooting in closer to stare at the mugshots on the screen.
"You had to have been seen," Bruce said, rolling the computer chair back. The frustration in his voice was not lost.
"We've taken out all of their cameras," Dick argued. "Batman hasn't been seen in weeks. Gotham Gazette is even theorizing that Batman is over—"
"Then why is GCPD arresting these suspects like it's a goddamn race?" Bruce said with a growl. He stopped and sighed, resting his forehead on his fist. His voice, restrained, slowly said, "I told you that with Commissioner Gordon gone—"
"I never left a trail—"
Bruce slowly raised his voice over Dick's words of protest. "GCPD will never want you to take another case, much less win one, so you need to—"
"Proceed with caution, document everything, yada-yada, I get it, Bruce. I don't know how they knew Batman was after this case. Hell, maybe they didn't. Maybe they actually thought those guys were worth arresting or wanted to satisfy the media. It's too early to assume that they're arresting these people only because they're afraid that Batman will catch the killer first."
"The commissioner has it out for you—"
"I'll talk to Babs. I'll see what the GCPD is thinking and—"
"Don't do that," Bruce said, the urgency in his voice cancelling out any composure he might have had. "That is the last thing I want you to do."
"You're seriously that paranoid," Dick said in disbelief, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms. "This is Barbara we're talking about. Batgirl?"
The anger in the room was growing palpable. Damian shook his head to himself and resumed helping Pennyworth organize the the utility shelves. Even at their safe distance, the rising voices could not be ignored.
"She hasn't gone by that name in years."
"We wouldn't even had that lead if it wasn't for her!"
"And maybe she is the reason why they know you're on this case."
"Last I checked, she still had a job."
"They want an eye on you as much as you want an eye on them."
"You think she's spying on us? God, I always knew you were crazy, but this—"
"Don't let your feelings blind you. We know that we can't trust GCPD. We know that GCPD is working against us. We know that Barbara is GCPD, therefore—"
"With all due respect, Sir, Miss Barbara is part of the Family," Alfred said, finally speaking up. Dick and Bruce stopped arguing to look. "I'm afraid I dislike these accusations. While Miss Barbara does, indeed, work for the GCPD and gave up the cowl, she is still invested in helping our cause—"
"She wants to be Commissioner. That's the plan. In order to do that, she needs to be efficient."
"So you think she's selling us out for a job?" Dick said.
Another spat quickly ensued and soon, Alfred and Damian were once again just bystanders.
"Ignore it, Pennyworth. Let them have their little shouting game," Damian said as he lined up some batarangs in a neatly cushioned box.
"Fortunately, it has been awhile since the last one," Pennyworth said with a sigh, plucking a grappling hook from the wall and polishing it. Looking weary, he added, "But it is an old, family past time."
Gotham never rested.
Even though the talk around the city was centered around the killer, there was still work to be done. The police were distracted by the case. When the media wasn't talking about the case's leaked details, they were questioning the disappearance of Batman.
In the past year, the growing rift between Batman and the GCPD had forced Batman to hide in the shadows—or risk being caught and arrested. When he was spotted, he was leaner and slighter than the "real" Batman, leaving the public suspicious about "the true" Batman's whereabouts. Batman had become more of a legend than a hero.
As a result, petty crime rates had risen. Witness accounts only got so far. People wanted photographs and videos, of which there were few, and no criminal was intimidated by the smaller, "imposter" Batman. It seemed that every night, there was more work to be done, and with the city in chaos, the nights were so different.
Damian wondered if he was panting because he was tired or because the cold air was so dense.
They chased down their enemies—they were just a neighborhood gang, but their usual vandalism had become increasingly violent in the past few weeks. They had created their own territory and terrorized anyone within their range. Their victims were of all ages, all races—anyone was free game. And for them, it was a game.
The gang was incredibly young—many of them were around Damian's age, but still managed to have an impressive array of arsenal.
The amount of contraband in Gotham had also significantly increased within the past year—yet another thing that was sitting on Batman and Robin's list of things to take care of.
Batman had taken to the rooftops as Robin chased them, herding them into an alley. Dick made his entrance, cutting off their paths by swooping down in front of them. They were surrounded—but what these teenagers made up for in lack of ambition and experience was energy and numbers. It wasn't long before switchblades and bats were swinging.
One of them had a gun and even appeared to be a pretty good shot, but he became a primary target, and Damian didn't let him get far before kicking the weapon out of his hand.
They weren't experienced fighters, but they were stubborn in getting knocked down and moved unpredictably. Damian moved around them easily enough. Dick took a few hits, but nothing he couldn't take due to the increased armor of the Batman suit and his rigorous training in the past few years.
Each of their hands held a different weapon. A dagger. A nail-bat. Damian couldn't withhold snickering a little at the crowbar.
But it was a long fight, especially after the chase they gave. And even Damian wasn't immune to mistakes.
Those that had the common sense to realize they were losing decided to take off. Damian's head turned as he heard them drop their weapons at once and run. He had an opponent's wrists in his hands, and the moment of distraction was all his foe needed.
The cry in Damian's throat was choked as pain shot in through his hand. He stumbled backwards a step, more stunned than anything. He had been raised to be immune to pain, and he had received worse than this, but it had been so long since—
Damian looked down. The dagger had managed to pierce through his glove, pushed through his palm and exiting through the back of his hand. Blood dripped, disappearing into the black ground of the dirty, dark alley.
The stabber took off, jetting past Batman. Dick saw him go and stopped to turn and look at Robin. Even beneath the cowl, Damian could see that Dick had recognized his wound. Dick stepped forward to help but Damian shook his head.
"Go after them!" he said. Dick gave him a reluctant look but took off.
Damian turned to his hand. Inhaling deep, he grabbed the dagger by the handle and yanked it back out. He bit back his cry of pain, refusing to yell over it. The blood, hot and scarlet-red, spilled forth from the wound. His hand trembled in pain. He wondered if it'd bleed out. If it was infected.
Couldn't worry about it, he decided. Had to keep going.
He tossed the dagger aside. Clenching his maimed hand into a fist, the blood seeping into the ripped remains of his glove, he gritted his teeth and carried on.
He turned the corner where Dick had managed to catch one in a net. He was still actively pursuing a group of others. Damian chased after them, the cold air entering his lungs, and each breath felt heavier and louder than the last.
The night seemed to be eerily silent. His breaths and beating of his heart grew louder. In the distance he heard footsteps splashing in slush and voices carried in the winds, but they seemed faded, muffled.
He had felt worse things than the pain in his hand. His mind seemed to shut out the pain entirely. Nothing hurt anymore.
But Damian did feel a sensation. Something deep inside his core that reminded him of pain, but didn't feel pain. The sensation, like steel slipping inside of him, so similar to the dagger in his hand. So similar. Followed by a burning. A deep burning.
Damian's eyes widened. The whole world had felt like a blur, and in an instant, the burning and the pain disappeared and his vision became clear. He was out of breath but his breathing did not seem so loud—other sounds, smaller sounds, became more audible. He was back in the moment and suddenly, he remembered why he was running.
He hadn't realized that he had already caught up. He immediately grabbed the nearest tool on his belt, a disc that he tossed at the foe's ankle, staggering him. He passed Dick, closing the remaining distance and knocking down the opponent. There was a few others that were getting further and further away, splintering off into different directions, but Damian didn't focus on them, instead leaving them to Dick and tying down the enemy that he caught.
After it was done, he rose to his feet. He saw a figure disappearing in the distance.
Damian moved a few strides forward but stopped, realizing he would never catch them on foot. Another day, he decided, feeling defeated. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow and looked.
Dick was returning from whatever direction he had run off in.
"Robin," he said, approaching.
"Did he get away?" Damian asked but he shut his mouth when he saw the serious expression on Dick's face.
"Let me see," Dick said, holding out his hand. It took Damian a second to realize Dick was referring to his injured hand—he had almost forgotten about it, in all of the excitement. But it was hardly worth the worry.
He was hardly worth the worry.
"It's fine," Damian said coolly.
"I wasn't asking," Dick said. Damian blinked at the stern voice, wondering if perhaps it was just the cowl.
He almost sounded like Bruce.
Damian didn't give his hand willingly, Dick had to grab his wrist. Damian glared, annoyed, but gritted his teeth and resisted saying anything as Dick tugged off the glove.
He turned the hand over, greeted by smooth skin.
Damian's heart skipped a beat, perplexed by his own hand. He felt the smooth leather of Dick's glove as the thumb ran over the intact, scarless hand. Damian thought of the pain, wondered if had been a dream, but the skin was still stained with his own blood. The cut was just… gone. When Damian dared to look up, he caught Dick staring back at him. Even beneath the whited lenses, Damian could see the question there. The confusion.
Damian responded by yanking his hand away.
"I told you it was fine," he said, and he took back his ripped glove. He threw his hood on and headed back to round up the gang members that they had managed to catch.
They could only do so much. At this point in time, all they could do was call GCPD and hope that they'd be arrested this time around. The entire time, that questioning look lingered on Dick's expression. Damian was careful to avoid looking at him, and as they heard the sirens in the distance, they knew they had to make their immediate retreat.
Damian made sure to get a headstart, not wanting to follow Dick. When he was in the batmobile, alone, he looked down at his hand.
How?
Damian's face twisted in confusion, not understanding what was happening. The past few months had been strange, sure, but this was absurd. This was something he couldn't ignore and now Richard knew too. Knew that something was going on, even if neither understood exactly what. Knew that Damian was weird.
Damian stared at his hand. Remembered the way Dick had grabbed it from him, his words conveying his concern, the way his thumb trailed so slowly over the palm of his skin…
Or maybe Damian just imagined it had been slowly.
Just like how he was imagining how it would have felt if Richard's hand hadn't been gloved. A touch without boundaries. Just the feel of skin touching skin, rather than the glove. Richard's touch, not Batman's. He wondered if it would have felt nicer.
The sound of the door opening forced Damian to look away, pulling the glove back on. He glanced down at the floor, making sure to turn his head away from Richard. His face felt… warm.
Dick didn't put the car in drive. It was exactly what Damian was afraid would happen—Dick wanted to talk and he wanted to talk now, even if it meant the risk of getting cornered by the police.
"Damian," Dick said, the identity slipping from his lips. The car was soundproof but it was still taboo to say their identities while in uniform. Dick should have known this, known this longer than anyone, and yet… Dick sighed a little when Damian was stubbornly quiet, said, "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to say."
"What happened to your hand? I saw it. The knife went right through it. I saw—"
"I don't know," Damian finally said, exasperated. The words made him both frustrated and relieved. It felt like a confession. Dick was quiet for a moment.
"Does anyone else know?"
"This is the first time."
"Is there anything else going on?"
Damian thought of the headaches he'd experienced. The images in his mind. The words. The singing.
His face burned. "Not that I've noticed," he said. Liar, a voice whispered in the back of his head.
Dick nodded slowly to himself, letting this information sink in. A tense silence filled the car, Damian's heart thumping all the while. He wanted nothing more than to be in his own room at that moment, alone.
"I have to tell Bruce."
Damian bristled at that. "You can't. You know how he is."
"He has better resources of looking into what is causing this than I do. Damian, that's not normal. You can't just heal from injuries like that… no human can."
"He'll demand that I stop. He'll make me stop." Damian didn't want to stop.
"Just until he figures out what's wrong."
"It's not hurting me." Damian gritted his teeth.
"You don't know what's causing it."
"Stop trying to fix me!" Damian snapped. At that, Dick could only stare back, surprised. Damian slowly shrank back from his own outburst, his chest twisting. Lowering his voice, Damian said, "I'm fine." He wasn't sure if it was true or if he just wanted it to be.
Finally, Dick started the batmobile, the lights bringing the car to life. Dick said, "Okay."
Damian looked up incredulously. "Okay?"
"Okay," he said, nodding. "I won't tell Bruce."
Damian was admittedly relieved, but for once, he could read Richard's mood—and he could tell that he wasn't happy about the decision.
Damian couldn't stop thinking about Richard's touch.
It was inappropriate, Damian knew. It might have been a beautiful moment. A moment between comrades. A mentor and his sidekick. Two people who considered each other friends. Brothers, even.
It wasn't right for Damian to sully it. But he can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking of the way his hand was held, that thumb crossing his skin. Dick was just concerned. It was loving, yes, but only platonically.
He shouldn't be thinking of it this way.
But Damian can't help it. He's known it for awhile. Thought about it months ago, when he started having these strange visions, and Dick had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. No, further than that.
It had started years ago. Back when he was nothing but a child, a far cry from the size he was since his growth spurt. Strong but small. Arrogant but insecure. Tough but fragile. In a time where snow was falling and all Dick had to do was smile and Damian felt safe from all of his weaknesses. Back before the visions and the fear and Richard was just Richard. Back when things were where they were supposed to be and Damian was too young to grasp his feelings, when his affection was innocent and honest and he didn't have to do this in the middle of the night.
Damian turned on his side, his sheets clinging to the sweat on his skin. He breathed in deeply through his nose, his breath hitching as he stroked his aching cock. He was getting frustrated. Couldn't get comfortable. Couldn't meet that edge that he needed to reach his climax.
Perhaps he was overexerting himself. In the beginning, when his body was starting to experience changes, he knew—on a scientific level—what was happening to himself. But he had no idea how to remedy it, so he tried to ignore it. When he first started to touch himself, he had been almost afraid. But now it was almost as frequent as sleeping, and every night, his head was always filled with the same thoughts.
Inappropriate thoughts.
This was inappropriate.
Damian's free hand twisted in the sheets, his toes clenching and unclenching as his hand stroked himself, closer to the tip now, his precum sticking to his hands, making him feel filthy. A little better now. He turns his head, burying his head in the pillow to bury his noises. No one could know.
Richard was right down the hall.
His mind drowned in thoughts, wondering how nice it'd be if Richard came into his room right now and helped him relieve this frustration. Damian could picture that perfect smile, that smile that was genuine but had that tinge of mischief to it, that heart-stopping, heartthrob-like smile that had women crawling into the manor when no one was supposed to be home.
And in moments like this, when the heat rushes to his face and groin, and he has to bite at the pillow to avoid making some noise that sounds lonely in his otherwise silent room, Damian can imagine what it would be like to kiss that smile.
And sometimes, that's enough.
Damian doesn't fight it. His mind drifts into fantasies as his body shakes in climax, filling his hand with hot, thick seed. Damian groans once more as his orgasm washes over him. When his body settles, he relaxes into the sheets.
Disgusting, he immediately thought, cleaning his hands in the sheets. There was a point in time where he fought against all the desires of the flesh, but the older he got, the harder it became to resist. Now, he didn't bother fighting it. It made him feel weak, caving into human desires so easily.
Not to mention his thoughts...
He was supposed to be more controlled than this. More disciplined than this. But stupid Richard had crawled into his mind and was messing with his brain, and the more time they spent together, the less Damian could fight the thoughts. And these days, all they did was spend time together. Damian could say, easily with zero hesitation, that Richard was his only true friend.
And that's exactly what made this so damn difficult.
He gets up and gets ready for the day. He showers and brushes his teeth, he grabs his uniform and his bag, and he goes through his usual routine. School feels like a chore. His classes are too easy, and high school is just a front for the life he's hiding—a life where he spends his nights cleaning up the city. There's this girl who keeps asking him to join the chess team, all based on a single game she had watched Damian play in the library by himself between classes, and for the first time, Damian wondered what would happen if he had said yes.
If he had the time, would he go? Would he give up crime fighting, give up Robin, to join an extracurricular? Would he actually be able to have a conversation with his schoolmates, be able to work past his own awkwardness and his inability to connect with other people, and make friends?
It seemed like the right thing to do—to live a normal life. But it was so far beyond Damian's understanding that he could barely imagine it.
When he returned home, he immediately went toward the cave to do his daily training.
Damian made it to the final steps of the staircase, spotting his father, alone, at the desk.
It was an odd scene to see his father by himself these days. While his father had made it his duty to study the cases, Dick was usually heavily involved in the process—especially as of late. As Damian approached the monitors, the scene became stranger still—the files his father was viewing didn't concern the case at all. Instead he was looking at a map far from Gotham.
"My mother?" Damian guessed and Bruce stopped and looked at him, mild surprise in his eyes. Damian looked at him. "I recognize those mountains. It's an old hideout."
"You never told me."
"I didn't think I would have to," Damian said, shrugging. "An avalanche destroyed most of it a long time ago. It didn't contain a Lazarus Pit, so it wasn't important enough to need rebuilding. I spent my fourth birthday there and this is my first time seeing it since. Is that where she is now?"
"I don't know," Bruce said.
"Are you being honest?" Damian asked quietly. Bruce contemplated over Damian's words.
Reluctantly, he responded, "I've noticed some activity there. League activity. I think it might be a lead to your mother." He paused before asking, "Are you sure there is no Lazarus Pit?"
"I'm sure of it. I threw a fit because Grandfather wasn't there. I was too young at the time to understand why he wasn't, but now—"
"I see," Bruce said, and the conversation fell quiet. Damian shifted his weight to his other leg, feeling uncomfortable.
"I want to catch her as much as you do," Damian said, frowning. "She may be my mother—but my loyalty lies with you."
"I know," Bruce said quietly. "But it's still a position I don't wish for you to be in."
"But it's the position that I've made peace with," Damian said. "If you have any further research to do with the League of Assassins, you should consult me. I'll tell you everything that I know." Damian looked away awkwardly. "Besides, if the League of Assassins are making a move, it's going to be Batman and Robin's responsibility to get involved. You can't separate me from this."
"I know," Bruce said again, his voice ever quieter. Damian tore his gaze away. His father was older than his years and was crippled—and Damian hated looking at him when it showed. It reminded him that his father was mortal—and worse, just a man.
Damian stared at the map, distant memories floating in his mind. He tried to wish them away but he found them lingering—and while most of his childhood memories had soured over time due to his rivalry with his mother, he couldn't help but feel a yearning in his chest as he thought of simpler times.
For all of her cruelty and treachery, Talia had truly made him believe that he was a prince. And with all of the places he had been and the things he had experienced in his lifetime, his most vivid memories still carried her voice and the smell of her perfume.
"Do you regret it?" Damian asked.
"No," Bruce said at once. Damian was sure he had only said so because of him. But Bruce went on to elaborate, "It wasn't all so bad. I was younger back then, a little more careless. A little more blinded. Talia… is remarkable, despite her flaws. And there was a time where, despite everything, I considered making her my wife."
That explanation made it a little easier to understand. Damian never considered his parents as a married couple, though as a child, he dreamed naively of all of them together as a family. A real family. It was hard to believe that his father had almost made that a reality.
But that wasn't who his parents were. Both Bruce and Talia were too bullheaded, too independent. Even if their dispositions had been the same, Damian knew now that it probably wouldn't have worked. They had been too young, too ambitious, when he was conceived. A marriage would have been a nuisance.
And if Damian had to be completely honest with himself, he wouldn't have had it any other way. He wouldn't have grown up to be who he was if his parents hadn't been so driven to make him the best—and while it was unfortunate that their ideals were so different, Damian couldn't imagine living a life that was normal and boring. A life without Batman and Robin.
"Did you want it to work?" Damian asked quietly. "Even when you knew you shouldn't? Even if it would have been wrong?"
At that, Bruce looked at Damian oddly.
"Damian," Bruce said, frowning. Not in the way that he was angry or upset, but in the way that he was concerned. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"
His father, ever the observant one.
"No," Damian said immediately, though his thoughts scattered to all of his secrets. The secret about his hand, the visions, the thoughts in his head. And the biggest one, one Damian would never confess to Bruce. Would never confess to anyone. The secret that was just another naive dream that visited him in his bed. He breathed in a little. "I'm just curious."
Bruce nodded a little, seeming to try to sort out his answer in his head. Finally he said, "Perhaps I did. But there was too much against us. Too much between us. After awhile, I suppose I just realized it wasn't meant to be."
Damian knew that was the right answer.
He also knew it was the answer he didn't want to hear.
They finally made a breakthrough in the case. They finally found Anna Brown.
Another young widow, perfectly matching the case of the first victim. And more importantly, they found her address.
It was not quite yet patrol hours, the sun was still setting in the distance and the snow was coming down. But not another moment could be wasted—she could be alive. She could be waiting. And Batman and Robin had to save her before it was too late.
It was a quiet little suburb tucked on the edges of Gotham. It hardly felt like the city at all, but deep beneath it was hiding its big secret.
"Be careful," Bruce reminded them. "If you go in too hastily, you could scare away the perp—or scare him into doing something worse."
Dick picked the lock to the door, quietly slipping inside. A familiar smell greeted Damian, followed by images that felt all too familiar. Dick and Damian quickly surveyed all corners of the house, not finding any trace of the criminal.
They eventually found the door leading into the basement. They glanced at each other silently. No other words were needed.
They were careful to take their steps but even so, the creaking stairs could only do so much. The basement was freezing and Damian immediately shivered. They stood, surveying the room, silent save for the flickering light. There was a subtle rustle of chains, alerting them both. Dick immediately moved toward the noise. Damian glanced around the room, noticing a difference in the room, wondering briefly where the workbench was kept. He didn't keep the thought for long, too eager to follow Dick. Damian could hear his heart racing as they turned the corner, finding a little crook where a woman in a mess of tangled hair and rags sat.
She looked up, at first fearfully, but then recognition flickered in her eyes. She was shaking—from the cold or from shock, Damian was not sure—but she moved towards them. Her chain rattled around her ankle but that did not stop her from marching forward, her hand outstretched toward him.
"You're here," she said incredulously, a tear rolling down her cheek.
"We're going to help you," Dick said.
"They said you disappeared. That you didn't exist," she continued saying, her eyes glistening. She stepped forward into Dick and Dick wrapped his arms around her.
Damian had seen a lot of hurt people in his lifetime. Perhaps more than he ever should. But when the woman collapsed into Dick's arms, something twisted in his chest a little. He felt proud.
"It's okay," Dick said simply. "Let's go."
But as soon as Dick released her, something went wrong.
The loud clattering of the chains alerted them too late. Dick swooped his arms to grab her but only caught air. She was knocked to the ground, screaming as she was dragged across the floor by the chain attached to her foot.
Suddenly it dawned on Damian too late. The reason why there was no workbench in this room was because this wasn't the only room in the basement. They had been distracted with finding her that they fell for the bait.
Dick and Damian both lurched forward, moving into the next room to help but were forced to stop when she was captured in the arms of her assailant.
A disturbing knife was held in his hands, coated in dried blood. And he was moving quickly, the knife moving towards Anna's neck.
Dick threw the batarang. The man cried out as his hand was struck, the knife dropping from his hand.
But it was too late.
Anna Brown's body fell to the ground, blood pouring from her slit throat. Dick raced forward to help her. Damian moved in toward the man instead, kicking him hard. The man fell over, his nose bleeding. Damian wanted to kick him again and again but he resisted, reaching for the zipties in his belt instead.
When he had him pinned and cuffed, he looked over at Dick. He had one hand over Anna's throat, trying to keep the blood in. The other was stroking her hair. His lips were moving but Damian couldn't catch the words he was saying. He could hear nothing, the room seemingly silent as he watched the woman on the ground.
As hard as he tried, there was no helping her. The blood dripped between Richard's fingers, puddling beneath her. Her body jerked and convulsed, fighting. But the longer she bled, the more her eyes faded. She continued to bleed, her body relaxing, until all the pain, all the fear, finally ceased. She was still.
Dick stopped talking. Seemed to stop breathing. His hand stilled in her hair.
After a long moment, he finally sat back.
"I'll contact GCPD," he finally said.
They met Barbara in her apartment, as arranged, careful not to awaken or rouse any sleeping neighbors as they slipped in. She immediately scolded them for getting snow into her apartment and made them take off their shoes, and despite how silly it looked to stand in their uniforms but with no boots, they complied.
She kept her apartment warm enough and even offered them coffee, though both politely refused. As planned, they talked about the case.
"He confessed so he's been arrested. But the commissioner is convinced that you two had some part in it," Barbara said, sipping her coffee. Damian knew it was coming, but still, anger bubbled up.
"Tt. Is that some sort of joke? They never would have caught that guy if it wasn't for us!" he spat. Barbara shrugged, sitting back in her dining room chair.
"You don't need to tell me. I believe you. But they don't care. They just know a woman is dead and you two didn't stop it. They'll find any reason to pin you for anything," she said. She sighed a little. "I wasn't joking when I told you two to record everything."
"So, what, we keep cameras strapped to our masks?" Damian said. He shook his head to himself. "What else? Do they want to give us a babysitter too?"
"Why do you think I joined GCPD? The new commissioner doesn't know what he's doing," she said. As they talked, Dick was silent as a statue beside them. Barbara noticed and nudged him lightly. She said, "It's okay to be pissed. You can just say it. We're all mad."
Dick seemed discomforted by the physical contact. Damian and Barbara locked eyes for a brief moment, the confusion apparent in both of their gazes. Damian shut his mouth and didn't say anything but Barbara, discontent, lowered her mug to the table.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"You knew," he said, unsmiling.
The room fell silent. Barbara's hand wrapped tightly on her mug but she didn't raise her voice to argue. Damian glanced back and forth between them, his puzzlement growing.
"You knew it was him and didn't tell us," Dick finally went on. "You thought I wouldn't figure it out. Maybe I wouldn't have, if it was a few years ago. But did you really think that I wouldn't have put those pieces together now? All those men that were arrested were innocent—but their profiles matched the killer's. You figured out who it was but you couldn't reveal that your tip-off was from costumed vigilantes, so you had to lay out the clues for the cops. So you did."
Barbara's gaze fell to her table but there was nothing to look at. Dick's words made Damian's heart beat faster. If what he was saying was true—
"We could have gotten to him if you just told us. Instead you withheld information," Dick said. "Why?"
"What do you expect from me?" Barbara said quietly. "Without my father, law enforcement has gone to shit. I have to fix it. But I can't do that if I keep covering you all of the time." She ran a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down. "I'm sorry. But I knew that if I told you and you caught him, the commissioner would never accept it—he'd let him walk and claim that you guys were pinning evidence. If I wanted this killer behind bars, I had to get the evidence compiled before you and let the commissioner think that his team figured it out without Batman's help. And that meant… well, solving it before you." She bit her bottom lip. "So I did. I solved it."
"You kept secrets."
"We all have our secrets," Barbara said, her eyes growing somber. And even though Damian knew better, he almost felt those words were directed at him.
Dick wasn't satisfied with that answer. He looked at Barbara in disbelief. "Is this what your dad would have done?"
"Stop!" Barbara yelled, suddenly turning. "Stop making everything personal!"
"How could I not?" Dick fought back. "This is exactly what the commissioner wants: us separated from them. And you're falling for it!"
"I'm playing their game to get justice done."
"And justice is letting some woman get murdered?"
"Don't pin that on me!"
"Right, of course not. It's not your fault. It's my fault for not figuring out the case fast enough. It's my fault for not seeing through your bullshit."
"You're the one trying to blame people, not me!" Barbara said. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but Damian knew it was out of frustration. Dick wouldn't look at her, he just kept shaking his head to himself as she talked. "I judged the situation the best I could! If GCPD wasn't already following the same trail, the commissioner never would have accepted that confession! That maniac would still be running around and torturing people!"
Dick stood up to leave. "I don't even know who you are anymore."
"You don't know who I am?" Barbara said in disbelief. She slammed her hands on the table as she stood up. "Who the fuck are you?" She gestured with her hand, following Dick from head to toe. "This is never who you wanted to be!"
"You know why I had to do this—"
"Of course I know!" Barbara protested. "And I've never given you grief about it because I understood why you had to do it. And yet you're standing here, accusing me of being the one who's changed, acting like I'm the source of all of your problems. For God's sake, I get it! We're not sixteen anymore!"
Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself down. "Come back to the team, Barbara."
"Are you being serious?" Barbara whispered in disbelief, her shoulders slumping.
"You're Batgirl, not Commissioner."
"Wow, you're serious," she said, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe you're being fucking serious right now."
"This isn't who you're meant to be."
"And you're who you're meant to be?" Barbara said, looking up incredulously. She shook her head to herself. "This is just as easily your choice," Barbara said, shrugging in defeat. She jabbed a finger at the symbol on Dick's chest. "You chose this over me!"
When the voices had settled, the anger from the room had dissipated, and there was nothing left but hurt. They had no other choice but to leave. They pulled on their boots and headed back out the window that they had climbed through. As they leapt towards the next rooftop, Damian glanced behind them. Barbara's lone figure was a shadow in the window.
The trek back home was mostly silent. This time, Damian followed Dick's lead.
"Careful," Dick said as they landed on a different rooftop. The rooftop wasn't salted, a thin layer of ice covering the surface. But the ice was brittle, crunching under Damian's boots.
"It's fine," he said simply as he walked across.
"You say that—but wait until you go sliding off the roof," Dick said.
The words brought back that memory. Lately, the memory brought mixed feelings. Bittersweet feelings. Damian stared down at the ice at his feet, the ice cracking under pressure with every step. Damian felt his chest twist a little. He understood his feelings, he could do that now, but he still felt so lost. And when he thought about the lonely figure in the window, part of him hoped that he would never understand.
"Well, that is, go sliding off again."
Damian looked up. Dick was looking back with a small smile.
"You remember that?" Damian stopped.
"Of course I do. Bruce chewed you out for like, fifteen minutes," Dick said, smiling like he wanted to laugh. But he was resisting. "He only stopped because, for once, you weren't talking back. He actually thought you might have hit your head on the fire escape and got a concussion. He started blaming me."
"I could have or maybe even worse," Damian said. "But you caught me."
"Yeah," Dick said. "But you would have been just fine saving yourself. That was Bruce's argument, anyways. Said the grappling hook would have saved you better."
"If it hooked right," Damian said. "If I had reacted in time."
"Yeah, so don't be reckless, otherwise I'll have to catch you again," Dick said with a small smirk. Damian looked away, heat returning to his face. Sometimes that subtle, cocky smile was all it took—and Dick could do it so effortlessly, and so many others had fallen into his bed for it. Damian's blush was quickly turning to one of embarrassment—he felt so weak. Dick continued, not noticing, "And you're not little anymore so we'll probably both go crashing to the ground."
Damian wondered if that would be so bad.
"Maybe you just need to be stronger," Damian quipped. Dick smiled at that but his face quickly fell.
"Right," he said stiffly. He walked past Damian without glancing at him.
Damian glanced after him curiously, wondering what he had said wrong.
"I figured you, of all people, would know when to take a joke," Damian said, trailing after him. They reached the edge of the rooftop, where Dick took a look down below to check any activity. There was nothing there but Dick kept staring.
"Was I wrong to hesitate?" Dick said suddenly. Damian looked at him, confused. Dick elaborated, "I knew I had to chase him down to catch him. But I was worried."
There was only one thing Damian could think of. "Is this about that day with my hand?"
Dick didn't say anything. Realization came to Damian a moment too late.
"You're talking about the woman. You can't blame yourself for what happened to her."
The rooftop winds picked up, the cold gusts picking up their capes. They let them blow for awhile, Dick finally grimacing and confessing, "It wasn't Barbara's fault."
"It wasn't," Damian agreed, and he silently hoped that Dick wouldn't take that as betrayal. Regardless of what Damian believed, he would always be by Dick's side. But deep down, Damian knew that Barbara was doing what she thought was best, and she was probably right. Dick had to have known that too. "It wasn't your fault either."
"I've been working that case for so long. I spent nights talking things over, reading file after file. I couldn't sleep because every minute I wasted was another minute that someone was being tortured or slowly killed. And then she was there, right there in my arms, and if I just hadn't let go—if I had just caught him then and there—if I had thrown the batarang in time—"
"What did you say to her?" Damian asked, cutting him off.
"What?" Dick said, caught off-guard.
"When she was dying, you were whispering to her. What did you say?"
"It was just nonsense," Dick said at once. But his face was lost in thought, and whether he meant to or not, he kept talking. "I just told her everything was going to be okay… and I made sure to tell her she was free… I thought she might have wanted to hear that… Kori once told me that someone had said that to her, so I thought…"
He trailed off, falling into silence.
"You mean Koriand'r," Damian said. And he wondered, wondered why it had never worked out. Wondered why none of Dick's relationships ever seemed to work out.
"Yeah. She told me about her time as a slave to the Capitol. I know it's not exactly the same—"
"I'm sure it eased her," Damian said. He said it easily but really, he had no idea. He wasn't sure what he would have said if it had been him talking to her. Words of comfort did not come easily to him. There was a reason why he leapt towards the criminal and Dick had leapt towards the victim.
"I'll never know," Dick said, forcing a shrug.
The rooftop winds seemed to still in response.