A lone figure walked the lengths of the faded green and red shipping containers, their hand outstretched, feeling the ridges of the metal container and the peeling paint beneath their large fingers. The docks weren't an easy place to admire, the old and decrepit warehouses surrounding the polluted harbour did not allow for anyone to have an ounce of appreciation for the oldest area of the city. Despite the infrastructure once being the highlight of the city, the antiquated harbour did not invite any sentiment or adoration, only disgust. The city officials and politicians often ignored the areas surrounding the harbour and the docks themselves, an astute Gothamite would never be found near the shipping and loading docks, they would never be there for any good reason.
The founding families had ensured the docks were the center of Gotham, that was until the expansion of the city. After the city had been established and the people had moved further and further away from the harbour, it had lost its prestige. With other methods of transportation available, only few businesses still shipped materials into Gotham via the Gotham channel.
Those few businesses weren't exactly renowned for their humble business practices. The Falcone family and its associates monopolized the shipping industry in Gotham. They would ship materials in and out of the city efficiently, and for the right price, quietly.
It wasn't uncommon to see the drugs and weapons flow freely through the downtown core because of the mob's businesses practices.
There was an unspoken gentleman's agreement between the police force and the Falcone crime family. They would allow for the transport of illicit materials, only because if they completely halted that flow, crime rates would soar in the city and a power vacuum would result if the drugs and weapons were blockaded.
The police in the past had tried to cut off the flow, only to find that a crime wave occurred as various individuals tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to claim the rest of the drugs to sell and use their advantage against others.
Violence had exploded throughout the underworld, as crime families and anyone trying to become a kingpin were infighting with one another to gain an upper hand.
The police had eventually allowed the drugs and weapons to flow through the city, as long as the infighting wasn't going to involve any innocent civilians.
Except sometimes it wasn't only drugs and weapons making their way into Gotham via the channel. Sometimes the city could prove itself to be even more macabre.
The lone figure continued to walk the rows of shipping containers, tapping them every so often. The shadow abruptly slowed as he heard a faint sound tapping back at him and a muffled scream.
The figure felt his face twist into a smile, he had found the cargo that was to be delivered.
….
Damian grunted as he fought against the dormant punching dummy. He had been practising his methods for quite some time. He honestly couldn't see a need to train any longer, however his father had warned him that since he was now known to the public, he needed to have over two sets of fighting techniques.
If he was apprehended and ambushed as Damian Wayne, he couldn't fight the same way Robin would defend himself.
Damian supposed it made sense, but he failed to see the reason in continuing practising.
"Damian, you're still moving the same way you would as Robin." His father called down from the elevated walkway.
Damian grunted angrily, "There is only one way I know how to use my arm in this specific direction."
His father shook his head, "No, that's not the issue. You're placing too much emphasis into landing a punch rather than changing your way of administering it."
Damian stopped abruptly and turned to face his father, clearly annoyed, "Elaborate on that," he commanded, growing frustrated at the lack of progress.
His father walked towards the ladder that separated the levels of the cave, his footsteps creating a soft sound that echoed around the cave.
As he descended, Damian stood a few steps back to allow his father to demonstrate what he meant.
Damian was irritated, he knew that he was better than this, he should have been able to do what his father commanded without such specific instruction like a child. He had been training without intervention for weeks, but his father had demanded that he perfect these methods of fighting before he could emerge fully in society as Damian Wayne.
Damian wiped his brow with the small grey towel and grabbed his metal water bottle with the speed of a disgruntled viper.
Bruce cracked a hint of a smirk at Damian, he knew that he was irritated, with a pang of sadness, he remembered that Jason had also had the most difficulty with changing his fighting style.
Clearing the painful memories from his mind, he focused on Damian, standing a few yards away, awaiting further instruction. Bruce lifted his arms to his sides as if he were about to start shadow boxing.
"Your aiming in the right direction Damian, but you are emphasizing the strike the same way as Robin would."
Bruce demonstrated hitting the dummy twice, once with a graceful hit, and the other a choppy yet effective strike.
Damian nodded, his muscles tight and coiled as if he were ready to spring at the practice dummy and take out his frustrations there.
Bruce beckoned him forth with his index finger, "I want you to move more bluntly as Damian Wayne, and gracefully as Robin. You have ensured that your agility is shown when you fight as Robin. Do you think you could disguise your fighting style as more coarse and harsh?"
Damian's brows rose in bewilderment, "You want me to fight like a juvenile delinquent?"
Bruce chuckled quietly, "Damian, it's not as if I am telling you that you can't fight at all if you have too. I am only saying that it would be beneficial if you had clearly differentiated styles of administration. Can you please try to do this for me?"
Damian's eyes narrowed significantly, "If you will have me fight like a ruffian I will gladly, but," he paused, "only as Damian Wayne."
Bruce nodded at their agreement, and turned towards the large computer screen ready to prepare their information for the night's patrol.
Damian grabbed his gym bag and placed his dirtied towel in the laundry hamper in the corner of the training area. He would take Titus for a quick walk before he would go on patrol with his father.
Climbing the ladder with one arm, he looked behind him at the dormant dummy that he dragged back into the corner, perhaps if he placed Drake's face on the dummy would assist Damian in practicing blunt methods of combat.
He disregarded the idea when he imagined the face his father would make, defacing Drake in such a way would anger and disappoint him.
Stretching his muscles and raising his arms as high as they could go, he sighed as he wound down from training. He would have a short break and possibly a run with Titus, and then he would return for the night's patrol.
This was usually the routine before he would go out as Robin. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't favour going out as Damian Wayne. He hated to admit, but his father had been right, the paparazzo were downright abhorrent at stalking "celebrities" and "socialites".
He had found himself staring at a member holding a large camera to his face, trying to get a good picture of him for the ridiculous entertainment section of the paper he worked for.
He had eventually pushed the man out of the way, thankful that no other cameras were there to catch his clear mistreatment of the press.
Damian sighed as he remembered his father's words, and tried to push the memory from his mind as he called Titus and clipped the collar with the tracker on his neck.
Titus panted happily, and despite Damian's sour mood, he smiled rarely and pet his great Dane. Unbeknownst to the duo, Alfred overlooked the scene, comforted that Damian was adjusting to life at the Manor. His attitude certainly hadn't helped when he first made his way into the Manor, Alfred thought his patience was being tested and that he couldn't possibly be as nurturing to Damian as he hoped he would be.
Thankfully Damian was becoming comfortable in the Manor. His upbringing was one of great intrigue to Alfred. He couldn't imagine having a boy go through the training he had endured, but he had proven himself to be far ahead of all of the other Robins that had undertaken the responsibility of becoming a partner to Batman.
Damian found himself grounded with this responsibility, although he would never admit it to anyone, he was just as insecure with himself. He sought his parents' approval, hoping to become the best to please his mother and his father. He was lacking discipline with Talia, but found that his father would not accept his attitude and contempt for the world. They had argued, fought, and screamed at one another, but Master Bruce had emerged unscathed by Damian's insults and…colourful vernacular.
Damian had been coming to terms with his departure from the League of Assassins and his involvement as an assassin himself. He contented himself with the thoughts of being the best Robin, it replaced the need to become the sole leader of the world through righteously justified conquest. His mother promised him the world, to become the greatest man that had ever lived (even surpassing his grandfather, the Head of the Demon, Ra's al Ghul), the countries all around the world would kneel and bend to his will alone.
It was an intoxicating ideal, a rather childish notion, but nonetheless an appealing destiny.
Damian had rejected that destiny by agreeing to stay with his father and train longer and harder. He would fight for the common good and justice, not revenge. He would never fight in the name of revenge again.
It was difficult for Damian to accept, he had been told he could do anything from such a young age, and it was easy to fall victim to violent impulses. But he had proven to absorb the wisdom from his father and would not set himself up for failure by seeking out revenge against anyone that wronged him.
Alfred heard the side door close and heard the small patter of footsteps and paws, and smiled to himself. The bond between child and dog could never be replaced, Master Bruce was right to introduce Titus to the family.
…
On the rooftops in the dead of night was how most nights on patrol would accumulate, not many things happened during the early weekdays, perhaps a robbery or a mugging, a fight breaking out between different patrons of the clubs and bars below them, however, most nights it was quiet. It felt like they were both waiting for the pin to drop and the explosions to rack the city, thankfully that was not in the cards for them this very night.
Robin studied the gargoyles with interest. They adorned most of the city's buildings, but he hadn't paid them much mind. Truth be told, he thought of them as glorified seats to perch on while waiting for their attention to be called elsewhere.
But before he could look further to analyze this particular street, he was called by Batman to continue their patrol beyond the downtown core.
Robin grappled closely behind his mentor, expecting an explanation as he trailed just out of reach of Batman.
His com buzzed, "GCPD have intercepted gunfire at the docks, by the sounds of it, it seems likely that this isn't just mob-infighting."
Robin felt his eyes narrow under his mask, it could have been the mob, but there was a possibility there was a package someone else wanted to take forcibly from the harbour.
"What kind of cargo could be so important?" Robin questioned to no one in particular.
Since they were already close to the docks, they didn't waste time in summoning their vehicle. They continued grappling for a few precious moments.
The wind was fierce against their bodies, it was early December, but it felt like it was the dead of winter. Feeling his cheeks redden from the exposure to the wind, he breathed in through his nose, not wanting to inhale the icy air too fast.
Batman grappled low, landing on a large row of shipping containers. He broke into a run, jumping from the heightened containers carefully into the fray.
Batman was in the middle of a large crowd, stopping several men from taking more weapons from large wooden crates on the ground.
Before Robin could follow suit, there was a large metal screech that sounded throughout the entire harbour, one of the metal containers was forced open by a large being. If Robin hadn't been accustomed to seeing Man-Bats, he probably wouldn't believe what was happening in front of his very eyes. A deranged looking man stood in front of the green metal siding, grunting and looking inside. Its stature was straight, and was very widely set, at least eight feet tall and extremely agitated.
Robin was ready to intercept when he heard Batman shout for Damian to move.
Sensing danger he was astounded to find that he had lost all observational skills, not seeing the men that had bounded behind him to shoot at both him and the large man.
The man, now staring at Robin, who was caught in the crossfire, bounded up to the row of containers and wrapped his body around Robin's. He was in the trajectory of the bullets and found himself feeling the uncomfortable sting of shrapnel in his back.
To the large man's relief, the boy in red, green, and black was unharmed. He was only a child, standing at around 4 feet 11 inches, he wouldn't have survived the oncoming bullets intended for him.
He carefully let go of Robin who was wheezing at the pressure of his hold, and bounded towards the men who had let loose their guns on the duo.
In one fell swoop, the man hit the metal shipping container with both of his fists, the force of his punch caused the men to lose their balance. In those precious few seconds, several things occurred at once, Batman was now at Robin's side, a protective hand placed over his shoulder, watching the gargantuan man defend his son. Meanwhile, the man, taking advantage of the fallen hostiles pushed them from the rows of shipping containers. A fair fall to the ground, but one that was not fatal.
Batman stepped in front of Robin, staring at the humanoid figure who had saved his son's life. As Batman analyzed, he found that the man's demeanor was now calm. He had a mop of greasy brown hair that flew up in random directions, his clothes were extremely ratty and torn, as if they were found outside of a dumpster. His eyes were a dull brown, pupils dilated, as if he were on some form of enhancing substance. His muscles were large and his body built, almost as if he were like Bane, Batman realized. The man was barefoot and clumsily looking around, not wanting to meet the eyes of Batman.
"Who are you?" Batman asked, his voice sharp and his tone acidic.
Despite saving his son, Gotham was his city and he didn't need any more vigilantes causing problems. He established that rule long ago, and his family never exceeded beyond Oracle, the former Robins, Huntress on occasion, Cassandra Cain, and Batwoman. If the times called for it, then reinforcements would be hand selected by Batman himself, yet he rarely called in favours of that caliber.
The man responded, "Abuse."
His voice was a deep baritone, and he did not meet Batman's eyes, but regarded Robin carefully.
"Thanks," Robin muttered, realizing that he probably would have sustained a few gunshot wounds if not for the man blocking their trajectory.
The man grunted, "Shipping container 4011, the men were talking about bringing the contents to the Russian mob."
Batman's eyes narrowed, "What interest do you have with the mob?"
Abuse looked up for the first time, "Nothing, they disgust me. Using civilians as pawns and harming innocent people."
Robin cleared his throat and looked Batman with a quick side glance, as if to ask, what now?
Batman walked forward to Abuse, "I'm only going to say this once, thank you for helping Robin, but you are going to stay far away from protecting Gotham, do you understand? This is not your fight."
Abuse snorted, "You don't know anything about my fight. I suggest you collect the cargo, Batman."
Before anything more could be said, Abuse bounded from the container with the speed that rivaled a car and ran from the harbour.
Robin was about to go after him, but Batman clasped his shoulder, "Later, Robin."
Understanding that he was issued an order, Robin complied, grappling to find container 4011. Batman didn't venture too far from him and watched to see if any more men from the mob would ambush them while searching.
The two were able to continue their search, uninterrupted by Abuse or further henchmen. Batman called to Robin after a few moments had passed, he had found the specific shipping container.
The container they were looking for was on ground level, whatever the mob wanted was sealed in the metal box in front of them.
Batman placed an explosive detonation device on the large padlock of the crate. Waiting a few seconds, a contained blast had the metal explode into tiny shards. Nodding to Robin, he moved out of the way and pushed the crate open quickly.
Robin pointed a flashlight and stopped himself from reacting in disgust.
In the darkness of the crate were two small children, trying to comfort each other in the dark. They were crying, tears streaming down their dirty faces.
Upon seeing the flashlight, they both retreated into the corner, facing one another, and sobbing.
Between their two mutterings and sobs, Damian found that they were not speaking English, but something of a different vernacular.
Robin listened carefully and walked towards them, trying to make out what they were crying out.
Damian recognized the language, they were speaking German.
Trying to make himself as small as possible and as less threatening as he could, he spoke softly, "Ihr sind gesund und wohlbehalten"
The two children looked up and wiped their tears, although they did not say much, they climbed into Damian's outstretched arms and felt comforted by the small boy in the red, green, and black.
…
Back in the Batcave, Robin was still in his uniform going over the case file for their night on patrol. Angered by the situation of the two children, he turned to Bruce, "I still don't understand why they have to stay in Gotham, their family are in Germany are they not?" Damian asked, irritated by the events of the night.
Bruce looked at his son, "They aren't safe anymore in Germany, their parents are connected to the mob and they have taken liberties with their safety."
"So, what happens to them now?" Damian asked, not admitting he was concerned for their safety in Gotham.
"They are likely to become wards of the state, at least until their information and records are received by Interpol. They are likely going to be placed with their extended family, that is if they have any extended family unaffiliated with the mob."
Damian paused.
"Father, I may have an idea that would keep them from being hidden away."
Bruce narrowed his eyes at his son, "I'm listening"
….
Damian found himself grappling in the north-eastern end of Gotham, searching for a large apartment in the safer part of the city. After a few moments, he came across the building adequately named East Side Heights.
He thanked Avery Williams for choosing a safe place for her and her mother to relocate. He hoped that he could convince her to help these two children that also had their lives ruined by mob violence.
Obviously knocking on the door wouldn't cut it, so Damian found himself throwing a few pebbles at Avery's window. From what he could see, the lamp on the far side of her room was on. He couldn't make out much since the curtain was drawn tightly shut, but soon found himself staring at Avery, who had pulled back the curtain quickly.
She placed a hand over her neck in fear and slowly breathed out. He had scared her, granted it was almost two in the morning.
Gathering herself, Avery opened the window slowly, trying desperately to avoid making too much noise.
Avery spoke softly, "Robin?"
"I apologize," Damian stammered, "in the movies usually one doesn't get a heart attack from the merely innocuous act of throwing stones at a window."
Avery smiled closed mouthed, "Well, it is Gotham."
Robin nodded once thoughtfully.
"What can I help you with? This isn't merely a social visit, is it? I'm not in danger, am I?" Avery asked, the smile falling from her face, she looked beyond her room to her wardrobe, imaging herself packing up her belongings once again.
"No, you are fine. Although I have a favour to ask of you." Robin reassured her.
Avery felt her body stiffen from the cold air, "Come in, ask me inside. It's freezing outside, how do you not feel that chill in the air?"
Robin shrugged, "Thermal uniform."
"Of course," Avery stated, closing the window and drawing the curtain shut. Turning to ensure her door was closed, she sat on the edge of her bed. Pointing to the desk chair she offered Damian a seat.
He sat, facing Avery, and began to speak, "Tonight, Batman and I found two German children being held in a shipping container. They had been kidnapped with the intention of being held delivered to the Russian mob as hostages. They are officially wards of the state while the paperwork is being filed, I will admit, having them in witness protection is not ideal for their age. I was hoping if your mother wasn't working yet, she could look after these children?"
Avery kept her emotions in check, "My mother used to be a teacher in Germany, if I explained the situation to her I am sure she would find it in her heart to look after the two young kids. How old are they?"
Robin fought himself not to sigh in relief, "Twins, they are both seven. The boy is named Alaric and the girl is named Alida."
Avery pursed her lips in discomfort, "Robin, I hate to mention this, but I'm studying at school right now, and I'm not sure I can afford to take care of my mother and these children."
Robin blinked, "Money is being wired into your account as we speak, even if your mother doesn't agree to care for the children."
Avery inhaled slowly, she looked tired, the bags underneath her eyes were well defined. She rubbed the back of her neck in thought, "So you were the one to deposit money into the account the first time."
Damian didn't say anything, he didn't have to, she had figured it out herself way before he had mentioned anything.
Avery nodded, "Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do, my mother loves children and despises the mob. If I explain the way you have explained and tell her about the…donations she will agree to almost anything."
Robin relaxed his shoulders, "Thank you, there isn't much I can do for them, but I know being raised by strangers while parents dabble in…extravagant endeavors breeds cynicism and unhappiness. You are doing them a great service."
Avery shook her head, some of her golden-brown hair escaping the loose bun on her head, "You're one to talk, you are the one ensuring they have a chance at a semi-normal life. I think that you get all the benevolence points for that one alone."
Robin turned to open the window and did not look back as he spoke audibly over the wind, "They deserve a life unmarred by violence and murder. They deserve the chance I wish I had."
