Damian always felt that he was destined to inherit the mantle of Batman, it's something he's felt since his mother first revealed that was who his father was as a young child well before he even knew the name Bruce Wayne. He was the oldest of Bruce's children, the only one who shared the same blood as the billionaire vigilante, the one who had been with him and his crusade on crime the longest.

So why then did this feel wrong?

Why did he feel like a child wearing a costume for Halloween? Why did he feel like a pretender? A sham?

'Oh, right,' he thought to himself, 'because it doesn't feel like I earned it… Because he isn't here to hand it over.'

In his mind, he always thought that when he would inherit his father's role as the Batman, Bruce would be alive. Sure, something would have caused his retirement; maybe old age or an injury that would mark the end of his crime fighting career. His father always seemed to bounce back from everything this cruel world could throw at him. Through all the loss, all the injuries, all the tragedies, his father would find ways to overcome any challenge or obstacle. Even when the two of them had their falling out and Drake had been named his replacement only a year after, Bruce still seemed as immortal as his own grandfather; like nothing could defeat him.

But something did. To save everyone, Bruce had sacrificed himself, and now he was gone.

The disappearance of the Batman went unnoticed in Gotham at first. It wasn't unusual for him to be off on another continent or in space, and vigilantes like Spoiler and Orphan would usually take over in his absence. But after the fifth month with not so much as a gargoyle sighting or message to the GCPD, people became anxious. Where was the caped crusader?

Eventually, the villains took notice, and one mass-breakout of Arkham Asylum later, the streets were in turmoil.

Next came the allies, enemies, and everything in between trying to claim the mantle for themselves.

Damian might be too proud for his own good, but even he had to admit he miscalculated how many people would try to claim his father's mantle. He didn't know why he didn't claim it right after his father was confirmed dead. Was it the hope that maybe this would all turn out to be a bad dream? That he'd wake up and his father would be alive and well? That there was a chance he'd show up alive? Damian just didn't know, and the only thing that stopped him from trying to revive his father with a Lazarus Pit was the agreement they had. He made a promise to his father to never use it to revive him, and he was going to keep it no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise.

With that in mind he had rushed in, abandoning his title of Killer Sparrow and donning the cape and the cowl. He fought off anyone who tried to take it from him, even his own brothers.

Now, here he stood on a ledge overlooking the GCPD building, waiting for the inevitable strike of the clocktower in the distance that would mark midnight, the time Commissioner Gordon usually used the bat signal these days with the hopes of the Batman finally appearing. Tonight, he'd finally get an answer.

"Patient as usual I see." Damian looked behind him, locking eyes with the young man standing a few feet away. Tim Drake stood in the shadows, his training from his time with Bruce evident in how he did his best to hide his whereabouts from the unsuspecting. Inwardly, Damian scolded himself. Was he really that rusty in that he couldn't detect Drake's presence?

"It helps to be patient amidst chaos, Drake."

"Oh, I know." Tim shrugged, his gold and brown armor reflected the streetlights nearby as he walked forward.

"I would have thought you'd be out of town by now after our last encounter, given how you tried to kill Jason." Damian glared at him from under the cowl. Ever since he had died and been revived thanks to the Lazarus Pit, Tim had been somewhat of an enigma to him and his father. Sometimes he'd try to kill them with the very same skills they taught him years prior, other times he'd be helping them on cases concerning drug cartels and human trafficking. Then there was the fact he always denied staying with the League of Assassins despite Ra's and Talia's interest in his strategy and detective skills.

"That was then, this is now." Tim rolled his eyes from under his mask. "Speaking of, where's the little Shadow? My replacement?"

"Jason decided to leave the role and become his own hero." Yes, it was true. He had seen it coming a mile away given how close Jason was with the man who had taken him in off of the streets and had given him a home. Now that he was gone and someone else was in the role, it was logical Jason would have felt it was time to figure himself out. But leaving in the middle of the night with only a note left for him and Alfred? Cass was luckily looking into where he might have gone, but for now, Damian couldn't focus on that, and he damn well couldn't let Drake know that the younger boy was missing.

Luckily for him, Tim seemed satisfied with the answer.

"No partner then?"

"I'm waiting for him now."

It took a moment for Tim to realize who it was, and a knowing smirk graced his features, "The little acrobat the old man took in only weeks before his death." He laughed. "What do ya know. So we have a fourth Shadow then."

"No, we don't." Damian said. "Enough about them, what are you doing here, Drake?"

"Can't I just want to talk to my 'big brother'?"

"We both know you'd cut off your own hands before you'd un-sarcastically referred to me as that." He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Called my bluff." He put his hands up, then seemed to change, getting down to business. "I have reason to believe that Bruce is alive."

"And that would be…?"

"Call it an inkling." At that, Damian scoffed and began to turn away until Tim pulled him back with a grip on his shoulder. "I'm serious. I can't explain it now, hell even I don't know the full details. Yet."

"Then why are you telling me this? To mock me? Give me false hope my father is alive?"

"To give you real hope." Tim took off his mask, letting Damian see his eyes and judge for himself. Instead of seeing Drake, the sidekick-turned-pain-in-the-ass, he saw Timothy Drake, the scared but brave orphan who only had his own wits to guide him. "We've both seen the city in the last months, it's all gone downhill in the worst ways possible, even for Gotham. You don't feel like you should be wearing the cowl because this isn't the way you wanted to get it and you won't even tell Alfred this because you're too damn proud." Damian opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted, "And don't you dare give me that speech about how you were raised by assassins for a role like this. I know all of this because I know you, and you've been off all night."

"You've been spying on me?"

"Actually, Alfred called me, but I could have figured it out myself." Tim put his mask on and turned to walk away, "I won't be in the city, you won't have to deal with me. But Bruce is alive, he is out there, and I'm going to find him one way or another." And with that, Drake used his grappling hook to swing away, leaving Damian alone.

He stared out into the night, pushing down any thoughts or emotions brought on by the idea of his father being alive. His mother always told him his emotions were a weakness, and weaknesses would get him killed.

"Sorry I'm late!" Dick Grayson, Bruce's last stray puppy that he brought home before his death. He heaved himself onto the rooftop and seemed to skip toward Damian.

While not as strong or mentally adept at figuring things out on the fly like Bruce's past sidekicks, Damian had to admit that Damian had them beat when it came to his acrobatic abilities. Well, for someone not trained by elite assassins from birth anyway. He had been taught self-defense and fighting techniques for the last year, mainly for his own good given how they lived in what seemed like crime central of the country and Damian finally felt like the youngest in the Wayne household was ready for the field.

Damian looked at the boy and raised an eyebrow, "Richard, is that really what you're wearing?"

Dick looked down at his outfit. It was colorful, a vast contrast to Shadow's dark and monochrome shades; something of Dick's own creation: The Robin.

"Yup!" he smiled, not seeing anything wrong with it.

"Maybe we should invest in some pants?"

"But the pads on the Shadow uniforms are too bulky, they get in the way when I do flips as it is." Dick pouted. In the distance, the clocktower began to chime.

"Fine." Damian groaned. They really didn't have time for this. "We can figure something out later. I'm sure Alfred or Lucius have ideas."

He heard the door on the roof of the GCPD creak open as the rusty, metal hinges slid. Time to go.

"Try to keep up." Dick smiled. His happy attitude was definitely something Damian would have to get used to if they were working together from here on out, but despite this he couldn't help but crack a smirk of his own.

It was time for Batman and Robin to fly.