With change, came new beginnings. On the other hand, how is one to know where an 'end' will lead unto a new 'beginning.'
Damian stood next to the grave, back straight, looking ahead. He kept his facial expression carefully ruled, giving away nothing. His hands were balled up tightly into fists by his side. He dare not look down.
"You shouldn't be out here."
He glanced back to where Drake was standing a couple of feet behind him. Confusion swept over him for not even realizing how close the other had sneaked up. Surely he wasn't that out of it.
"And you should mind your own, riff raff."
A pause.
""Im,-"
Grit
"-Drake, I didn't mean that." Because despite the hatred and the sneer that was almost fully showing up on the younger's face, he didn't want to push anyone away. Especially with how little of them were left.
"Are you certain he's d-" he didn't get to finish, Drake had closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder. Only then did he realize how cold it was out. The only warmth was seeping through his shoulder from Drake of all people.
"There was a body, Damian."
Yet, Drake refused to look at him, he was staring at the ground… at the grave. Damian could feel himself coiling up, no longer able to deal with all of, this. He couldn't focus, he just felt dazed.
"Yes, of course" he whispered, not knowing what more to say. He couldn't be here anymore. He clenched his eyes shut, fingernails digging into his palms. Finally, he opened his eyes, and glanced down.
'Richard John Grayson'
He did not attempt to read the rest, enough of that. He needed to speak to his father.