A/N: Ugh, long chapter is long. Damn, I love it, and I'm super excited about your reactions. You remember the half-assed warning at the beginning of the first chapter? That was mainly for this one. Lots of swearing and other stuff. Yeah.
Also, there will be a lot talking about cars all of sudden... and I have absolutely no knowledge about cars. I couldn't for the life of me think of another American car brand other than Lexus, so I hope that German car brands are as popular in the States as there are in Europe. And, dude, is it really 'Benz' in North America? We call it Mercedes. But actually it should be Daimler-Benz... Or Mercedes-Benz. Daimler Chrysler? Just Chrysler? WTF? I live in THE city where Mercedes/Benz/whatever and Porsche (it's called Porsche, right?!) come from, but I have no idea... LOL. (It's also the city where Loki tried to take over the world, but that's a different story ;) ) Sorry. Rambling out.
Chapter 5: What do you want from me?
The orange one prowled around his legs, demanding attention. With a sigh, Damian knelt down and patted her head, never taking his eyes off the empty window ledge. The spotted one was still missing, even though she had been so punctual over the last week. Damian worried.
He didn't know where the cats had come from at first; a week ago the orange one had been sitting on the window ledge behind his closed window and had eyed his chicken sandwich closely. She was back the next day, jumping into the room fearlessly, and on the next day the spotted one had trailed in behind her.
Damian had been amazed at how trusting they were. After the second time he fed them his dinner they started to occupy his bed, his lap, and his attention. By now he had figured out that they came from the roof – the days were long and warm, and the cats probably used the roof's heated tiles to lie in the sun. They climbed the big tree on the east side onto the roof and then jumped over the window ledges to his room.
A mew directed his attention back to the window. A small spotted ball of fur looked at him cheekily.
"There you are," he whispered, relieved. He had saved some of his dinner for her, even though it had been quite tricky to keep the orange one from devouring it.
At first he had been worried that someone might burst into his room and shoo his visitors away, but he soon realized how unlikely that was. Pennyworth had no reason to come to his room after dinner and Richard... just didn't.
Damian shook his head and tried to think about something else. The spotted cat was looking at him eagerly, and Damian sat on his bed obediently and let her jump onto his lap. The orange one was jealous immediately and rubbed her head against his arm.
The orange one, the spotted one... he really should think of some names for them, but he couldn't find any that fit. And no, he really shouldn't, since they weren't his cats.
He wished they were, though. He felt better since they had started to visit him, less lonely, and he was looking forward to their purring all day. He had had half a mind to ask Grayson if he could keep them, but it had become harder and harder for him to speak with his guardian.
They were still training, yes, with Richard beating the shit out of him each time (at Damian's insistence), and they were still patrolling. They weren't talking though, not really. Apart from Batman and Robin, Richard left Damian alone. Either he was working until late or he was out meeting friends or speaking with them over the phone.
Damian didn't like to admit it, but it stung every time Grayson walked past his room, chuckling at something Oracle or Fatgirl or whoever blared into the speaker said. He had needed a week to admit it to himself, and Damian still had fits of defiance in which he completely ignored all of it.
Damn Grayson and his stupid expression when he spotted him. At first Damian thought he was bored from the training that wasn't very exhausting for the Bat, but after a few days he found that Grayson's expression was more... sad? Or was it disappointment? But he hadn't done anything to disappoint him; in fact his fighting skills had improved a lot in this short time.
He was patting the cats now and tried very hard not to glance at Carson's brochures in the bin. Grayson hadn't mentioned them again and Damian sure as hell wouldn't. He couldn't get the headmaster's words out of his head, though, and tried to analyze them all week.
Maybe he had overreacted a little bit, back in the cave.. but he had apologized, damn it! Apologizing was a big thing for Damian, and Grayson knew that. He didn't know how else he should try to make things right. Damian didn't like the conclusion he had arrived at at the end of the week, but he was too honest with himself to ignore it. He missed the old Grayson. It was ridiculous and strange, since 'the old Grayson' paraded in front of him every day, fooling around on the telephone and annoying Pennyworth. What really hit Damian was the fact that he changed character immediately when he spotted Damian.
He had asked him to. Demanded it, actually. And no, Damian didn't want to miss the new Batman efficiency he was experiencing on patrol now. Gotham had noticed the changed Bat, too, and the really bad villains were seriously unsure about any coup right now. Damian had gotten stronger and Richard didn't return with so much as a scratch anymore...
Shit, why couldn't he have both?!
The spotted cat had left his lap and sulkily Damian watched it explore his room. He really needed a name. Maybe he should ask Grayson, he knew how the man loved animals. He would surely demand to spend time with the cats in his room and spoil and pamper them like he did with his elephant at the circus. It would be nice to see him smile in his vicinity for a chance.
Damian was just about to ponder if that was worth a horrible name like 'Captain Fluff' or 'Mister McPurr' when the orange cat started to sharpen her claws at the trousers of his neatly ironed suit. Cursing, he jumped up and shooed the cat away, which growled at him dismissively and jumped back onto the window ledge. The suit was fine, thank God. Pennyworth would kill him. He needed to be presentable tomorrow at the big party, since Richard needed him to entertain the guests while he was investigating.
Damian grimaced involuntarily as he thought about the next day. Grayson had been super-proud of himself for the plan he had come up with, and Damian had to admit (never to Grayson) that it wasn't a bad idea. Last week, Richard had met up with Loreena Hughes and Francis Bolton to apologize for Damian's outburst at school. Damian's teeth still ground together when he thought about the look those two had probably given him.
When he asked him, Richard had just laughed smugly and said it was precisely this contempt towards him had helped him with the next step. Loreena and Francis owned a big company, Bolton Technology, that had just recently experienced a slump in sales thanks to a disastrous product recall and needed money. Their main focus lay on cars – and with all the acting skills Grayson could muster, he had convinced them what a huge fan of luxury automobiles he was. He had offered them a temporary cooperation, a research project founded by Wayne Enterprises to improve ecological sustainability in traditional car brands.. because apparently, Dick Grayson had always been a huge fan of Rolls Royce.
Damian had to smile at that. Until a week ago, Grayson hadn't spent a moment in his life thinking about cars. He would drive a shaggy old second-hand car if it weren't for Father, who regularly presented him with a new expensive car for his birthday. The son of the richest man in Gotham could hardly drive around in something else than a Lexus, a Benz, or a Porsche. The last week's evenings were therefore spent with Pennyworth trying (vainly) to teach Richard the inner workings of a car motor.
Bolton and Hughes were ecstatic – they wouldn't have to file for bankruptcy, and in turn, they could hardly sue Grayson for Damian and James' incident at school. A win-win situation, Richard had called it with a relieved smile, and the party announcing their cooperation was the icing on the cake: Grayson was one hundred percent sure that he would catch the Snake tomorrow evening.
The Snake had a thing for costly automobiles. The gang was always driving around on self-made tuned bikes, full of expensive and very rare spare parts of luxury car brands. There was a huge black market for automobile parts blooming in Gotham, and since the Snake had become active, it was booming. An increasing demand for Rolls Royce apparently had ripped through the scene lately, and the car brand had suffered terrible assaults in Gotham for a few weeks now: the car houses were robbed by the Snake, innocent drivers stopped and thrown out of their cars, sometimes shot on open streets, and the factories were deserted. Gotham's Rolls Royce was only minutes away from turning its back on the town, if it weren't for one CEO of Wayne Enterprises who offered to support the brand financially overnight.
Grayson was on TV now in an infinite loop. He smiled charmingly in interviews and gave the most insolent, arrogant answers he could come up with when asked about the Snake. He was mocking them publicly, openly daring them to try to stop the wealthiest enterprise on this side of the country... while at home, he was practically bouncing with excitement and pride about his master plan (that was, until he saw Damian and then stopped being merry altogether). He had bought some of the rarest, ridiculously expensive Rolls Royce special editions models he could find and was about to present them to Gotham's high society tomorrow. The sales had slipped into Gotham's underground days before they had been signed, of course.
All in all, Grayson was presenting the gang an opportunity to show its claim over Gotham on a silver plate. They couldn't let it slip. He was one hundred percent sure that they would show up, either dressed as guests to secretly snoop around and get a grip on the situation, or they would simply try to steal the cars. Damian thought it most likely they would try to get at Grayson personally, but he refrained from saying that out loud. Richard probably knew, anyway. It was why he wanted to stay low profile during the party for as long as possible, listening to conversations and observing the guests,
while it was Damian's task to play the host, to keep the innocent in eyeshot. One Wayne had to play the high society 'playboy', and Grayson had answered to Damian's protests only with a dry "You're surely a more worthy Wayne than I am." He had shut up afterwards.
It was a good plan; the provocation had been thorough and a Wayne-party was long overdue. The only thing Damian resented was his own part in it, or better said, his non- existent part in it. It was as if Grayson didn't need him to fulfill his plans, and since Damian had seen him fighting when he didn't pay attention to what Robin was doing, he was inclined to believe it. When he tried to argue against it, Grayson simply overran him with an overwhelming list of details and reasons why it would be more efficient, faster or cleaner if Damian stayed at home or stayed back during fights.
There was a loud bang when the Manor's front door was suddenly slammed shut, and almost immediately did the loud, booming voice of Roy Harper echo through the Manor.
Damian closed his eyes and cursed inwardly, while both cats flinched and ran to the window, waiting for Damian to open it again. He did so reluctantly, patting them one last time while listening to the voices – West was there, too. Awesome. There was no patrol tonight since they couldn't risk any injuries or suspicious bruises for tomorrow's performance, and apparently Grayson had used the night off for a little get-together with his most embarrassing Titans-buddies.
As if on clue, a shattering sound was heard and then Grayson's boisterous laugh broke the ensuing silence. Damian remembered Richard's words from the car drive days ago: "You don't mix well with strangers." – Damian had always known that Grayson kept close contact with his friends, even though he had never invited them to the Manor before. They usually phoned or met somewhere else; Damian had seen West a few times when he came around to pick Grayson up to disappear together to Star City or wherever Harper was waiting for them.
Now they were here, regardless of Damian's distaste of strangers in the Manor. They knew about Batman, so actually there wasn't anything he could say against it... but he still didn't like it. God, they were loud. From the sound of it, they had crashed in the living room, close to the staircase to the first story and annoyingly close to Damian's room.
Grayson was telling them something. Damian couldn't make out the words, but he sounded excited, and the other two kept laughing at the short pauses. What was he telling them? Damian found himself drawn to the noise, now that the cats were gone and nothing in his room kept him occupied.
In socks he walked down the hall, and found a spot right behind the banister where he could see the three men without them spotting him. Not that they tried; they were completely occupied with themselves. Damian could make out their voices now clearly.
Damian didn't know why he was doing what he was doing. West, Harper and Grayson were loitering around on the couch with a few bottles of beer on the floor beside them, and casually talked about their former teammates, their kids or missions. It didn't really interest Damian – Harper never counted as a serious superhero in Damian's opinion and the Flash's missions were duller than any riddle the Riddler could come up with. But still, he found his eyes glued on his mentor, who kept peeling off the label of his beer bottle and threw pillows at West when he wasn't looking. He was so relaxed; Damian didn't know if he had ever seen him like that before.
They were laughing over some silly story about the Penguin's most recent failure, when West suddenly leaned back into the cushions and grabbed one of snack bowls. "Dude, when was the last we actually saw you without the cowl or outside of the League's headquarters?"
"Ugh, Wally, don't ask. I swear, Gotham is so fucked up, I can't even tell you how many super-villains I caught in the last month."
"You should let us help you," Harper interjected, and Damian froze when West joined in the idea.
"Yes, dude, how awesome would that be?! We haven't patrolled together since the old days!"
Grayson smiled fondly. "That would be awesome," he reminisced, "but you know the rules: no Capes in Gotham."
Damian let go of a breath.
"That was B.'s rule. You're the Batman now, you can make your own rules!"
"I don't know, it's kind of a tradition, isn't it? We keep our cities to ourselves, right?"
"Ohhh, I know what this is about..." Harper suddenly cooed with a sly, broad grin. "You're afraid that Kara would catch a whiff and come along too!"
Grayson turned deep red and started to grin too. "Bullshit."
"Oh my God, I knew there was something going on!" West threw a pillow at Grayson, which he deflected easily. "I want to know everything!"
"Nothing was going on! She had a crush on me and that's it." But Grayson's grin was so wide it completely contradicted everything he said.
"Dude, you need to stop doing that!"
"I'm not doing anything!"
"Seriously, Dick, my daughter is only five years old and already wants to marry you. What kind of guys will she bring home when she's in her teens?!" Harper theatrically rolled his eyes.
They were fooling around like that for a while longer, and just when Damian stood up to go back to his room, Harper suddenly introduced a change in topic.
"Hey, where's your little demon spawn?"
"Damian?" Said boy flinched when Richard answered, growling at Harper's nickname. "He's in his room, I guess. Or maybe he's training?"
"So it's true?" West disappeared for a nanosecond and then appeared on the couch again, closer to Grayson than before. "RoysaidthatOlliesaidthatDinahsaidthatOraclesaidtha tBatgirlsaid you finally threw in the towel!"
Like Damian, Harper and Grayson both needed a second to catch up with the Speedster.
"That's a bit exaggerated. We merely changed our.. approach to each other."
"What's that supposed to mean? Is it true or not?"
Damian leaned closer to hear Grayson's reply.
"I realized that he really doesn't want me fussing all over him, so I stopped. He wants me to be a better Batman, so I concentrate on that."
Harper and West looked at each other with concerned expressions. "That doesn't sound like you at all, Dick.."
Damian felt his hands ball into fists. What did those two idiots think who they were?!
"I don't want him to run back to Talia or his grandfather. It's not working out any other way. He's listening to me right now and that's as good as it gets between us."
A lump formed in Damian's throat. He couldn't run back to his mother, but Grayson didn't know that. As good as it gets.. did he really think that? Was he happier with their arrangement now?
"Huh, he is an insolent brat, after all," Harper mused and West nodded eagerly.
"Yeah, I totally don't understand how you managed it so far."
"Not well, obviously." Grayson was smiling bitterly, and it cut Damian to the core. "He practically bleeds a need to be accepted, but at the same time he keeps rejecting me."
"It's not like he's feeling the love right now, Dick, if what Steph says is true..."
Grayson sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's not working, Wally. I'm trying to figure something out, but he really doesn't make things easy..."
Damian turned away and left for his room. He was staring at the floor as he walked, lost in thought. He was mad. Hurt, for whatever reason. Grayson's stupid words were following him, even as he opened his window and whistled vainly for the cats to return.
He was thinking about some other 'solution' for their situation? Damian gritted his teeth. What could that be? Why wasn't he satisfied with Damian's performance? He had kept his side of the deal, hadn't he? His gaze wandered back to the boarding school brochures Carson had given his mentor. Grayson had skimmed through them in the office, Damian was sure of it. Perhaps he didn't want Damian to return to his mother, but he hadn't said anything about boarding school.
Suddenly, Damian felt very, very tired. He didn't want to leave the Manor; he didn't have anywhere else to go. But Grayson obviously didn't want him around anymore. After Damian had asked him to stop playing the big brother, Grayson had simply dropped the facade; the looks he was sending in his direction were proof enough. He had had a whole life in Blüdhaven, after all, and he never made a secret out of his distaste about taking up the cowl. Grayson clearly didn't want to be in Gotham, looking out for 'an insolent brat'...
Damian's gaze wandered to the suit he had to wear tomorrow. To entertain Grayson's guests... no, Damian thought, balling his hands into fists – he would stop the Snake sooner than Grayson would. Whether they went undercover to check out the situation or tried to steal the cars, he would get them before Grayson would ever be able to catch up.
Damian smiled wickedly, running a hand over the suit's fabric. He would prove his worth to Grayson, and then the idiot would eat his words and try to apologize to him.
The party noises were blaring through the window, all that dull and dimwitted smalltalk accumulating into a barrage of stupidity. God, Damian hated those parties.
He was in an exceptionally bad mood this evening; getting away from the high society guests had been tougher than expected, and Grayson had disappeared at the first opportunity. They all had heard about his little incident with the son of the new partner of Wayne Enterprises, and everyone thought it to be extremely funny and wanted to hear his own account of the story. It was beyond frustrating to stay nice to so much idiocy. Not to mention Francis Bolton, the moron who had initiated the entire mess Damian was in, who had been laughing so obnoxiously loud at everything Grayson said that the opening ceremony might have been right out of a Monty Python sketch.
Well, he was out now, at least. When Alfred had presented the vast buffet, all the guests had turned away and given Damian a chance to slip out onto the corridor. Three turns later, when he was sure that nobody had followed him, he climbed through a window and landed in one of Alfred's rose beds.
The cool air felt good – Damian could feel his nerves calming down. After a long second of close listening for any suspicious noises, he carefully made his way over to the garage. Grayson had told him about a whole list of persons he suspected to have a connection to the Snake, and Damian guessed that he would try to spy on them before he checked for the cars.
Damian had lost a lot of time already thanks to the high society idiots; he hoped he wouldn't run into Grayson right away. But the older man was probably still busy with his list, and maybe Damian was just about to bust the car robbery.
There was a dim light in the garage! – Damian's heart beat faster. He grinned wickedly and tiptoed closer, always staying in the shadows. There were male voices talking in hushed voices... three, maybe four? For a second Damian thought he heard Francis Bolton's voice, but he was wrong. Huh, how lovely that would be, though...
Damian couldn't help but imagine the look on Grayson's face if Damian presented him with a bound and gagged Bolton, preferably with a broken nose to match his son's. That asshole had started all this shit, and if it weren't for his stupid prejudice Damian would have never even thought about mocking Grayson with his ancestry. Bolton would squeak like a swine if he broke his nose, he was sure about it, and for a second Damian allowed a smile to appear on his lips when he thought about the noise and –
Suddenly, two large hands appeared in his vision, one clamping over his mouth and nose, the other around his throat, and Damian was lifted into the air.
What the f- ?!
The adrenaline hit. He tried to twist, slammed his elbows at the body behind him, but his legs only dangled in the air uselessly and his elbows didn't hit. The hand around his neck was squeezing, and when Damian realized that he couldn't reach his attacker, a small part of him panicked.
What the fuck was happening here?! He bit down viciously at the hand that covered his mouth, and a mumbled curse became audible. A quiet laugh from left behind him. Two of them, shit.
Instead of letting him go, the man who held him up simply wrapped the second, bitten hand around Damian's throat too and squeezed harder. He opened his mouth to breathe, but couldn't. He couldn't scream either, and his legs were still kicking the air fruitlessly...
Shit Shit Shit!
How the hell did that happen?! How could two guys just sneak up on him?! He was Damian Wayne Al Ghul, and... and his lungs had begun to burn really, really bad. Fuck.
He tried to wrestle free, but those two obviously weren't idiots. They had lifted him up almost immediately, and without ground contact Damian wasn't able to build up enough momentum for a proper twist or push for a kick. There was a rushing in his ears while he tried to suck in air, but he still could hear the two men hissing at each other.
Then, another hand appeared in front of his face with a wet tissue. Ohh no, you will not- Damian tried to twist his face away, but the hand was faster; the wet cloth was pushed over his nose and mouth, and the other man let go of his throat just in that moment.
The need to breathe was too strong; he knew he shouldn't, but the second his throat was free Damian sucked in a deep, much needed breath. It felt good for a short moment, and then it felt terrible.
The drug hit at once, Damian's world tilted to the side. He hit the ground hard, cursing, and felt the shadows of the two goons loom over him. The stench of the drug-wrenched tissue still burned in his nose; he couldn't make out what kind of drug it was, but it was a hard, barely diluted one. Damian was used to a lot of drug dosages, but this one had probably been intended for an adult.
… goddamnit.
He tried to get up, but one of the goons lifted him up by the collar of his shirt and simply dragged him behind him as they made his way... to the garage?!
The Snake, Damian realized with a jolt, and tried to clamber onto his feet.
It wasn't working. His body was hardly listening to him, even his eyelids were dropping without his permission. He fought against it, felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but couldn't so much as lift his arm more than a couple of inches.
"What the hell?!"
His senses were still working, apparently. The goon that had dragged him over threw him onto the hard ground unceremoniously. Ouch. With a lot, way-too-much, effort Damian hefted himself up to his elbows and tried to focus on the person in front of him.
"He was snooping around in front of the garage, boss. Walked right past our hide out."
Oh.
That was... embarrassing. He shouldn't have been thinking about Bolton in a situation like that. Damian tried to grit his teeth. Damn, this was frustrating. The drug didn't seem to worsen, but he barely was able to move. He needed the moment of surprise to kick the man in front of him in the shin and then roll under the car...
-Klick-
Damian froze. When he dared to elevate his gaze, he saw a cocked gun directed right at his face.
The whole situation had just taken a turn for the worse. For the much, much worse.
"Isn't that the Wayne boy?!" A voice to his left suddenly spoke up.
"Who?"
"Wayne's bastard son. Damon? Daniel?" Damian was just about to snarl something very, very rude into the direction of the voice, when the man in front of him suddenly stepped closer and chuckled in a seriously creepy, disturbing way.
"Grayson's brat, huh?" he said and knelt down to look into the boy's face. For the first time Damian could see him properly, but the man didn't look familiar at all. He knew immediately that he had never seen this man before, and somehow that made him even more uneasy. He didn't know this man...
The man was grinning now, and it was even more scary. Damian didn't like to admit it, but the situation was freaking him out. He couldn't move, there was a gun right in his face, he had been surprised on a freaking stakeout, and now there was a complete stranger looming over him who apparently knew his mentor.
"So what are we going to do with you, Damian Way-"
"Psh, someone's coming!"
In a matter of seconds the dim torchlight flickered off. The whole gang was pressed against the walls of the garage and didn't make any noise. One of them had grabbed Damian and kind of held him upright, with the gun pressed right into his cheek.
-tt-, as if Damian could actually move to do anything..
"I think it's Grayson," the same voice that had just warned them whispered through the silence. Damian's heart beat faster. Grayson was coming? Why the hell was he coming to the garage?!
The men around him grew anxious immediately. He could hear hissing and whispering from every direction, until the guardsman was talking again.
"He's not alone. I think it.. it's the Commissioner!"
More anxiety. Damian grew confused, but then suddenly the men grew deadly quiet and he could hear the creepy man from earlier chuckle.
"This just keeps getting better, huh?"
By now, Grayson's voice as well as their approaching steps could be made out.
"Really, Jim, it's a beautiful car. I swear you haven't seen anything like it before."
From the corner of his eye, Damian could see that the creepy man was gesturing around wildly. Noiselessly, the men followed his orders and regrouped. The guy who held Damian locked his gun again, but didn't pull away. Damian didn't have time to feel relieved before the man was pushing and dragging him across the garage, to stand a few metres away form the creepy man.
The few steps weren't a comfortable journey; Damian's legs were worse than jelly, and every step and turn made his vision turn and blur. He wasn't sick, thank God, but the drug was beginning to affect his thoughts, made them more slurred than usual and slower to catch up.
Then Grayson's voice was only inches away and Damian wanted to shout out to him, but the goon swatted his hand over his mouth just in time. The door swung open, the lights flickered on, and Grayson and Commissioner Gordon were entering, both completely absorbed in their conversation.
There were various clicks when the guns were unlocked and directed at the two of them, and the door was slammed shut behind them.
"What the he-"
The Commissioner was interrupted by a rough shove backwards, away from Grayson.
Damian watched closely, heart beating faster, as Grayson slowly lifted his arms, brows furrowing. He hadn't seen Damian yet, with his eyes focused on the gang leader.
"What is going on here?" he asked, voice firm.
"Richard, it's a pleasure to meet you in person, finally," the creepy guy said, stepping forward.
Grayson's eyes narrowed in annoyance, obviously trying to recognize him. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"
"You are committing armed home invasion, that's not a harmless crime," Gordon piped up from behind.
If it weren't for the Commissioner, Richard would have kicked those asses in the matter of seconds, Damian knew. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men, trying to think of a solution for this fucked up situation. By now, only the hand clamped around his mouth kept him upright, his knees had already buckled under him.
On cue, the goon that held the gun to his face pushed Damian forward. He stumbled onto his knees, and Grayson craned to the side to look at the noise... and froze. "Damian?!"
"Aww, trespassing, really? But your little brother invited us in!"
Damian had scarcely seen Grayson so put off. His eyes were wide, and his skin lost some color the second he spotted him. He made a motion to hurry over to him, but the sound of a gun being unlocked made him freeze.
Damian saw how Richard gritted his teeth in anger. He dimly wondered who it was directed against.
"Let him go," he growled at the boss of the Snake.
"I don't think you're in any position to make orders, Richie..."
"Who are you?"
"Oh, you still don't know?" The creepy man actually sounded mad, and Damian had half a mind to scream at him that of course Richard had figured it out by now. "And here you were talking about me on television as if you knew me for years."
"Snake," Richard hissed after a moment, eyes narrowing dangerously. "What do you want?"
"Good question. I want many things... but what I really want to know is what the media would write if that 'coward that hides behind his moronic goons' would invade your home and blow the brains of your little brother over the carpet, right in front of the Commissioner of Gotham."
Damian froze involuntarily, and Grayson flinched...violently. His eyes darted between the Snake and Damian.
"Don't," he pleaded, and Damian swore his mentor had never sounded that scared before. He tried to lift his gaze to reassess the situation- were they really that fucked up? "He has nothing to do with this."
There were five members of the Snake in the garage, four of them armed, as far as Damian could see. The fifth guy had his arms crossed – maybe from his angle Damian just couldn't see the gun. Two had directed their guns at the Commissioner who stood with his back to the door, growling at them furiously. Then there was Snake with his gun pointed at Richard, and the crook behind him who had squirmed happily when his brain matter had been the topic.
Shit.
"Give me a good reason not to."
"He's only ten years old!"
"He's pretty when he's distressed," the goon that had his arms crossed chuckled suddenly. He was the one who had overpowered Damian, he recognized the laugh.
Grayson tensed and crooked his head into the man's direction. The goons were all snickering now, and the boss had broken into one of his wide, creepy grins.
"So you don't want me to kill your brother?"
Grayson didn't answer, just concentrated on the boss. He shook his head slowly, not saying anything. Damian thought he could make out a slight tremble.
The Snake's grin was turning dirty now, and Damian's blood turned into ice when he saw that the hand that wasn't holding the gun steadily at Richard had begun to unbuckle his belt.
"Then get on your knees, pretty boy."
-tbc-