Chapter 9

July 4th, 2017. 10:35 PM.

Although he was quite open about how little he valued holidays due to his upbringing, Damian had to admit that he had something resembling respect for Independence Day. Not the celebration of it, mind you, no. All the ruckus of proclaiming how great America was, and the sheer quantity of things they can cover in red, white, and blue, and that unholy cacophony called "country music" blaring from every radio station was far too obnoxious for his tastes. But Damian had a deeply rooted respect for anyone who displayed real patriotism; from the men who came together some 241 years ago and risked everything to establish a brand new nation, to the men and women who took up arms today to serve overseas for the sake of their homeland. Damian knew what it meant to devote your life to something greater than yourself; being a member of the League of Assassins meant that, if it came down, you would give your life for the League's ideals… which Damian felt were wholly different from the ideals of his grandfather. Damian didn't necessarily share all of Ra's Al Ghul's beliefs– which in part made him glad to be done with the Assassins altogether– but he did truly believe that the symbol of the League of Assassin's stood for something more: it stood for the hope for a better world. In like manner, Damian believed that a soldier in America's military could fight for the values that the American flag embodied, rather than for the agenda of whatever political figurehead they put in charge of America's government. Not everyone agreed with the policies of the last president, and not everyone agrees with the policies of this one. When it comes down to it, loving your country means loving the things your country stands for, not loving the people who run it.

Damian's train of thought was interrupted by a hand grasping his shoulder. He looked up to see the face of his father looking down at him.

"Hello Father," Damian said quietly, placing a hand on top of his. "I heard you were planning on paying a visit sometime soon. How are things in Gotham?"

"Gotham is Gotham, Damian," Bruce said in a low voice. "It always will be… Alfred says hello, by the way."

Damian smirked. "Alfred the butler, or Alfred my cat?"

"Both," Bruce replied with a wink. They laughed for a moment, and Bruce gestured for Damian to sit. The both of them sat down on the couch, and Bruce let out a sigh. "Damian, I wanna talk to you about Garfield."

Almost immediately, Damian's expression darkened. "There's… not much left to say," he replied. "I let my emotions get the better of me, and my friend got hurt because of it. That's on my head."

"You're right. It absolutely is." Bruce reached out, putting a hand gently on his son's arm. "But you can't let that guilt eat at you."

"I clearly need to change, Father," Damian protested calmly. "If something is threatening my friends, it's my responsibility to stop the threat before it affects someone I care about. I won't lose again. You never fail, so what excuse do I have to let myself fail?"

Bruce stopped for a moment, looking into his son's eyes, the same tired blue eyes he saw in the mirror every day. Damian didn't just want to be a good Robin, he wanted to be a good Batman… he wanted to be his father.

"You think I never lose?" Bruce said, almost whispering. "Son. I lose plenty."

Damian paused, a look of confusion on his face. "… what do you mean?"

"You've read every report on every case I've had. Think about it… I let Red Hood fall off that railing all those years ago, and he became the Joker. I didn't act soon enough to rehabilitate Harvey Dent, and now he's all but lost to Two-Face. I didn't make sure Dr. Quinzel received psychiatric help soon enough, and she wasted away with the clown for years…" Bruce paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I let Jason die… I let Stephanie die… Damian, I let YOU die."

"Father that isn't–"

"Yes, Damian, it is. You think I've never failed because the bad guys always end up locked away at the end of the mission. But the truth is, I've been dealing with the repercussions of my failures every day since the day I first put on the mask when I was twenty-six. I've been dealing with not being able to protect the people I love since I was eight years old. And I've let it consume me in the past… after Jason died, I became a danger to everyone around me. It wasn't until Tim showed up that I realized how out of hand I'd gotten. And when… when you died… you can ask anyone in the League. I lost it."

Damian looked on as his father spoke. All this time, he'd never considered… but it was true.

"I'm not saying that failure is okay. We strive to do the best we can." Bruce looked into his son's eyes again. "What I'm saying is that no matter how hard you try, sometimes you're going to lose. What's important is to not allow your losses to consume you."

They sat in silence, looking to one another for a good four seconds. Slowly, Damian slid closer, and laid his head on his father's chest. Bruce wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. They didn't say another word, but volumes could be written in the air between them as they gathered strength from one another.

July 4th, 2017. 8:24 PM.

The vast expanse of sky overhead was a bluish-purple hue, dimly lit as the sun had just dropped past the horizon. Damian and Raven sat amongst their teammates and loved ones there on the gently sloped lawn of Titans Island in the middle of the river, surrounded by the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sound of their friends' voices filling the summer air as fireflies danced around the lot of them. Raven's head was resting on Damian's shoulder, and he leaned into it, pressing his cheek softly into her hair.

Recovering physically from the ordeal they'd gone through with Garfield had been tough, but thanks to Raven's dedication to increasing her skills as a healer, the process had been significantly accelerated… with the exception of Garfield, whose arm was sadly unable to be reattached. The psychological impact, however, was significantly more difficult to come back from; the sight of Robin cleaving Beast Boy's arm off, regardless of the situation, had shaken everyone there. Even Jaime, who hadn't been there when it happened, was visibly stunned to see Garfield with a stump in place of a hand. But none were more affected than Gar and Damian. For a full week after the incident, the two couldn't even look each other in the eyes – Damian out of guilt, and Garfield out of something he thought felt like betrayal. But with time, and after finally sitting down and speaking with one another about what happened, Damian and Garfield had begun to rebuild their relationship… albeit slowly. Garfield was presently laying back with his head in Tara's lap, looking up at her as the two carried on in conversation.

"Damian," Raven whispered, "I can feel you. Talk to me."

Damian said nothing, but he slowly took hold of Raven's hand and squeezed it tight. In his heart, he spoke volumes of what he was feeling; he thought he had himself under control. He thought he'd learned to control his anger, but now he didn't know what to think at all. It felt as if he'd had the blinders ripped from his eyes, and all at once he'd been exposed to everything he had been oblivious to for so long. He just…

Raven picked up her head and looked at him, placing her other hand on his chest. "I know you're scared. You've been taught to accept nothing but excellence of yourself. Something this big, it's bound to set you back."

Right, Damian thought. Empath.

"But that's why we're here," she continued, smiling. "When one of us falls, the rest of us pick them back up. You're not alone anymore. You have us… you have me."

The two of them stared into one another's eyes for a moment in silence. In his heart, Damian spoke one more thing. Raven, if you're listening now… I just hope you feel it. I can't say it yet. But I hope you can feel it.

A slight twinge of red in Raven's cheeks told Damian that yes, in fact, she felt it.

As the two of them laid back, arms around each other, they watched as the night sky lit up with the brilliant lights and colors of the fireworks display. No matter what came next, they had each other to lean on. They were going to be okay.

July 4th, 2017. 11:13 PM.

Damian sat typing away at his computer, chronicling the events of the past week. Thankfully, the past seven days had been rather quiet in Jump City, so Damian was a able to finish up much earlier than usual. Just as he was standing up from his desk to get some much-needed shut-eye, there came a knock upon his bedroom door. Shaking off the tiredness from his eyes, Damian shuffled over to the door as it opened, and there stood Tara Markov on the other side.

"Hey…" Tara waved awkwardly. "Can I come in for a minute?"

Damian smiled and gave a little nod, rubbing his eyes as the girl walked into his room. The door shut behind them, and Damian sat back down in his desk chair, gesturing for Tara to seat herself on his bed, which she did.

"I just, uhh…" Tara scratched her head as she looked for the words. "I never actually said thank you for, y'know… saving me when Gar tried to kill me back in April. If you hadn't been there when you were, then I probably wouldn't be here right now."

"You don't have to thank me," Damian assured her. "Especially considering what happened next."

"Hey," Tara interjected, "don't go blaming yourself for what happened to Gar. You did what you had to do to keep us safe. It's not your fault."

"It IS my fault, though," Damian sighed. "But I won't let it get the better of me. I'm working on dealing with my mistakes. I promise you, I'm gonna keep doing my best to keep you all safe."

Tara smiled as she got up from where she sat. "Thanks, Dame. I'll see you tomorrow." Tara turned to walk out the door, but Damian held up a hand.

"Hold on a second, Terra…" Robin stood up from his chair. "There's something I need to see."

Tara seemed to freeze up as Damian approached her. He came up behind her and pulled her hair out off of her neck… and he froze. There, at the base of her neck, sat a small device. If he hadn't been looking for it, he probably never would have seen it. But there it was… barely distinguishable, but Damian instantly recognized the symbol: a circle, half-orange and half-black, with a slit of white on one side. Damian grit his teeth as he stared down at the symbol of the man who murdered his grandfather…

"… Deathstroke…"

Damian put a firm hand on Tara's shoulder. He loved Tara, but Deathstroke was one of the most dangerous men on Earth. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Tara turned slowly to meet Damian's gaze. What caught Damian off-guard was the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed for a moment.

"Tara, what's going on…?" Damian put his arms around her waist, unsure of how to respond.

"… Please… Damian, please help…"