CHAPTER ONE

The night wasn't too exciting. I saw stuff you would stereotypically see in Gotham; purse-snatchers, burglars, carjackers, and drug dealers. No super villains, however. No wacky Joker trying to blow up Gotham again.

I've always wanted to see him. I'm curious as to how bad he actually is. Despite all of the training I received while I still lived with Mother and Grandfather, I've only been Robin for a year, so I don't know exactly what the Joker is like. I just know Father hates his guts. I don't blame him; I mean, the guy's supposedly a maniac who has killed countless numbers of people.

Oh, and on top of that, he murdered Jason Todd. Guess that'd make sense, too.

The days would pass and I would repeat the same stuff. I'd wake up each morning, eat breakfast, Drake and Grayson would go out to the Watchtower, Father and I would train, then leave the manor to patrol.

I'm used to it by now, but it's so boring. I wonder if regular children felt this way about school; getting up, eating breakfast, doing the same thing everyday at school, then going home- rinse and repeat for twelve years straight.

It's not right to get excited over hearing about the Joker causing chaos in downtown Gotham. But it was finally my chance to see him and kick his ass, to lock him up for good. A small voice in my mind told me that if Father couldn't keep him contained, then there was absolutely no way I could. But still, I pushed it aside, having hope. Bruce and I headed out, jumping with precision out of the Batmobile, and we faced the laughing maniac.

It was the first time I got a good look at him. I've seen him in pictures and videos before, but never in person. His face was smeared with white powder, and black eyeliner made circles around his eyes. Blood-red lipstick was applicated messily onto his lips, and his hair was a dyed green, shaggy, dry, and full of split ends. Despite all of this, he wore a clean purple suit with a green tie. His black shoes shined in the streetlights as he held a gun next to a crying teenage girl's head.

I went to pull out my staff whilst trying to think of a way to save her life, but just as I did, a bullet soared through the air and into the Joker's head so quickly that only a Flash would be able to react to it in time. He fell to the ground, and people screamed. The girl escaped and ran. Still, he laughed. The maniac got shot in the head, and he laughed! I could see Father's eyes widen behind his cowl, and I looked around for the sniper who committed the act. There was nobody.

Bruce and I ran over to the Joker, who was still laughing. I had no idea how he wasn't dead. Fear struck through my heart as I realized that it was possible that the Joker wasn't human, but instead, some sort of immortal creature.

He bled, and he laughed. I didn't know how to react. The blood pooled to my feet, and I just watched. Bruce called out to me, but his voice was faint in the ringing that now flooded my ears.

I began to forget what was going on around me. I didn't care. All I could focus on was his smile on his face, those wide eyes and surprisingly pearly-white teeth. His eyes were a bright green, I noted, like mine.

He was taken away, but I didn't know by who. Bruce and I got back into the Batmobile, and he drove in silence before pulling up to a dark alleyway, stopping the car, pulling down his cowl, and looking at me.

His eyes didn't match mine. They were a deep brown, nearly black. I knew that I inherited the green eyes from my mother, but it scared me feeling more similar to the Joker rather than my father, in a way.

"Are you okay? You froze up back there." he said, with a tone nearly foreign to me. It was soft and sincere, nothing you'd ever expect out of Bruce Wayne nor Batman.

"Who do you think did it?" I asked instead, not bothering to answer his question. I was slightly embarrassed to ask that; after all, we are supposed to be the world's greatest detectives. I should have twenty suspects in my head by now.

But by the look frown on his face and his narrowed eyebrows, I could tell that Father was just as clueless as I was. Gotham had twelve-million people living in it, and those were just the people living here legally. The sniper himself could have also been from a completely different town, or hell, even country.

We drove home, and at dinner, the entire family got to hear what happened (As well as Sandsmark, because she was there, too). We discussed as to who could have done it. Still, nothing seemed to click.

Father had scavenged the bullet that shot him, which from some analyzation and tests, proved to be from a Blaser sniper. Unfortunately for us, there were no fingerprints or fabric bits on the bullet that could lead us to the man who did it. In the Batcave, Father was looking up who in Gotham legally owned a Blaser sniper, while I made birdarangs.

Then it hit me.

"Why are we trying to catch the guy?" I asked, looking over to him. He had multiple holograms active, all flashing images of certain weapons or people. He spun around swiftly in his computer chair, his fingers crossed within each other, and he gave me a stern look. I returned it.

"Do you really want an assassin on the loose?" he asked simply, his voice monotonous.

"Well, it's obvious he's on our side. I think he did us a favor." I commented, looking back down to continue my work.

I guess I said the wrong thing, because Father got up off of his chair, walked over to me, and folded his arms, a strict look plastered upon his face. I wasn't intimidated by it. Not anymore. I looked back up at him, my face plastering its own look that said, "What do you want?"

"Damian."

There he goes with the names.

"We don't know whose side he's on." he said, this time his voice having some emotion slip through it.

"I suppose you're right." I admitted, though the question still lingered at the back of my mind, "But what if he ended up only wanting to kill the Joker, and not others? What would happen then?"

Father was silent before saying, "I'll have to think about that."

Father had plenty of time to think. An entire week passed, and no news of the assassin came around. Turns out, the Joker was shot in an area in his head that wasn't fatal, but barely. He nearly died. Still, the thought of the assassin bugged me. Who were they? Why did they shoot the Joker instead of letting Father and I take care of him? How did they know the Joker's location? Were they hired by somebody?

At the breakfast table, it was only Father, Alfred, and I. Of course, Nightwing and Red Robin were already gone. A new question lingered at the back of my mind this time around, and it was the most important one I could think of. For a second, I was afraid of Father for the first time in a long time.

"Why haven't you killed the Joker yet?" I asked, and Bruce stopped eating his food mid-chew. He looked at me, then continued to chew, swallowed his food, and was silent for a few seconds.

"You sound like Jason." was all he said before returning to looking away from me, acting like nothing had ever happened.

I didn't realize a low growl had escaped my throat. I've heard of Jason before; he was the Robin before Drake. From what I know, he was a troublemaker who was picked up from the streets. He never listened, constantly got into arguments, and big surprise- his stupidity got him killed, and the deed was done by the Joker himself.

I am most certainly not Jason Todd.

Father had obviously heard my growl, because he looked at me for a few seconds, a confused expression on his face.

"You react to that as if it were a slur." Alfred commented, cutting up a pancake.

"It is a slur. To me. Don't ever compare me to Jason Todd again." I demanded to Father, and I half-expected him to start arguing with me.

"No promises," he said simply, "but I will try not to."

I wasn't in the mood for anymore conflict, so I took that as an acceptable answer. I finished up my breakfast, then went to train.

That night, Dick decided it'd be a good idea to have a family game night. He did things like this around once a month. I didn't like them, really. He would always get way too enthusiastic about these childish games that we'd play.

Apples to Apples was the one he picked out, and he put on a two-hour timer. I decided I might as well put in some effort if I was going to be stuck here for a full two hours. I lost every round, a green card never making its way into my pile. Eventually, only two minutes were left on the clock. I stood up and began to walk away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Barbara called from the distance.

"I'm leaving. This game is stupid. It's obvious I'm not gonna win." I explained, continuing to walk.

"God, you're just like Jason when he was around." she mumbled, and I felt a sudden surge of fury flare through my body. I turned around, clenching my fists, my eyebrows narrowed, and my face heated up.

"Don't call me that!" I screamed, and she seemed thrown off by my anger, most likely expecting some sort of sassy remark rather than my screaming voice.

The laughter around the table silenced, and they all looked at me, similar surprised looks on their faces.

Angry, and now embarrassed as well, I stomped off to my room, locking the door behind me. I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, which was nothing but a blank white.

For the last time,

I am not Jason Todd!