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The problem with your older brother deciding the best way to seek revenge is to become a crime lord, is that it puts you in a bit of an odd position. At least, that’s what it does for Damian al Ghul-Wayne, heir to the League of Assassins and son of The Batman.
It’s a bit ridiculous, watching his older brother do the whole dramatics thing, knowing full well that the same guy donning a shiny red helmet and stuffing heads into a duffel bag used to read aloud to him almost every night. He’s a commendable warrior, yes—but he’s also a total nerd.
He’s a huge nerd and far too dramatic and makes things more complicated than they need to be. The way Damian sees it, the best course of action would have been to simply return to Gotham, dispose of the Joker, and then show up at the manor to beg for forgiveness. Clean and simple. But nooooo, he has to go and take over the entire Gotham underworld while keeping his identity a secret because, “It’s psychological warfare, Dami. I can’t just show up!”
Stupid. Stupid because he clearly does not understand what Damian does, after over a year of living at the manor. Stupid because his death left an invisible crater in the family that Jason refuses to see. Stupid because Damian misses his first older brother, and Bruce does not want him anywhere near the new, unknown, murderous crime lord. Stupid because none of this is what they talked about so long ago.
“Tell him I think he is an idiot. And that his work is impressive,” Damian whispers to his mother over the phone. Due to Jason’s paranoia over the Bats learning his true identity, Damian is stuck with passing messages back and forth through Talia.
“I will tell him, darling.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
They whisper their goodbyes and Damian hangs up the phone, setting it back on his nightstand. He huffs, mulling over the situation. He will hold out for now. Hopefully Jason will come to his senses soon and stop dragging things out. He would very much like to have his brother back.
*****
“Hey, kid!” Red Hood calls from the rooftop across from them. Both Batman and Robin pause. Batman shifts into a more defensive stance. Robin tries to appear indifferent, despite his surprise at finally being addressed by Jason after over two months of him being back in Gotham.
“Leave him alone,” Batman growls, stepping in front of Robin. Robin risks a peek around the side of the billowing cape; whatever it is Jason wants to say, he certainly wants to hear it.
“Relax.” The sarcasm in his voice can be heard even through the voice modulator. He turns his head slightly, clearly directing the next part to Robin specifically. “I overheard some idiot guys over by the docks, saying they were gonna try and take out the Bat’s little birdie. Told ‘em if they lay a finger on you I’d tear out their insides and hang ‘em from a clothesline. Still probably best for you to stay away, though.”
Robin nods stiffly. “Thank you for the intel.”
“Can’t let a kid die on my watch,” Hood replies, as if he is just some random kid. As if he does not know him at all. He looks back up at Batman. “That would just be tragic.” And on that wonderful note—which will surely send Batman into a night-long brooding session—Hood turns around and saunters off.
This only makes Damian angrier.
*****
Three days later, Damian carefully writes a note in his and Jason’s special code, then finds a moment during patrol to place the note on the windowsill of an apartment he knows to be one of Jason’s safe houses.
“I thought I saw a stray cat,” he lies to his father, explaining his momentary disappearance.
The note has only two words:
You promised.
*****
“Your brother says—”
“I do not want to hear what he has said to you. He knows my thoughts on the situation.”
“He misses you.”
“He is a liar.”
*****
“Gotham is a strange place, kiddo,” Jason says, squishing onto the bed beside an eight-year-old Damian. “I swear it’s cursed. Then again, here’s cursed, too.”
“But we will go someday?”
Jason sighs. “Your Dad’s there, so I suppose you’ll end up in Gotham one way or another.”
“Mother says Father is your father as well.” Damian fiddles with a stray thread on his blanket. He knows what he wants to ask, but it is not good to sound needy. Mother says he is a Prince. Mother says he must always remain strong. Grandfather says he is not strong enough.
“You want me to come with you,” Jason says, more realization than question, and Damian’s shoulders can relax just the slightest bit. At least he did not have to be the one to say it.
“It was your home.” A lame excuse. A thin veil over a childish longing.
“I am not wanted there anymore.”
“I will want you there,” he says without thinking. Foolish, rash, weak. He looks up—there is a war going on in his brother’s eyes. He should take it back. Clarify. Cover.
“Okay.”
“I—” Damian pauses. “Okay?”
“I will go with you,” Jason says, jaw set, shoulders wound tight. “When the time comes, I will go.”
*****
As frustrating as it is to have a brother like Timothy Drake, he is the only one who does not treat Damian like a child. He is more honest than the others. Arrogant and too willing to flaunt when he knows something that Damian does not, but at least he does not try to shield Damian from the truth. He sees the blood on Damian’s hands—he does not look away.
Tim tells Damian something huge. He tells him something that could change everything. And this time, Damian is the one who knows something Tim does not.
*****
He waits until a night when he is patrolling with Nightwing. It is still a bit strange, for Richard to be without the cape and cowl. He says he feels lighter this way; Damian wonders if he was the thing weighing him down.
There are still moments when Damian looks to his oldest brother, only to find his father there instead. His father, who was lost in the time stream just a few months after Damian’s arrival in Gotham. With no parents and no Jason, Damian felt…unmoored. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. And then there was Richard.
His relationship with Richard is not as straightforward as he would like it to be. It is easiest when something can be easily categorized, but nothing in his life in Gotham wants to work that way. And so he calls Richard his eldest brother, all the while knowing there is not a word for what he is. Sort of a brother, sort of a father—some inexplicable in-between. Jason is Damian’s brother. Richard is something else entirely.
There is violence in Richard’s bones—kindness, too. He laughs easily, and often, but his shoulders droop when he thinks no one is looking. Sometimes, Damian catches him looking at that ridiculous case in the Batcave, and knows he is thinking of his little brother, long lost. Damian cannot say what he is often thinking. That he misses Jason, too. That if Jason would do what he promised, neither of them would have to miss him at all.
Tonight, Richard is in good spirits, flipping about and chattering away. It is a bit annoying, and also a bit amusing—not that he would admit the latter part aloud. He does not press too hard when Damian says he wants to check something out near Crime Alley. He warns that they cannot get too close, warns that “B” will be angry if he lets anything happen to Robin on his watch. But he does not resist. And Damian, who knows his first older brother well and has been keeping a sharp eye on his patterns, finds exactly what he is looking for. It is time for all of them to stop missing somebody who is right there .
“Hood!” he calls. The Red Hood looks up from the children he was talking to, then looks back to them and whispers something. They take off at a run, disappearing behind the building.
“Robin!” Nightwing hisses. “What are you doing?”
“You talkin’ to me?” Hood asks, rising from the crouch he was in.
“Yes,” Robin says, taking several confident steps forward before Nightwing snatches him by the hood of his cape. He huffs with annoyance, but allows himself to be stopped. “I have a question.”
“You have a question,” Hood repeats, suspicion evident. He is likely wondering whether or not his cover is about to be blown. But no, Damian is not that kind of petty. He will do something so much worse.
“Yes,” he begins. “I heard you have been reading The Outsiders with the street kids. I am also reading it for school and have an essay to write, but there is something I do not understand.”
“Robin.” Nightwing leans down to speak at a whisper. “What are you playing at?”
Robin shoves Nightwing away. “Everyone knows Hood is skilled at literary analysis. I just want to get his opinion.”
Hood crosses his arms, takes a step forward. “What part?”
Ha. So predictable. So incredibly easy to bait. “Dallas,” Robin says. “I do not understand why he would willingly put himself in a position to die.”
“Damn.” Hood crouches down, the way he was speaking with the other kids before. Preparing for a speech. “Okay. Here’s the thing: they may not have been blood related, but to Dally, Johnny was his kid brother. He was ready to tear the whole world apart for his brother, but then that brother wasn’t there anymore. And Dally…well, I think Dally didn’t know how to live with something like that. So he tore himself apart instead.”
Robin nods, pretending to think this over. He looks up, doing his best to meet Jason’s eyes through the helmet. And he takes the winning shot. “I understand. This is like the time Nightwing killed The Joker.”
“Robin!” Nightwing admonishes, tugging on his cape. Damian holds his ground.
“Excuse me?” Hood says, voice dangerous.
“Red Robin told me,” Damian continues. “He thought The Joker had killed another one of his brothers, so he beat him to death. But then Batman revived him, to save Nightwing from the guilt.”
“Okay, we are leaving right now .” Nightwing rushes forward, grabbing Robin by the middle and snatching him up into the air.
“Thank you for the assistance,” Damian says, and allows himself to be carried away. Hood can be heard muttering curses behind them.
“What the hell were you thinking, you little twerp?!” Nightwing demands, still carrying Damian even once they’re well out of Hood’s sight.
“I want to get an A on my assignment,” Damian says innocently.
“And you couldn’t ask, I dunno, Google for help with your analysis?”
“Why would I Google something when there is a human I can easily ask?”
Nightwing groans in annoyance, finally setting Robin back down. “This is what I get for terrorizing B as a child, isn't it?” he mutters. “This is my payback.”
*****
Damian is not stupid. He is well aware that his father is not stupid either.
He says, “Our enemies should know what we are capable of.”
He says, “Hood does not take us seriously. He needed to know that we can be a threat if we need to.”
His father does not believe him. But Damian was raised by the woman who managed to hide the existence of Batman’s son for a decade. Managed to hide the re-existence of his other son for several years, too. As much as he has changed, altered his path to walk alongside his father, he is still his mother’s child.
*****
Damian allows himself to be kidnapped. It is the sort of thing he could have stopped, except he was wearing civilian clothing and was already angry, already looking for a reason, any reason to change the way things are. The way Father looks at him, as if he is a puzzle in need of sorting out. The way Richard’s smile is strained, as if he knows something is amiss, and cannot stand the inability to fix it.
And it is funny. Funny because Father is out of town and Richard is in Bludhaven. Funny because he is out with Drake when it happens, and Drake is the one that will receive the reprimand for losing his little brother. Funny because the guys that snatch him are absolute idiots.
“Oh no,” Damian says. “Am I being kidnapped?”
“Your daddy’s got money, kid,” says one of the two guys in the back of the van where Damian has been thrown. “Ain’t nothin’ personal.”
Damian shifts in his seat, feeling how they have tied the ropes around his feet and wrists. It would be so easy to slip out. Bash this guy’s head into the other guy’s head. Then take out the driver when they stop. But that would be boring. He says, “Kidnapping is always personal.”
“You been kidnapped before?” says the second goon.
“In a sense.” Best to remain vague. These guys may be idiots, but his identity is still in need of protection.
“Damn kids,” mutters the first goon, Goon #1 to Damian now. They sit in silence for the rest of the drive.
The kidnapping is fairly standard procedure. A big, empty warehouse. A wobbly chair in the middle of the wide open floor. A dinky camera set up on top of a crate. Apparently these guys could really use the money they are attempting to ransom from Bruce Wayne.
Damian thinks of a moment when he was small. When his mother taught him a most valuable lesson, wiping hot tears from his face. “Warriors do not cry, my love,” she said softly. “Unless the tears are to be used as a weapon.”
The camera is turned on, and Damian begins to cry. The Driver, who appears to be the brains of the operation, stands behind the camera, holding up a pad of paper with a message for Damian to read. He stumbles through the demands, occasionally pausing to add a hiccup or a sniffle for added dramatics. It’s actually sort of fun—he should try more character work, like Father and Drake are so fond of. Perhaps he could create an alias of his own.
Soon the video is complete and the goons prepare to send it off. Who they are sending it to, he is uncertain. It is unlikely they have a method of reaching his father directly. Not that it matters all that much anyway, as there are trackers in all of Damian’s shoes. It would not have taken long for Drake to notice he was missing. From there, a quick check of nearby security cameras would explain his disappearance, and all Drake would need to do is change into costume before following his tracker to the warehouse. Damian continues the occasional sniffle, faking a wince when Goon #2 yells at him to stop crying. He considers crying harder just to get under the guy’s skin, but then again, he isn’t looking for a bruised face today if it isn’t necessary. He tones down the water works.
“Done,” declares the Head Goon, smacking the lid of his laptop shut. He looks up at Damian, bearing his teeth in a nasty grin. “You better hope your daddy pays up.”
Damian sniffles, mentally forming a response. But it is not necessary, as they are interrupted by the sound of glass shattering behind them, heavy boots landing on the floor a moment later. That is not Drake. Stifling his excitement, Damian watches as Red Hood barrels forward, knocking heads in and sending all three goons unconscious within thirty seconds. In this same amount of time, Damian slips out of his bindings.
“Are you okay?” Hood whips around to face him, posture radiating fury even as he quickly scans Damian up and down for injuries. He stops on his face. “Have you been crying?”
Damian waves a hand dismissively. “It was for the ransom video.”
“Of course it was.” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, even with the voice modulator. “How much they askin’?”
Scowling, Damian says, “Fifty thousand.”
Jason scoffs. “You’re worth at least half a million.”
“That is what I was thinking.”
“Honestly! Freakin’ offensive.”
Damian crosses his arms over his chest. “I have been finding many things to be offensive these days.” The words shift something in the air, bringing up the many months of tension between them. Jason mirrors Damian’s posture, crossing his arms, considering. Waiting.
Jason breaks first. “Did you even have an essay?”
“Yes.”
“On The Outsiders?”
“Yes. Some of us only lie when necessary.”
“I didn’t lie!” Jason throws his arms up in the air. Like a giant, dumb bird flapping its wings. “I’m right here!”
Damian advances forward, pulling himself up to his full height. He still only comes up to Jason’s chest, but this is no matter; he has been fighting against those larger than him all his life. “You left me to learn a new place and a new set of rules all on my own. Father does not want me, but he is bound by honor to take me in. He says the others are my siblings, but you and I both know it is not as simple as that. And then you show up, with your stupid red helmet and your ridiculous guns, despite your skill with a sword, which is obviously the superior weapon, and you—you—you speak to me as if you do not know me!” Damian heaves in a breath, whole body trembling from the outburst. He must compose himself, lest he start to cry for real. That would be mortifying.
“Well,” says a new voice, and both boys look to the side. Red Robin stands several feet away, watching with hands on his hips. “I thought I was saving you from Hood here, but it seems Hood might need to be saved from you.”
“When did you get here?” Damian snaps, face paling.
“Near the beginning of your big speech,” Jason says.
Damian turns back to Jason. “You knew?! And you let me continue?!”
“Seemed like you needed to get that out.” Jason shrugs, guilt apparent in his frame. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s already figured out who I am.”
“I had a theory,” Red Robin says with a smirk. “And this conversation has confirmed everything I’ve been thinking so far.”
“Wipe that smug look off your face and let your boss know his kid’s okay. Don’t need the Bat dropping from the sky right now.”
“He’s out of town anyway.” Red Robin grabs out a phone and begins tapping away.
“Of course he is,” Jason says, an edge of anger creeping into his voice.
“It is not Father’s fault,” Damian interrupts.
“Oh yeah? Not his fault his kid gets kidnapped while he’s out of town?”
Damian knows what Jason means. That Bruce was too late to save him. That once again, Bruce is not around to save his son. But it was not Bruce’s fault this time. Damian could have stopped them, could have run away, could have escaped half a dozen times before Jason showed up to help him. How does he explain that without sounding foolish? He says simply, “I knew Red Robin would come.”
“You could have saved me the trouble,” Drake mutters.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason snaps.
“I saw the surveillance footage,” Drake says, directing his answer to Damian. “You could have easily slipped out of their grasp. But you didn’t. Why?”
Damian knows better than to shuffle his feet or fidget with his hands. He knows better than to show weakness, and he has already revealed more of himself than he would have liked. “We have identities to protect.”
Drake appears unimpressed. “You know that doesn’t apply to kidnappings. Besides, even a civilian kid would’ve kicked and screamed in that situation.”
“Don’t you dare blame him for this,” Jason says dangerously, taking a step towards Drake, and Damian knows he has to stop this before it goes any further.
“Did you alert the police?” he asks Drake, nodding to the hand still holding his phone.
“Of course.”
Damian turns to Jason. Jason, who he is angry with. Jason, who he wants to show all that he has learned since coming to live with their father. Jason, who he, so childishly, wants to read to him like he used to do. Damian says the very thing he wishes he did not need to say. “You should go.”
“I—” Jason stops. It is better that way. Better he doesn’t make another promise he cannot keep.
“Go,” Damian says. “Before the police arrive.”
Jason hesitates, looking back and forth from Drake to Damian. “You’ll be okay?”
Tears would be of no use to him now; Damian gives a sharp nod. “Just go.”
*****
Drake drives them home in silence. He does not turn on the radio, like he usually does, or spit useless chatter in attempt to rile Damian up. Most surprisingly, he does not ask questions. It is unnerving.
When they pull into the Batcave, neither boy makes a move to get out. Being in civilian clothing next to Drake in full Red Robin gear feels like a representation of the power dynamic at play in this most uncomfortable situation. Drake knows something he should not know, saw something he should not have seen. Damian is utterly defenseless. He cannot get out of the car without knowing where they stand.
“Will you tell Father?” he asks, forcing his hands to stay still, his shoulders to relax. He cannot appear afraid.
Drake turns to face him, twisting in his seat. “Is Hood a threat to you?”
“What? No!” Damian says vehemently. “He would take a sword through the stomach for me.”
“That is oddly specific.”
“He won’t hurt me.”
Drake studies him for a long moment, searching for something. Finally, he sighs. “Okay. Then we lie to Batman.”
Damian blinks. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes. On one condition.” Ah, of course—Drake would not help him so easily. “Next time you want to see him, you ask . Don’t go getting yourself kidnapped again, you’ll give B a heart attack.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shut it.” Drake holds out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”
With great reluctance, Damian reaches out and shakes his hand. “Deal.”
*****
The story goes like this: Red Hood showed up just moments before Red Robin did. The goons were from his part of town; he must’ve gotten a tip from someone. He took the guys down, ensured Damian was safe, and then left before they could ask any questions. And Drake, in his rush to save Damian, picked up a domino which had a broken camera. The only footage left from the incident was the ransom video.
Bruce hums in displeasure, but does not question the honesty of their statements. He does, however, give Damian an almost-compliment: “You could excel at undercover work someday.”
Yeah, Damian’s going to start thinking about potential aliases. Maybe he’ll sketch out some of his ideas.
*****
Just over a week after the kidnapping incident, Damian is out as Robin, trailing just behind Batman, when he notices a strange bit of text added in the corner of a stretch of graffiti. Two words painted in red, in a code only one other person knows.
I’m sorry.
Sorry? For the things he has done, or for something he is planning to do? Neither option is satisfactory. Damian needs to find his brother.
*****
Much of the next day is spent agonizing over what to do next. There is something in the air, something in his gut that says something is about to go terribly wrong. Damian calls his mother, but she has not heard from Jason for several days. This, though not unusual, is even more unnerving.
In theory, he could ditch his trackers and run, find Jason and demand answers. But Father would find him anyway, and that would put Jason’s identity at risk.
He knows for certain he cannot ask Richard for assistance. This is not for a lack of trust in the man, but rather for how he responds to certain situations. Damian remembers his response when Drake claimed Father was still alive—he cannot risk such a reaction.
Oracle would believe him, at least to some degree, but would point him to someone else for further assistance. Likely Cain, who reads Damian so clearly it makes him feel a little sick to his stomach, or Brown, who does not understand the art of subtlety. Thomas is out patrolling, so also not a viable option. Pennyworth would tell Father, and Father would…not handle this well.
Which leaves Drake. And yes, technically speaking, Damian did just agree to come to him for assistance if needed, but he didn’t actually intend to ever go through with it. He is not fond of asking for help. Still, after a full morning and afternoon of thinking through his options, he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, clicking on Drake’s contact and hitting call.
It rings three times before he answers. “Damian?”
“You have caller ID.”
“Yeah, just—you never call.” There are other voices in the background, people laughing. He must be with friends.
“We made a deal last week,” Damian says. “I am upholding my promise.”
“You—oh. Seriously? Right now?”
Fiddling with the edge of the duvet, Damian tries to keep his voice steady. “I am worried he is going to do something foolish.”
“Why?” Drake asks, an edge of concern in his voice; Damian finally has his attention. “Did he say something?”
A shadow passes outside his bedroom door—Pennyworth, as Father is down in the cave, analyzing something that Damian is certain is from Jason. More and more, Father does not want him to be a part of the ongoing investigation of the Red Hood. They are reaching the height of Jason’s plans. It should be a relief, to know that soon this will be over. But Damian cannot help the feeling that none of this will end the way Jason intends. And he will not lose his brother.
Damian chooses his next words carefully, aware of Pennyworth’s proximity. “I want to go to Batburger. I like the fries with the extra stuff on them. What is that called?”
“Jokerized?” Drake suggests. “Wait, why are you—”
“Yes,” Damian interrupts him. “Exactly. Jokerized.”
It takes only a moment for Drake to process what he means. Then, he curses under his breath and addresses the other people in the room. “Can someone run me over to Gotham real quick?”
*****
“You’re certain this is the place?” Drake asks, pulling his car up against the curb. They’re in the middle of Crime Alley, the nice car already receiving odd looks from the people nearby.
“You have extra security?” Damian asks, nodding slightly to a man who is very obviously eyeing the tires. It reminds him of a story Jason told him once, of when he stole an extra special set of tires. And then hit Batman in the gut with a tire iron.
“I’m not an idiot,” Drake says, then seems to reconsider that statement. “Although, agreeing to come here does feel a bit idiotic.”
“Stay in the car, then. I’m going.” Damian unsnaps his seatbelt and reaches for the car door.
“Slow down, you little maniac! I’m coming.”
But Damian does not have time to slow down. As they make their way inside the old, run down apartment building, he silently hopes Jason is inside. There are many other places he could be, but this is the most likely. If they have to keep looking, they run the risk of Father finding out what they are doing. Or worse. Damian is not exactly sure what worse could entail, and he hopes he does not have to find out.
Damian knocks on the door, a series of harder knocks followed by softer ones. First, they are met with silence. Then, after several long seconds, rustling. Then comes the cursing. It gets louder and mixes several languages before the door opens, just the tiniest crack, revealing a domino-covered eye. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Let us in.”
Jason glances up, noticing the boy behind Damian. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
Damian opens his mouth to speak, but stops at the sound of loud coughing, coming from somewhere deeper inside the apartment. His eyes widen. “You already did it.”
Cursing once more under his breath, Jason opens the door wider, steps out into the hall, and quickly slams it shut behind him. “You need to go.”
“It’s really you,” Drake breathes. Damian supposes it would be shocking, to see a dead boy that has come back to life. But there is no time to dwell on the revelation.
“You…” Damian begins, but finds he is not certain what to say. “I thought you…”
“What?” Jason demands, a frantic sort of energy radiating off of him. It is unhealthy for him, what he has hidden inside his apartment. He is fraying at the edges.
Damian remembers warm nights in Nanda Parbat, waking to the sound of his brother’s screams. He asked him once, what it was that he saw. “It is not what I see, Dami,” Jason had said. “It’s the laughter. It is always that terrible, horrifying laughter.”
“You shouldn’t be around him,” Damian says softly. “It’s hurting you.”
Jason scoffs, the breath shaking his whole body. “He can’t hurt me anymore, kid. He already killed me.”
“That’s the Joker in there?” Drake hisses, grabbing onto Damian’s arm. “We need to go.”
“No,” Damian says, shaking him off.
“He’s right. You two need to go.”
“No!” Darting forward, Damian attempts to slip past Jason to get to the door, but is stopped by a set of arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him back. “Let me kill him!” Damian cries, flailing in his brother’s arms. He manages a strike to the ribs, temporarily loosening the hold, but Jason recovers quickly, swinging him further away from the door. “I’ll kill him for you, please, just—stop hurting yourself!”
“Absolutely not.” Jason maneuvers him so that he is holding Damian tightly by the arms, setting him down on his feet directly in front of him. He leans down, frantic as he matches Damian’s furious gaze. “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this.”
“I am your brother. I am directly in the middle of this.”
Jason sets his jaw, a telltale sign that he is trying to decide what to do. He glances over to Drake—it is only half a second, but it is all that Damian needs. He kicks upward. It is a low blow, and one that he will apologize for later, but it gets the job done. He slips out of Jason’s grasp and into the apartment, shouts and heavy footsteps pounding behind him. But they are too late. Damian stops in the middle of the living room, chest heaving and eyes wide.
The Joker begins to laugh.
Bloody drool trails from his lips, his nose twisted into a grotesque curve, neon green hair sticking up wildly. “The little birdie brought friends!” he shouts with maniacal glee.
Jason shoves past Damian, pushing Damian behind himself to hide him from view. Only Jason is wearing a domino, while Tim and Damian’s faces remain uncovered. But this is no matter; the Joker will not be leaving this place tonight. Damian will make certain of it.
“You could have killed him already,” Tim says slowly, taking in the room. The Joker, tied to a wooden chair by the wall, blood splattered on his clothes and on the floor. A tattered couch, shoved out of the way, stuffing spilling out of one of the cushions. Jason’s helmet, sitting by the door. Tim turns to Jason. “Why wait?”
Damian knows the answer. He thinks of Dallas Winston, the boy who wanted to die, and so he did. He thinks of the sorts of things a person cannot live with. The things one would tear the world apart for.
He thinks of Jason, who cannot live in a world where his death goes unavenged. Of Father, who cannot live in a world where he has willingly taken a life. And how what both of them truly want is to belong to one another once more. A Father and a Son.
This is the problem with people, Damian thinks. Everyone wanting so many things, but not knowing how to ask for them. Trying to take them instead. He, too, has found himself taking. Why is it so hard to say those words? I want. I want.
Damian wants his brother back. He wants to live in a world where his brother does not have to worry about the man who hurt him any longer. And he does not want his brother or his father to have to make an impossible decision.
It is almost too easy.
Jason responds to Tim’s question, a monologue steeped in rage to hide the way his body is trembling. The Joker laughs throughout, cracking jokes as the speech continues on. Batman crashes through the door.
Damian knows there is a certain way his brother wanted this to go. Knows that his father may never look at him the same way. But there is already blood on Damian’s eleven-year-old hands. He may seek to atone, but what could ever truly wash him clean? He cannot undo what has been done. But he can save his brother.
It is so very easy. To reach out his hand from where he still stands, shielded behind Jason. To pull a gun from its holster. To point, ignoring the shouts of outrage, and to shoot.
The Joker stops laughing.
The sound of the gunshot rings in his head for hours. It is louder than the shouting, more real than the hands that pry his fingers off the gun, that shove him into a car and drive him home. It rings even as Pennyworth pokes and prods at him, checking him over and trying to get him to eat. It rings when his mother calls, and someone holds the phone up by his ear so he can hear her speak. “Well done, my darling boy,” she says. “You were very brave.” And then the phone is being pulled away as if it has been set on fire.
It rings when Cain comes over, sitting next to him and Titus on the couch. When she says, “It will not always be like this.” And, “The blood does fade.” And, “He is angry. But he still loves you.” As if she can read every thought that is swirling around in his head.
It rings throughout the night, as he tosses and turns and wonders when he will be sent back home, and when that became such a frightening thought. Because he does like it here, he realizes. Even though the expectations weigh on his shoulders and he feels as though he cannot find the right place to step. He does not want to leave.
It rings in the morning, as he squares his shoulders and walks downstairs to accept his fate. As he walks into the kitchen. As he finds Pennyworth, with his arms wrapped around Jason’s middle. Jason looks up.
And the ringing stops.
Jason whispers something to Pennyworth, then pulls himself free and steps closer to Damian. He crouches down. Damian knows that look—his brother is about to say something stupid. Best to stop him now. “You can simply say thank you.” Jason blinks in surprise. Perhaps he expected Damian to be angry. Perhaps he was preparing to spout another useless apology. Something softens in his gaze.
“Thank you,” Jason says.
Damian nods. “When do we leave?”
“Leave?”
Damian tuts. Must he explain the obvious? “Father does not allow killing. We must return to Mother.”
“You will do no such thing,” Pennyworth states sharply. He steps forward, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Your father will come around. I, however, am glad to have you home.” He meets Damian’s eyes. “Both of you.”
“But…I shot him.”
“The official news is that The Red Hood shot him,” Jason explains. “And the GCPD is more than willing to let the crime lord get away with this one.” His eyes are troubled, but his lips rise into the smallest of smiles as he adds, “We’re lucky you didn’t bring your sword.”
It is all too much. The events of the last twenty-four hours, the lack of sleep, the panic over what will happen next—Damian crashes against his older brother, wrapping his arms around his neck even as he says, “I hate you. You’re an idiot and I hate you and I will not forgive you.”
“Okay.” Jason pulls him closer, rubbing a soothing hand on his back. “That’s okay.”
“I hate you.”
“Okay.”
“I hate you!”
“Okay.”
“I HATE YOU!” Despite knowing better, Damian begins to cry. It makes him all the more angry, hot tears spilling out onto Jason’s shoulder, darkening the fabric of his shirt. “I hate you so much.”
“I know,” Jason says. “I know.”
“You lied to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
When Damian can breathe properly again, he pulls back, wiping at his face and feeling terribly exposed. To his relief, the moment does not last too long, as Pennyworth offers to make some tea. Then they are moving to the table and soon there are cups of tea and warm scones to distract them.
It is good to eat. After being unable to the previous night, he takes small bites, careful not to upset his stomach. It helps to settle his frayed nerves, helps to clear his mind. Helps to prepare him for when Richard bursts through the door and the dramatics begin again.
The rest of the day continues much like this. With reunions and tears and pockets of peace. And questions. So many questions. By the time the day has nearly ended, Damian is finally somewhat convinced that he will not be sent away. Still, he will not fully believe it until Father says it himself. But Father is nowhere to be found. And everyone seems to be tiptoeing around the subject.
The house is full when they all settle down to watch a movie in the living room. Jason picks, because he is the one who has returned from the dead.
“You did that years ago,” Damian complains, and Richard’s eyes mist over once more. Damian drops the argument.
As the movie begins, Jason sits down next to Damian, tugging him into his side. It has been over a year since they have sat like this. It is instinct for Damian to lean slightly away, to act as if he has not been secretly wanting this back. But he remembers the night before, remembers all the messes people get themselves into when they will not say what they want. He relaxes against Jason’s side. Drops his head onto his shoulder. Says quietly, “Don’t you dare leave me again.”
Jason gently knocks his head against Damian’s. “Never.”
It is a precarious thing, this new promise. It could very well be broken just like the last. He cannot believe it as easily as he did the first one; it will need to be tested to prove its strength. Damian says, “I will hold you to that.”
He is nearly asleep around the halfway point of the movie, his body bearing the weight of all that has happened so quickly. And so he does not notice at first, when someone else slips into the room. It is only when Jason’s heart speeds up, his back straightening, that Damian is alerted to the newcomer’s presence.
Father steps carefully through the room. On the floor, Drake, Cain, Brown, and Thomas have scattered blankets and pillows, laying next to one another. Father is careful not to jostle them or block their view of the television. They share looks with one another, all in the room wondering how this may go. He stops next to Jason, eyeing the empty seat on his right side. Damian is unsure if the way Jason protectively pulls him closer is a conscious thing.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Father asks, his voice kept low.
“Depends,” Jason says. “Have you gotten your head out of your ass?”
Father’s shoulders stiffen, rising up toward his ears, before he sighs forcefully and drops them back down. “I am glad to have you home.”
Jason’s jaw twitches; he was not expecting that answer. He returns his attention to the tv. “Seat’s open.”
Father takes a seat, and Damian feels as if he can finally breathe. There is still so much to be done. Questions to be answered and problems to sort through. But he has his brother back. His father is angry, but not irreparably so. He is not being kicked out of his new home.
Someday, he will take a thorough look at the blood on his hands. He will think about the gun, and what that meant for him to hold it, to pull the trigger. He will think about a great many things, and he will find a way forward. He is the son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, brother of those who die and come back stronger, who fall and yet always find a way to stand once more. He will always find a way forward.