How to Make Something New

by fadesfanfic

After Bruce Wayne's apparent death, Dick Grayson takes the mantle of Batman - and the task of raising Bruce's biological son, who was raised as an assassin. Dick has to balance Damian's needs and his obligations as Batman, as well as a relationship with Barbara Gordon, the Oracle. Damian has to deal with his fathers minions, none of whom seem to understand him. updating here now.

43. The Lie

Drake was even more ineffective in combat than Damian had expected him to be. So of course he was injured. Of course he was ignoring all of the dumb civilian rules around it – stay out of the field until you heal, be a coward, et cetera –

and it bit him in the ass, too. Damian had to fall back to him. To that defensive position Drake loved so much.

And despite the injury, Brown ordered Damian to look for evidence in the base, as if she could order him to do anything. He already knows what he'll see –

And he sees it. Nothing.

That's the rule. People leave footprints, and you're not a person – you're a shadow. The last man in the base has destroyed his notes, disconnected the comms, and fled. When he returns in failure, he will almost certainly be killed – but he will return. It's what they all do. They can't leave, even if the alternative is death, because leaving is also death – but meaningless death. Shadow assassins die for Ra's Al Ghul, not for themselves.

Here's where Grayson would that demand Damian feel bad about it, that he cry for some idiot who's going to get himself killed with his own incompetence, who viewed that death as a good thing because it's what the Demon commanded. And Drake –

Drake would use Damian's lack of tears as proof that he's flat out evil.

After Brown has finished bundling Drake like an invalid and shoved him in the backseat, Damian really sees the extent of his injury. There's a cut that could have easily knicked his stomach or... spleen.

Judging by the sheer amount of blood in there, Damian's guessing it's the second one. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Damian asks. Then, to Brown, who's still pressing something against Drake's wound: "How'd Drake get hurt? Did you get fed up with him and stab him?"

"It's so not the time! Just drive us home!" Brown says, and a note of panic slips into her voice.

Amateur.

Damian guesses that by home, she means the Bat-bunker. The location where their medic resides.

In the backseat, Drake refuses to shut up and bleed quietly. He says, "What the hell is your problem with me?"

"My problem?" Damian asks. Ugh, Brown was probably right – that stupid civilian rule made him so offended by an attempt on his life – it's not –

Well, it shouldn't have been personal. Even though Damian knows it was when he tried to kill Drake.

But Damian refuses to admit that. He just says, "You're the one who has a problem with me!"

"You tried to kill me!"

Who cares who cares people have tried to kill me before and I just either killed them or injured them. If you're not willing to do that, just deal with it.

And that all comes out as: "It was months ago; get over it!"

"You may have fooled Dick and Stephanie and even Cass somehow – "

Damian fooled Cain?! She treated him as if he weren't in control of his actions.

Drake makes a noise of discomfort and continues – "but you haven't fooled me!"

Shut up shut up shut up. He is making it very hard to drive –

He's inferior. He's what? Seventeen? Eighteen years old now? And he's still emotionally affected by someone trying to take his life?

But Damian knows civilians won't respond to that, so he just says, "You're just jealous that I'm the blood son!"

"I'm jealous?!" Drake shouts.

Damian sets the Batmobile down. He was pushing it to the limit, getting there as quick as possible, but no one should be able to complain because Drake needs medical care anyway –

and he stands up. He turns to face Drake and Brown. Even though Drake's injured, Damian still knows better than to leave him at his back for longer than absolutely necessary.

Drake says, "You're just bitter that I'm yet another person Bruce picked over you!"

Liar.

"That's not true; Father wanted me to be Robin!"

And Drake –

It'd be easier if he looked angry or was refuting it. But he just seems confused.

Come on, bastard. Refute it. Fight back.

Father's voice, unbidden: Don't you dare touch him. Ever again.

Don't you dare touch the good Robin, the one who is never ever too much? Is that what he meant to say?

"He did!" Damian repeats.

"... What are you talking about? I thought Dick wanted you to be Robin," Drake says. And he still won't fight back or get angry –

This was a mistake. You. Letting you have full run of the place.

Pennyworth is here now, here with his medical supplies. Damian should just leave him to it –

Leave Drake to it who was too stupid to even take care of himself –

Brown, ever inelegant, says "Oh look, Alfred's here."

Damian has to make Drake believe it. If Drake can wipe that stupid befuddled animal look off his face –

Damian will win. And he'll never ever have stupid doubts again and he'll never ever wonder why Grayson is being so reticent about Father –

"Father wrote me a letter," Damian says. "He wanted me to be Robin."

Ask me to see it, you bastard. I'll give you the proof.

But Drake doesn't.

Father, for the third time: What makes you think I'll let you stay here long enough to try again?

"Damian, listen to me," Drake says. Speaking slower and softer than he ever had with Damian before, talking to him as if he were a child rather than a monster. "I was Robin. He would have told me if he was going to replace me. There was no letter."

Damian would prefer the teenager act as if he were a monster. He holds his sword out to the injured Drake's throat.

No one but a monster would do that.

"That's a lie."

He waits for the inevitable disapproval, for the inevitable combat, for Brown to attack him, for Pennyworth to scold him –

No one does. He says again, to Pennyworth, "That's a lie."

Pennyworth has to know. He has to back Damian up; he was the one who gave him the damn letter –

But Pennyworth –

He's frowning slightly. Eyebrows tilted up towards the center, sheen of something on his eyes – making a sad face. Like Grayson. Useless. … Guilty.

Because I can't trust you alone with anyone, Damian!

Why can't Damian get Father out of his head?

Damian's going to do something he'll regret if he stays here. He just...

Again the wrong, wrong feelings. The weakness. He has to get out of here or –

Or everyone will tear him apart. Pounce on him. Like Mara did when his back was turned –

He rushes to his locker. There are only two things of value in it –

the letter –

and Grandfather's sword.

Damian drops the useless stolen sword and pulls both of the items of actual value out. Letter in one hand, sword in the other, he runs to the elevator.

Coward, coward, coward –

It goes to the civilian world, he remembers, only after he's already started going up. Not his world. The world he'd never ever be part of because he can't be that weak –

At least not in public –

And he gets to the roof uninterrupted. The secret lives another day. As if it deserves to.

Grandfather's sword. Father's letter.

Honor the Wayne name.

Mother's voice, on his tenth birthday, when she was giving him the sword as a gift: You are an Al Ghul first and a Wayne second. Remember that, my little dark knight.

Father's letter. Damian opens it up. He can't even see straight due to his shaking hands and damn –

damn tears in his eyes. Words shouldn't be able to affect him like this and they wouldn't if there wasn't –

if there wasn't already so much damned doubt.

Honor the Wayne Name. Your actions define you and your family. Go to the locker beside mine and enter DWR1. You've earned this, Father.

He... Father sounds like that, doesn't he?

But there's no edge. No hardness to it.

Not even a reminder that he shouldn't kill. No reminder that he was dangerous. No warning telling him not to abuse this second chance, not to...

Nothing Father told him when they were together.

You've got a lot of raw talent, why do you think – why do you think your dad wanted you to be Robin in the first place?

Grayson was hesitant, wasn't he? That bastard knew. He knew and he was laughing at him –

Damian starts sobbing. He can't help it. It never occurred to him he might wind up in a situation where literally nobody wanted him.

Damian starts tearing up the letter.

Lies lies lies lies

They were all laughing at him. All of Father's people. They were ants, trying to chain his greatness. Grandfather warned him there would be people like that –

But Grandfather doesn't want him, either. At least, he doesn't want Damian, the person. He only ever wanted him as an empty vessel. As a minion. And it was so damned easy to be a brainless minion – no wonder the League got so many recruits willing to die for the cause –

So damned easy to just do whatever Grandfather asked him to and keep doing it until he succeeded and no one ever talked about feelings and Damian could always win through strength or cunning and always be told he was valuable – the most valuable weapon in Grandfather's arsenal – the rules weren't confusing at all. You just had to be tough enough.

And Grandfather actually loved Dusan. The fool gave up everything for Grandfather and Grandfather loved him and he had never ever told Damian he loved him and Father never did it and even Grayson in his stupid civilian emotional weakness never did it and the only one who ever did it was Mother.

What's Damian supposed to do? Go crawling back to her, sniveling, like a child? You were right to treat me as if I were helpless, Mother. You were right to render me unconscious on Nanda Parbat. You were right to go against all of your teachings and stop being strong and start being weak –

He can't.

Behind him, Damian hears the door open.

No no no no

Damian shuts up immediately.

He doesn't know who's there –

Focus. One set of footsteps. Hesitant breathing. Whoever it is has stopped and is waiting.

He has to get himself together. He listens, waiting for a whish in their clothing, indicating they might move, might be on the attack, and when they seem hesitant, he takes off his domino mask and wipes his face. All the tears that were trapped, blocking his vision – it's disgusting, a disgusting display of weakness. He's not great, he's just – he's just –

But he thinks he's put himself under control enough that he can put on his mask, turn, and see it's Brown. She's changed out of Batgirl and is now in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants.

She has that... civilian expression of concern on her face. Damian has to get her out of here immediately.

He holds up Grandfather's sword. It's not like when Mother just gave it to him. He's grown.

It fits perfectly in his hand.

"Shouldn't you be checking on that idiot Drake?" Damian asks. He's putting so much effort into not sounding weak that he accidentally drops the anglophone accent.

"Tim's fine. He's with Alfred. He's very very good at his job, you know."

"Lying?" Damian asks. "Is that his job? Making me look like a fool?"

Brown winces.

Why do all civilians – he can't even think civilian women, because Grayson does it too – wear their weakness on their faces?

"Alfred explained the situation to me," Brown says. "And he shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair."

Life isn't fair, my beloved son.

Damian wishes he could get all these damned people out of his head.

Brown continues uselessly: "It wasn't fair to you or to Br – "

"Say his name and I stab you," Damian says.

He doesn't know why; Brown doesn't even deserve it –

Possibly the only person who doesn't deserve to be stabbed here –

But she's interrupting. She's nosy. She has to leave.

"He's probably going to try to apologize when he's done fixing up Tim," Brown says. "You might wanna let him."

"I should let him lie to me some more? He's not sorry he did it; he's sorry he got caught!"

Brown reaches a hand out.

Damian immediately drops into a fighting stance. He's sick of her thinking she can do things –

thinking she can –

Whatever she wants to do. He's sick of it.

"You might be right," Brown says. "And that would be – well, that would be a huge dick move on his part. But I kn – Okay, I don't know exactly how you're feeling. But I can take a stab – er, a guess."

She barely knows him, why is she talking so much?

Why is she trying to lie? Why is she pretending she cares? But all civilians do, Damian supposes. They pretend they care because it's one more thing they can feel morally superior about. One thing they can always win, because they make up the rules for it.

Brown commits an unforgivable sin and just looks off into the distance. Not even a quick glance at the surroundings, she's just staring somewhere else. While he's got his sword drawn on her!

She's rubbing it in his face. All the civilians are. The fact that they're –

that they're so comfortable doing this.

"You feel like – if you're anything like me – "

"I'm not," Damian says.

"Okay fine. I felt like it didn't matter what I did. Nothing was ever good enough. And everyone else could make the same dumb mistakes, but if I did it, it was suddenly unforgivable. Suddenly a sign that I didn't train enough, that I didn't take it seriously enough – "

"You don't," Damian says. And to prove his point –

And get her to leave –

He starts striking forward, ready to draw a superficial slash on her forearm –

but he can't go through with it.

That's why she could look away so confidently. She knew he was weak. She knew he was powerless.

He wishes he cut her for real.

Brown frowns slightly and steps back slightly at the motion, and then raises her hands up. "Okay, I'm going," she says. "But don't forget what I said. You're not alone."

A lie. He's always alone. Grandfather said it. Great men are always alone and Damian was a great man.

Brown finally leaves.

Damian finds himself unable to start crying again. Which is for the best. Everything just feels simultaneously distant and oppressively close – the rest of the world is behind a fog, but the air is pressed right up against him and crushing him –

And he feels dizzy.

It's not poison. Damian knows that. This has happened before. It's weakness. The only way to deal with the weakness is to get rid of it. By being strong.

Being brutal.

There's always an acceptable target. He just has to find one.

But really, why should he care?

Why should he bother to try to shove himself into some acceptable box the rest of Father's people are never going to accept –

not when Father never accepted him, anyway, never regarded him as anything other than a nuisance, a child, or a threat –

These past two months he's done nothing but soften and weaken himself for a man who never gave a shit about him.

Damian could do whatever he wants right now and not a single action would make anyone care any less or any more about him. But Mother –

He can't even imagine what she'd say. She changed so much. She wasn't acting like herself.

Old Mother would be so, so easy to imagine. Damian, you are my light, but you mustn't cry. You mustn't let people know if they hurt you or if you're weakened – people like us have too many enemies, waiting to strike –

Or, when he's older, even more straightforward and to the point: No weakness, no hesitation, no mercy for fools. The battle is only won when the killing stroke is dealt.

New Mother? What would she do? Would she hold him – like she did when they were on the run from Dusan and Grandfather, when Damian just couldn't – just couldn't do what he was supposed to do?

Would she treat him like he was four? The thought makes Damian sick to his stomach but at the same time he wishes she were here right now –

Damian holds Grandfather's sword. Casts a glance over the scaled, ornate hilt, the shining blade –

It's begging to be used. It's a weapon. Weapons are supposed to be used. There's no point in having a sword if you never draw it, no point in having a gun if you never fire it –

no point in having an assassin if he never kills.

And thinking of assassins –

Those are Damian's acceptable targets.

The Gotham City Police Department should have the assassins that he and Brown (and sort of Drake) incapacitated in custody by now. After all, all the assassins were unconscious. The GCPD would have to be trying in order to fail arresting them.

It's time to find out what Grandfather wants in Gotham. It's time to beat the information out of them.

Grayson would hate it because there have to be limits, Robin! As if Damian hadn't spent the first ten years of his life breaking all his limits!

Damian starts towards the police station. It doesn't take long to get there, running across the rooftops. And when he does get there –

He knows he enters antagonistically. Knows that the police might see him as an enemy.

But he doesn't really care.

He straight up kicks down the door on the roof and hops on it as he slides it down the stairs. The commotion must have alerted the ineffectual officers, because there's some scattered yelling in the background, some two people run up, drawing their guns on him.

Damian doesn't even let them finish lifting up their hands. He steps in and swings the sword, neatly cutting each of their wrists and causing them to drop their guns.

"It's that damn psycho Robin – !" the woman begins.

Damian kicks her in the face.

The man is putting pressure on his wounds – even though Damian intentionally inflicted wounds that wouldn't be lethal, that wouldn't bleed out too fast – and glowering at Damian.

Damian holds his sword out to the man's throat. The man can't help but stare at the tip.

Damian had forgotten how good it felt to wield a sword.

"The cultish assassins," he says. "Where are they?"

"What?" the man asks.

Ugh, Damian will have to solve this himself. He steps forward and uppercuts the man to the chin. The man stumbles back, out of it but not unconscious –

shouldn't have held back, shouldn't have let the training – no, indoctrination – weaken him –

and Damian just sprints past him.

When he gets to the main open area that had composed the battlefield last time he and Grayson were here, there are a horde of police officers in motion, most grabbing guns or rushing to doors. In the center is Gordon. The senior Gordon. He's actually the only one not armed, and he's trying to motion for the other officers to put their guns away.

Idiot.

If he wanted to, Damian could beat the entire room. It would be easy – they're comically untrained, inferior to him in every way. It would even feel good. But he actually has a mission right now – finding what the assassins wanted.

He just plans his route the instant he sees it. The one that will attract the least amount of fire, if the police actually care about not shooting each other.

"Robin!" Gordon says uselessly.

Damian makes his first leap, landing right in front of two officers, sweeps one's leg and strikes his wrist, knocking the gun from his hand as he falls, and then moves on to the next batch. He didn't have to get them both out, just use them as a deterrent for the others to shoot him.

"Damn it, hold your fire!" Gordon yells. As if any of the police in the room weren't too cowardly, too unsure in their abilities, to try shooting Damian.

Damian makes his way to the back of the room and dashes through the door that leads to the cells. In the background, Gordon orders asks for some officer or detective or someone by name, but Damian doesn't care.

He's got what he's come here for.

Nine assassins are spread across three cells. Most of them are simply waiting. All of them have their masks removed, and – Damian has never seen so many without masks before. They weren't supposed to have faces, or names, or identities. Those were reserved for specialists, outside contractors, and Al Ghuls. Assassins were the purest version of what Ra's wanted – they each simply existed as an extension of the Demon's will.

The assassins look... more average than Damian expected. All around eighteen to thirty-six years of age, he'd guess, most men but two women.

Eight of the assassins look to the ninth one, who is sitting in the center cell, meditating. The leader of this group of troops, Damian assumes. He, too, appears completely average. Oval face, brown eyes, light, olive-toned skin, and short brown hair. He could be anyone.

Damian hears the slightly uneven gait of Gordon, following him. He doesn't bother to stop the man – he knows Gordon has enough qualms about shooting him that Damian will get plenty of opportunity to do what he needs to do.

"Robin, why did you attack my men?" Gordon asks. "Where's Batman?"

Damian ignores him. He speaks Fusha to the assassin, knowing he should at least have a passing familiarity of the language. "Your colleagues are not aiding you," Damian says. "At the base, the tenth man fled."

"They serve their purpose, and I will serve mine," the leader says, responding back, stumbling slightly over his words. He has an accent – Arabic isn't his native language – but Damian can't tell where from yet.

"You know who I am?" Damian asks.

"Indeed, my Lord."

Damian almost freezes at the title. Something he hasn't been called in a while.

If he were back in the League, this assassin would never attempt to admonish him for his behavior. He would never act as if Damian were evil for existing...

Because Damian would be the same mindless sycophant the assassin is.

"Robin, what are you doing?" Gordon asks.

Damian responds in English: "I'm conducting an interrogation. Your people are amateurs; they don't know how to deal with these prisoners. You don't know anything about them, why they resisted having their masks removed, why they resisted being finger printed." Damian doesn't know for a fact that that happened, but he assumes it did. It's protocol. "Why they haven't spoken with any of your people and why they refused to give names."

Gordon frowns. "How did you know?"

"They're fanatics," Damian says. "I've dealt with them before."

As Damian speaks, the leader's eyes widen. No one's supposed to know. No one outside of the demon's will, at least.

"They're part of some cult of assassins that worship an immortal leader," Damian continues.

"Ra's Al Ghul," Gordon says. "We've seen him before, too."

Damian has a hard time imagining Grandfather ever being here, in this sad, pathetic police station.

"Lord..." the leader says. He looks physically pained. The other assassins in his cell and the adjoining cells turn their heads in shame.

"Tell me what I want to know, or I tell him everything," Damian says.

The assassin presses his lips together in a thin line.

Damn it.

Damian walks to the cell door and draws back his sword, but before he can slice through the lock, Gordon catches his wrist.

Damian scowls. He should not have permitted the man the familiarity he did.

"Last time you were near a suspect, you tortured her," Gordon says. "I'm not letting it happen again. I don't care what your issues are."

"My issues?!" Damian asks.

"Commissioner." Grayson's voice. From the hall. Damian didn't even hear his footsteps. He was distracted. Sloppy. And –

And Grayson lied to him!

Damian withdraws his wrist quickly from Gordon's hand and dashes past him, straight to Grayson with his sword drawn –

And he just holds it on him. Ready to fight. He knows that if he attacks Grayson, he'll have to fully commit. To win. Otherwise, none of his threats will mean anything. Just like nothing he's done so far in Gotham has meant anything.

"What are you doing here, Robin?" Grayson asks. "You're scaring the officers."

"If they're capable of being scared by a ten-year-old, that's their problem," Damian says. Even though he knows he's much more capable than an average ten-year-old. Civilians will never understand just how weak they seem to everyone else. "I'm doing your job. Finding out their plans."

"And how are you going to do that?"

Damian exhales sharply. There's no point in explaining this to Grayson. The man will never understand; he's both incapable of understanding and unwilling to even try. After all, trying to do so would mean relinquishing his moral high-ground, where he can cast judgment on everyone despite being a liar who used Damian like a tool.

Grayson must have already guessed, though, because he doesn't wait for Damian to respond. He just says, "You can't beat suspects, Robin. It's wrong."

Ugh! According to whom? But Damian will never get any good answer for that, so he says, "You don't understand, Nightwing. The assassin wouldn't care. He can't care! He's a fanatic! He'd be proud to die, as long as it was for Ra's Al Ghul! Any assassins I killed in my training were glad to die, simply because it was by my hand and would make me stronger!"

That's what Grandfather had said, at least. When Damian was reluctant to use lethal force on his sparring partners. With a reminder that Damian must always fight as if his sparring partners were trying to kill him.

Grayson won't yell, and he won't give Damian an excuse to attack him –

as if Damian needed one –

He just stands there looking infuriatingly weak, hands at his sides. "If they're really so alienated from regular experiences that they don't mind dying," Grayson starts.

Damian hates him already. Why does he sound almost piteous?

"You know that torture wouldn't do anything," Grayson finishes. "He doesn't care what you do to him, as long as he dies in the service of Ra's Al Ghul."

Damian looks at the assassin in the cell. He seems incredibly impassive. All of them do. Like nothing's going on – not situationally, but mentally. As if no one were there.

They would have been ordered to give no signs of their training or purpose to interrogators. To speak nothing, to die first. But without that context, it just makes it seem as if something were wrong with them.

"You have to go," Gordon says. "You can't let Robin come here again – he's bad for morale."

"Nightwing could never prevent me from doing anything," Damian says. Because it's true. But he can't –

He can't say it how he's supposed to say it. His voice just sounds flat. Like the assassin. Like no one is there.

"We'll go out the back," Nightwing says. "Your men won't have to see Robin again."

This is so ridiculous. Everyone – there's not a single person in Gotham who can stand to look at Damian. Who isn't afraid of him, who doesn't hate him, who hasn't tried to lie to him.

They're all like Father.

"My Lord," the assassin says to Damian. Still in Arabic, still not wanting to give any information to the outsiders. "I would welcome death at your hands."

"We all would," adds the assassin next to him.

Damian knows they would, too. And it'd be easier. Easier to die right now, as tools of Ra's Al Ghul, than to find out what happens next.

Damian ignores the assassin's request - assuming it was a request, and not just a pathetic display to get Damian to believe their loyalty. If there's anyone here who deserves to die, it's Grayson. Damian's half tempted to turn his sword on the man as they leave. He should. Grayson made a fool of him.

"Oracle told me there was a disturbance at the police station," Grayson says, as the two of them hop in the Batmobile. Grayson had flown it over. "You shouldn't be out alone right now, Robin. It's dangerous."

"I'm dangerous." Again, though, it comes out flat. Weak.

Grayson takes off his domino mask.

He wants to assume a civilian guise. As if that will help. As if it ever helped.

"Robin – Damian," Grayson says as he drives. "Are you okay?"

Why is he taunting Damian by pretending he cares?

"No," Damian says. "You interrupted my interrogation. You don't care if we actually stop these people."

There's a silence on Grayson's part as he drives, and finally, he says, "Was your training really like that?"

"Don't play the fool, Grayson."

Nearly imperceptibly, Grayson's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Coward.

That's all he does. All he does is lie to Damian and use him and have emotions about him –

Damian's sick of it.

"That wasn't right," Grayson begins.

"Neither was lying to me about my father!"

Finally. Damian's got it back. His voice. His anger.

Grayson winces, because he is weak. Because he hasn't had his weakness beaten out of him.

Someone should have done it. His parents, Father – they all did him a disservice that Grayson will never comprehend.

"You're mad," Grayson says. "And I don't blame you."

"I don't care whether you blame me or not." Ever caring about Grayson's opinion, or even acting as if it mattered in the slightest, was a mistake.

"Okay, that's fair," Grayson says. Because he's weak. Unable to justify his actions. Unable to believe in his actions. Even the fanatic who was asking Damian to kill him would be able to justify his, to die believing in them.

Grayson would be torn to pieces if he was in the League. Even if he could fight. He would have no allies, no respect.

"Take it out on me," Grayson says. "Not innocent people."

As if that Shadow assassin was innocent! Everyone they fight is always more innocent than he is; always more worthy of consideration.

"What innocent people?" Damian asks. He wants to force Grayson to say it. He thought Grayson was changing his mind – that he didn't believe what Drake did anymore.

"People who weren't the ones who lied to you," Grayson says.

So Grayson is counting himself among the culpable now?

"You want me to 'take it out' on you?" Damian asks. "Are you suicidal?"

"You're not going to kill me," Grayson says. The fact that he seems to genuinely believe it –

Damian's allowed himself to become weak. To become unthreatening. A pointless gesture, considering half the people treat him like he's a threat anyway! Just not to them, but to poor helpless villains and killers and scum who don't deserve an iota of mercy. To League fanatics, who don't even want mercy because they understand what Damian does – that the world is a cold and merciless place and that in relying on your enemies' mercy, you simply leaves yourself open for their attacks.

Grayson parks the Batmobile in the Bunker and Damian gets out as quickly as possible. Pennyworth is already standing there, in the garage. He must have finished up the surgery, putting Drake back together after his mistake.

"Master Damian," Pennyworth says.

Damian scowls. What's he going to do? Yet more useless masochism, as Grayson did? He's not sorry; he's just sorry he got caught. Like all of the assassins when they messed up, begging Grandfather not to execute them.

"We were at the police station," Grayson says, hopping out of the vehicle. "How's Tim?"

"He's stable and recovering, but I'm concerned."

Of course Pennyworth is concerned about Drake. Every damned person is.

Damian starts over to the locker area so he can get this damn – this damn costume off. It was never a uniform; it was always the costume of a sad little boy, looking for his father's approval.

Inexplicably, Pennyworth doesn't keep going on about Drake. Instead, to Damian, he says, "I understand you're incredibly cross and you have every right to be."

Again. Acknowledging that Damian's mad, acting like that makes it okay somehow, like that erases the fact that these assholes played him like a fiddle!

And – how on Earth can Pennyworth understand, anyway? The man has no family, as far as Damian can tell. What could he possibly know about losing them – about being told he never even had what he thought he did in the first place?

"You lied to me," Damian says.

"Please," Pennyworth says. His voice wavers. Faking feeling sorry about it. "You have to understand. Your father – I don't think of as something that should have been a lie. He just needed more time. He didn't have it."

What an asshole.

Damian looks at Grayson. "And you?"

Grayson cringes and says, "Look, Damian – "

That answers his question, doesn't it? "You knew he was never going to accept me!" Damian says. "Just like Drake! But you lied about it!"

None of the servants in the League of Shadow would lie to him. They'd be too terrified to do it.

"I think your dad was a great man, but he was just a man," Grayson says. "It's so easy to forget that he had flaws like everyone else, especially since we all hate thinking about it!"

Pennyworth looks down slightly. As if Grayson's words are hurting him.

"It would have taken your dad a lot of work, but that doesn't mean it never would have happened. It just wouldn't have been easy, and with the situation we had... with how your dad is..." Grayson trails off and sighs heavily, then sounds almost angry when he resumes speaking, as if he had a right the anger: "Being a great detective and fighter doesn't always translate well to working well with other people and not alienating them. That doesn't mean your dad didn't love you – it just means he was terrible at showing it, and it's not your fault. It's his!"

Such a coward, yelling at Father when he's not even here to defend himself –

"Master Damian, what transpired – it was entirely my idea," Pennyworth says. "If you feel the need to blame someone, it should be me. Not Master Richard or Master Bruce – "

"I blame you all," Damian says. "You all deserve it."

"Look at what you've done since then!" Pennyworth says, spreading his hands helplessly. "You've done real good – "

"I've diverted some crimes by a few years," Damian says. "Then they'll get released or escape or do it again. There's no progress here, only stagnation."

Exactly Grandfather's rhetoric. Damian's allowing the man to speak for him. He might as well be an empty, possessed shell.

"You've made progress," Pennyworth says and he's got that disgusting desperation in his voice. "Think back to who you were just two and a half months ago – "

"There was nothing wrong with me two months ago!" Damian snaps. "The only wrong thing I did was listen to you!"

"You believing us wasn't a mistake on your part, us lying to you was a mistake on ours," Grayson says. His anger is gone. He's just staring and Damian, Nightwing mask still in his hands, very matter-of-fact."We shouldn't have abused your trust. That was wrong."

Abused his trust? Damian never trusted them in the first place! He's not a naive child!

Pennyworth joins in, uselessly: "Please, Damian. Don't throw away everything you've done."

Everything Damian's done. Like it's not a joke. Like Pennyworth and Grayson weren't laughing behind his back, thrilled that they got him for nothing, just a scrap of paper and a promise of fatherly love –

And Damian was an idiot for buying any of it. People can't change. Father didn't change his mind.

"I should kill you," Damian says to Pennyworth.

He's never killed a civilian before. Someone who both couldn't fight back and wasn't hurting other people. He doesn't know if he could do it –

And Pennyworth must not believe he could, because he doesn't look scared. Just piteous. Like Grayson.

Damian's still so damn sick of people having emotions about him.

"You don't want to kill Alfred," Grayson lies. Like he can possibly know what's going on inside Damian's head. Like his inferior, weak, civilian worldview can ever understand Damian.

"Save it," Damian says. "I don't want to hear more lies. I'm no amateur; I won't leave a job unfinished. But once we take care of Deathstroke and the League of Shadows, I'm gone."

"Master Damian," Pennyworth says, and his voice breaks –

What an insult. What a lie. He's good at it; he used to be an actor.

Damian ignores them and finishes walking quickly to the locker area. Fortunately, they do not persist in trying to pitiably beg, to cajole Damian into agreeing with them. So Damian just gets dressed in civilian clothes quietly, and Grayson does the same. As if there were a point to Grayson changing out of Nightwing.

Pennyworth and Grayson don't say anything, but Damian can tell they're thinking. Thinking of a way to manipulate Damian into behaving the way they want. But they already lost their most powerful tool. What are they going to do now? Say they contacted Father's ghost and he really does love you, truly, for real?

Damian doesn't bother stashing the sword away. He's keeping it with him. He needs it. He needs a weapon. Any civilians in the elevator can deal with it.

He gets a disapproving look from Pennyworth and Grayson, but they don't say anything.

They walk through the penthouse, and Damian slashes on of the walls with his sword. He knows it's petty. He knows it's pointless. But he wants to cut something and Grayson and Pennyworth's moral code won't allow them to punish him anyway.

Damian gets to his room and locks the door – his room. What a joke. His quarters. He should never ever forget that he's in enemy territory.

He can't even draw right now. He just takes out the sketches he did – all of them, both of Gotham and his after patrol-notebook – and starts tearing each page in a thousand tiny pieces. It takes him hours to do it, he's sure. What's the point? Drawing Gotham? Playing at being a civilian? Trying to tamp down on his instincts, get rid of the inclination to end fights the way that worked? Playing at being Robin?

Like he could ever be Damian Wayne.

He wasn't Damian Wayne. He wasn't Damian Al Ghul. He wasn't anything.

And there, in the pieces of everything that used to matter to him, he falls asleep.

.

.

.

Damian knows he's dreaming.

He's covered in blood. It's sticky and sweet and the smell is more sickening than it ever was in real life. In his hand is the grapefruit-sized head of the creature he rescued from the labyrinth, his Goliath –

Before him are Mother and Father. Each dressed in ceremonial armor, each sitting in a throne like a Queen and a King.

"You can have him," Father says to Mother, not even looking a Damian. "He's worthless to me."

And in his dream, Damian can't help but beg: "Father, please!"

"He is worthless to me, too," Mother says. She looks colder than he's ever seen her before – like when she's going to kill someone, but she's looking at him that way.

"You said I wasn't!" Damian says. He feels a horrible, childish whine creep into his voice. "You said I was – "

"'My little Alexander'?" Mother asks. "You have to actually conquer something for that to be true."

"You might as well do it," Father says. "There's already too much blood on your hands for me to embrace you."

Damian starts bawling. He can't help it. Mother and Father – they both hate him –

"Crocodile tears," Father says. "Spare us."

"What did I tell you about being weak, my son? You're letting your enemies know when to strike." And with that, Mother stands up off her throne and strikes him hard enough to knock him to the ground.

"But you're not my enemy – !"

"Fool! You don't have any allies!" and Mother draws a sword and holds it right as his throat. "I don't love you; I tolerate you. Remember: you continue to exist at my sufferance."

And then she swings her sword.

Damian jolts awake, clutching his throat – and his sword. Grandfather's sword. He fell asleep holding the handle.

Mother always said that no one has good dreams, and as far as Damian can tell, she's right.

He didn't dream much in the Year of Blood. He was too tired to. And every time he saw Mother between missions, she seemed a little more distant, a little more like Grandfather –

– like in his dream.

In his dream, she had been saying something Grandfather had told him before – Damian's sure after he was behaving badly or had failed a mission or something. He can't remember the exact context, just a feeling of shame and fear. It was almost never necessary for Grandfather to be that harsh with him. Most of the time Damian was an obedient little automaton.

He's given up. Damian knows that. He's given up completely on trying to say Ra's, trying to pretend they're not related. What's the point? It's the only thing everyone else sees, anyway. The only one Damian was fooling was himself.

They need to get Deathstroke. So Damian can leave sooner. So he can go... anywhere. Nowhere. He can't find a teacher he respects or even trusts – he's learned the mistake of trusting other people to be somewhat reasonable and professional and not immediately manipulate him –

He figures he'll have to take a page from Machiavelli and find someone who fears him. What Grandfather did. Each of his assassins would die for him – and knew that he would kill them, should the need arise.

Damian opens up his bag from when he was with the League of Shadows. There's still his uniform in there. White and black. It has similar bullet-proofing to the Robin costume. He'd be able to fight with it.

But if he finishes the mission with it, Drake will never shut up. See? he'd gloat. Already trying to be an assassin again! No wonder Father only wanted me!

Damian grabs Grandfather's sword. It will be the only thing he needs. You only need a good sword and a strong sword-arm.

He doesn't even remember who told him that – Mother, Grandfather, one of the assassins in the League –

It could have been anyone. It was universally true.

Damian leaves his quarters. In the living room are Drake, Brown, Pennyworth, and Grayson.

Drake, for once, doesn't say anything aggravating in Damian's presence. He and Brown are sitting on the couch, almost shrunken back, like they're trying to avoid being seen.

"Damian," Grayson says seriously. "I'm glad you're working with us on this."

"That makes oneof us," Damian says. Again, he's surprised by the dry emotionlessness of his voice. He must have gotten rid of all his feelings sobbing like an infant last night and thrashing around in his nightmare. There's nothing left.

Grandfather – You, too, will feel nothing when I take control.

"Where's Cain?" Damian asks. He doesn't want to hear Grayson or Pennyworth put on some fake display of self-flagellation again, more upset that they got caught than that they treated Damian like a fool.

"She's with Lucius," Brown says. "While we were recharging and getting Tim medical care and – um – "

"You don't have to worry about me," Damian says, since he guesses that's what she was awkwardly stumbling over. "I'll pull my weight – with Cain or Brown, not Grayson – and then I'll be gone."

"You don't have to run away," Brown says. "If you're mad that Dick and Alfred lied – which I don't blame you – you could stay with anyone else. Me. Cass. I'm sure even Barbara would be okay – "

Of course she just wants to put him in a cage. Everyone does. Grandfather wanted a mindless minion. Mother wanted a perfect soldier and then a perfect helpless child. When Damian didn't acquiesce to being a docile civilian son and showed Father what he knew, Father wanted him in jail. Grayson and Pennyworth wanted something gentle and inoffensive and stupid that could still be manipulated as a so called 'superhero'.

"We haven't talked about the League of Shadows assassins that Drake, Brown, and I encountered last night," Damian says. If all these alleged superheroes won't stay on the mission, then he will.

"We, uh, talked a little," Grayson says. "You were out of it for a while."

"I wasn't'out of it'," Damian says. He wishes he could inject a little more anger into his voice. A little anything.

"Kid – " Grayson starts.

"I'll kill you."

The threat is meaningless. Grayson doesn't believe it. For him to believe it, Damian would have to give him a good reason to think he'd do it. Credible threats of violence.

Drake speaks: "Ra's wasn't supposed to have any other assassins here besides Deathstroke."

"...How do you know that?" Damian asks.

Grayson, Brown, and Pennyworth all look at Drake. Waiting for him to explain.

Drake sits up slightly and cringes, clutching his side.

"Tim got his spleen stabbed out a week and a half ago and didn't think to tell us," Brown says.

"He could have gotten us killed with his ineptitude," Damian says. "If we were trying to protect him. Trading our strength for his weakness."

"I already got the lecture from Stephanie, Alfred, and Dick," Drake says. "I don't need it from you. And I didn't have any options – I was working alone – "

"Tim, there were a ton of people trying to help. You told them all to get lost," Brown says.

Drake looks away.

She continues, "I'm worried you were trying to get yourself killed."

Who cares? And what does Drake have to be suicidal about anyway? He was the favorite –

Drake must be as tired of the pointless emotional talk as Damian is, because he gets back to the mission: "I was already given the lecture, so no one has to do it again. I was going to take down the League from the inside. Ra's wants my help for something – "

And of course Grandfather is asking an outsider for help. Just like Mother.

"I'm not supposed to be here, but I was eavesdropping," Drake continues. "I think Ra's wanted to kill two birds with one stone – he wanted to lure out his assassin-assasins and to send a warning to me – from what I overheard. Get me to fall in line."

Huge ego on him. As if Grandfather would deploy an expensive assassin just to send Drake a message.

"You might be right about the assassination to send a warning to you – but why not with the civilian he already has? Why all this? It seems overly convoluted." Grayson shakes his head and sighs.

"We'd know, if you hadn't interrupted my interrogation last night," Damian says.

"By interrogation, you mean...?" Brown starts.

Grayson ignores her question. "I don't like hypothesizing about Ra's' motives with this little to go on. But it's pretty clear that there's some League business going on on Gotham, and that's our priority – not the assassin-assassin thing. We have to shut them down before more people get hurt, and until then, the League of Shadows will have to take care of themselves," Grayson continues. "Barbara's called in some of her old operatives – she's going to ask Lucius if he can move to a safehouse out of Gotham. We can either focus on protection, or focus on taking these guys down. Splitting our attention won't work." He leans slightly back against the wall; at least now he's done with his emotional display and is being who he's supposed to be – who he was supposed to be; Damian can't ever want him to be Batman again.

"We should tell Lucius what we know about Tam," Brown says. "He at least deserves to know his daughter is still alive."

"You're forgetting something," Damian says. "If Grandfather's holding a civilian hostage, how are you going to combat him? He could just threaten to kill her and you'd have to surrender. He'd do it. He's great at justifying it 'for the greater good'."

Everyone is just watching him.

Damian hates it.

"It's easy," Damian says. "Watch: Grandfather's going to save the world and you stand in the way of it because you're dedicated to preserving the corrupt institutions that are killing it. Killing a civilian individually is dishonorable. But failing to act – which would be responsible for untold more misery and untold damage to the Earth – would be even more dishonorable. The ends justify the means and the needs of the Earth outweigh the needs of the few."

"Damian – " Grayson says.

"I don't believe he's going to save the world but he says it's why he's doing it," Damian says. "It's his rhetoric. Not mine."

"I know."

But Grayson doesn't know it. Not really. He's just lying and pretending he does. As usual.

"You're right, though," Grayson says. "If Ra's thinks he has to, he won't be hesitant about killing his hostage. So we need to be prepared to acquiesce – or at least pretend to acquiesce – to his demands if or when he makes them."

"How are we going to do that?" Brown asks.

Grayson, at least, is effectively taking charge. Why can't he do this all the time? Why couldn't he have done it without lying to Damian?

Grayson says, "We don't need a communications blackout; we need a communications misdirection. If Ra's loses contact with his agents here, he'll be suspicious. But if we can hack their communications and give him fake information – "

"We can take out Deathstroke and the assassins and rescue Tam before he has time to react," Drake says.

"Damian, I don't want to have to ask you to do this," Grayson says, apologetically –

Immediately switching from in command to begging. Unworthy.

"Spit it out," Damian says.

"You can imitate voices well enough to fool voice-locks," Grayson says. "Do you think you could be Deathstroke over comms?"

He's apologizing for asking Damian to use his skills. Grandfather would never do it. Old Mother would never do it. Like apologizing to a sword before you swing it.

No wonder Grandfather can't think of him as Damian the person and only sees my weapon, the empty shell. Damian can't even think of himself as a person. Not any more than the faceless Shadows can.

"I just need some recordings of his voice," Damian says. "Then I can do it, no problem."

"Okay. Not being spotted while we're hacking into League of Shadows comms is going to be our top priority," Grayson says. "We blow this before we get control of their communications, and it's all over."

"What if they use a regular cellphone?" Brown asks. "... I'm sure they know cellphones exist."

"They use cellphones," Damian says. "Mostly Nokia 3310s. I programmed Snake on mine when I was six."

"... I'll ask Barbara if she can hack those," Grayson says.

"She may need to go Big Sister again," Brown says. "If you want no cellphone traffic from the League."

"We're not taking out Gotham's cell-towers, that could interfere with some real emergencies," Grayson says. "But yeah, she might have to monitor some communications to find who we need." Grayson shakes his head, looks down, and says, "Man, I can't believe this. We can't do this for all of Gotham; there has to be a more efficient, less skeevy way – "

Damian doesn't know why they seem so reticent about the topic. Who cares?

"Let Barbara narrow it down," Brown suggests. "She'll have some ideas."

Grayson nods. Again reticent.

Coward.

"Cain and I are most ideal for sneaking into any other League hideouts," Damian says. "We both have good stealth experience. Batgirl's a fine fighter but – "

"'Rough around the edges'?" Brown asks, rolling her eyes. "But it's okay. I get it. I like to improvise. This mission is really not one that's improv-friendly."

"Cass – er, Batman – Robin, and Oracle are on the communications take-out, then," Grayson says. "Batgirl and I will escort Lucius to a safehouse outside of Gotham. Tim, you're staying here."

Drake lifts up slightly, like he's about to protest, but then nods.

"What will you do if you encounter Deathstroke?" Damian asks.

"I figure I'll hold him off while Stephanie gets Lucius out of there, then depending on how things are going, I'll take him out or make a hasty retreat," Grayson says. "It's nothing I haven't done before. It may be really hard to beat Deathstroke in a one-on-one fight, but I don't have to beat him – just stall him."

He's starting his mission with the assumption of failure.

"You need an advantage," Damian says. "His meta-powers. What exactly are they?" "Enhanced reflexes, enhanced strength, healing factor," Grayson says. "He says it's because he uses more of his brain. Unsure if that's true, but he definitely has some type of enhanced physiology. Most likely to do with his nervous system."

Damian's not sure how they can use that as an advantage yet.

"Look, if there was any anti-Deathstroke device I had in here, I'd use it," Grayson says. "We're just going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."

Fine by Damian. That's how he preferred to fight anyway. But he thought that Grayson –

Well, it didn't matter what Grayson preferred. After they deal with this, he'll never see the man again.

He still doesn't know why Grayson was so erratic. Half the time he wants to be Batman, half the time he wants to be a coward. Why couldn't he have just done it right from the beginning? Just been strong. Just not lied to him. But Grayson and Pennyworth toyed with his emotions and treated him like a fool and now Damian has nowhere to go unless he wants to debase himself by begging to his mother.

But, he has to remind himself, Grandfather was always right. Great men are always alone.