Chapter Text
The first reported case came in a week ago, when Harold Cranberg, an employee at Greengarden Orchard, went wild. According to eye-witness statements, the elderly gardener attacked anyone who came into the orchard. He refused to acknowledge any attempts at communication.
According to interviews with his coworkers, he’d had simply gone mad. He’d bitten, and punched, and pulled hair like a wild animal. Rabid, one coworker had said. It was like he’d just gone rabid.
There were six reports of sudden aggressive behaviors, the next day. Then twelve. Then fifty-three. And then, four days after they started, the episodes simply stopped.
Three whole days without a single incident.
Damian knows – like he knows how to single-handedly take down an adult male in three simple moves – that they won’t make it to four.
No, something’s going to happen.
He sits in the Batcave, lacing his boots up, waiting for his father to acknowledge him. Waiting for the meeting that has brought not just him but their extended family in for a meeting.
Jason Todd – Red Hood – has parked his motorcycle in the middle of everything. His red helmet sits on the seat of the bike, but his body is tense, like he’s already anticipating a fight – like waiting for it is the worst part. His hair’s a little longer than usual, but he’s left it alone, and those green eyes of his are boiling like acid.
Damian doesn’t have to ask to know that Jason can see what he sees: whatever the attacks were for, it’s starting soon.
Richard – Nightwing – also knows it. He’s looking more serious than usual, almost somber in his suit. He’s touched his escrima sticks sixteen times in the last ten minutes, and he’s hardly taken any liberties at all with physical affection. A brief hug. A touch of his arm. But mostly, he’s kept himself contained.
No, Nightwing’s waiting for bad news, too.
Only Tim Drake appears unaffected. He’s as awkward as ever, standing a touch closer to Father than the others. Their space bubbles co-mingle, like Drake has a magic pass to intrude on Father’s place.
Damian knows from experience – from trial and error - that Father would never allow him such familiarity. No, he’d move away – or shoo him off, like a pesky bug.
“Stop hovering, Damian,” he’d have said. Or, “I don’t know how they do it in the League, but last I checked, you do not need to stand on top of me to see what I am showing you.”
The admonishments were rarely creative. But they were effective.
Drake hovers. And Damian? He laces up his boots, staying a safe distance away. Attentive, but not obvious about it.
The screen of the Batcomputer is flickering through substances and chemicals, attempting to make sense of samples taken from the victims.
“I know that everyone must be feeling tense,” Father starts, as Stephanie Brown makes her way down into the cave, neither family nor useful, but still a valued part of the team, even if reluctantly.
Damian doesn’t look up at her. Doesn’t look away from his boots at all as Father delivers his speech. “These attacks have the whole city on edge. But our presence is needed now more than ever.”
“Do we know what’s causing the attacks?”
Damian lets out an irritated puff of air. Like Drake can be forgiven for intruding on Father’s space, so too is the man equally willing to forgive Stephanie for her ill-formed, ignorant questions.
“Whatever it is,” Father says, “we do know it’s not related to any previously known chemicals related to either Scarecrow, or the Joker. And it doesn’t appear to be directly drug-related, either.”
If he’d asked, Father would not have been so forgiving.
Tim Drake – ever quick to make connections – cuts in. “Have you asked Ivy—”
“I have. Ivy is not in Gotham currently.”
Drake doesn’t let it drop, though. He’s busy chasing theories. A known and persistent flaw. “So it’s not Ivy, or Scarecrow, or Joker. Is it – I don’t know, mind control waves? Hypnosis? Have we ruled out--”
“Tt,” Damian says, unable to listen any longer. He stands, giving up pretending to lace any longer. “Father would not waste time analyzing the samples for links to known villains if it were solely external forces at play, as there would be no samples to analyze in that situation.”
He looks to his father, hoping to see something. A smile, the tiniest hint of pride. Anything, really. Just eyes shifting his way, even.
But Father’s expression is flat as his voice, and his eyes stay where they are: on Drake and the computer. “We did find a possible contaminant in multiple victims, a chemical basis is likely. But Tim is also correct - we have yet to positively identify it, so being mindful of other potential vectors is imperative at this time. We cannot trust that this is chemical in nature. Assumptions like that put us all in danger, Damian.”
He does get a look, along with the admonishment. But it’s the worst sort of looks. The kind steeped in disappointment.
Damian opens his mouth to protest, to point out that he knows that, he does, but at this point chemicals are the only thing that make sense, but it’s pointless. Father will not accept excuses. He knows that.
Damian feels his body still, forces his heart to cease its bothersome pace. But even so, his skin reacts to the cold tone, a creep of goosebumps along his arms. He has the awful, childish instinct to hug his own arms.
Damian’s chin tilts up, he straightens his body. Stands a little taller. Arms a little stiffer. Strong, like a soldier. Like a weapon. Strong, because if he isn’t, his father will notice and seize the chance to further humiliate him.
Grayson mercifully speaks before anyone else can. “Have any more of the victims recovered?”
“A few. Nurses at Gotham General have reported that visits with family members appear to have a positive impact on some of the victims. Unfortunately, there is still much we do not know.”
“I for one don’t like waiting around for the next shoe to drop,” Jason Todd says, impatiently crossing his arms. “Can we get out of here now?”
Bruce smiles.
A real smile.
Practically beams at Jason.
It’s the way Jason said we. Damian knows it’s that we. Father loves it when Jason includes himself in the family.
Grayson, too, from the way he also grins up at Jason.
“We’re not going to solve this sitting around here tonight. The computer is analyzing the substance. We have patrols to do. Keep your eyes out – and stay together in pairs.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jason says, reaching for his helmet.
It’s Stephanie – loud-mouthed, messy Stephanie – that says the thing nobody wants to say. “Kinda sorta yeah, you do, Jay. We don’t know what is causing this. And we’re not exactly normal citizens. We’re capable fighters. If one of us were to infected and let loose on Gotham…” She shakes her head.
“That’s your plan?” Grayson asks, “If we go in pairs, we can incapacitate the other person? What if we both—”
“Incapacitate, or alert the team,” Father corrects. He looks up, a brief flicker, cold blue eyes meeting Damian’s green ones. A flicker of apprehension – of disappointment. “Damian, why don’t you go with Dick?”
“That leave me with Blondie?” Jason asks.
Bruce nods.
And Damian wants to be okay with the pairing. Grayson isn’t entirely objectionable. But Damian can’t keep his mouth from opening.
“I had been looking forward to patrol with Father tonight,” Damian says.
With the urgent cases, it’s been days since he’s actually spent any time with him. Maybe more than that, if he’s being honest.
Father is withdrawn at the best of time. Avoidant.
Times have not been the best for weeks.
“I’ll take Tim,” Dick offers, smiling at Bruce. “It’s been a while since we had quality bonding time.”
“Tonight’s too important, Damian. Tim has good insight on this case, and we need to solve it quickly. Go with Dick, and don’t argue.”
He should have kept his mouth shut about the chemicals earlier.
He should have been like a shadow – silent and unseen.
He should have expected his error to have consequences.
Still, his eyes prickle uncomfortably as he makes his way toward Grayson.
He shouldn’t care. And if he does, Grayson will notice.
He forces himself to scowl at his overly-affectionate oldest brother.
“Hurry up, Grayson,” Damian snaps, a touch harsher than he intends. “We don’t have all night.”
#
Despite it being forbidden, his siblings chatter across the comms while they patrol. Quips and useless information shoots back and forth like a ping-pong ball on a tennis table.
Damian remains silent. Even when he has a really good insult burning in his mouth.
Comms are for emergencies and vital information only. Besides, Father would not appreciate it if he were unprofessional. Grayson hardly even appreciates it, and he’s almost famously unserious.
“I know you were looking forward to patrol tonight,” Grayson says, as the pair wander through a back alley on foot. “I’m sure Batman will make it up to you.”
Damian doesn’t correct him. Doesn’t point out that it’s been over a week already. That their father seizes any chance to take away patrols.
“I do not need a babysitter,” Damian says. “I am capable of patrolling on my own.”
It’s a stubborn independence that Grayson’s best efforts couldn’t quite eliminate. And he’d really tried. Damian has no doubt about that.
“Don’t be dramatic. You’re not patrolling on your own.”
He has been, though. For a while now, even.
Father prefers Drake’s company. It’s obvious. But Damain’s not about to say that.
“You did not allow it, but Father sees that I am capable.” Damian’s eyes stay on the solid shadows of the alleyway.
“You won’t convince me to let you go off on your own like that. Besides, haven’t you missed this?” Grayson hops up on a railing, walking down the alleyway parallel but a little above. “Just me, and you, and a city full of criminals? I bet you’ve learned some new techniques since we last patrolled together. I hope you’ll show them to me.”
“I do not need to show off like a child, Grayson.” He rolls his eyes, but Grayson’s efforts aren’t entirely unappreciated, so he throws him a bone: “If you spar with me before patrol later this week, I will consider teaching you a move I learned from Maya. But only if you aren’t annoying.”
“Aww, you want to spend time with me.” He can practically feel Grayson’s grin shooting across the alley.
“Shut up, Grayson.”
The two wander their familiar paths, Grayson joking and jovial, but Damian cannot let himself fall into the familiar routine. The air is too heavy, and even if it weren’t, Grayson’s visit is only temporary.
#
It’s Dick that notices the restaurant. It’s an old building, built with the Gothic gargoyles and heavy brickwork that defines the older parts of Gotham. Imposing, once, but now fallen into ruin. Derelict and dirty.
“Someone’s cleaned,” he says, pointing to sweep marks along the steps punctuated with a scatter of debris. “But they’re trying to hide it. “
“Should we tell Father?”
He’s not hopeful that he’ll get to spend time with Father. He’s not.
But it would be nice to show up Drake. To find a break in the case. To solve it before—
“We can look around a little first,” Dick says. “Hey Oracle, going to check out a building on Brewer Lane. Probably nothing.”
He nods toward the door. “Think it’s unlocked?”
Damian shakes his head. “See those marks? Father says they’re from someone putting in screws on the other side. Someone installed a lock, recently. But there’s an open window.” He points, and his brother’s eyes follow the gesture up four stories.
“I won’t fit through that,” Dick says.
“I will.” Damian pulls out his grappling gun. “I can let you in from the other side.”
“Damian…” He protests.
It shouldn’t be so hard to convince Grayson. And it shouldn’t irritate him that Grayson’s worried – Grayson’s always worried.
But after Father’s chiding, his dismissal, he’s feeling…
Vulnerable.
He needs to investigate. To prove himself.
He does something he would never usually do: he practically begs. “Nobody will see me. And you’ll be right there, if I need help.”
Grayson wants to say yes. He must want to say yes. He chews at his lip a little before replying. “I don’t’ know, Damian, we’re supposed to stay together.”
“You said it was probably nothing,” Damian reminds his brother. “But we should investigate. To be thorough.”
““You’ll open the front window immediately after you get inside?”
Damian bristles again at the lack of trust. “Yes, Grayson, I did say I would. And I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Fine. But we’ll be quick. In and out.”
“Tt, I won’t be the one slowing us down.” He launches himself up, flying toward the window.
Damian suppresses a smile as he beats Grayson to the window ledge.
“Hey, old man, better catch up.”
He wriggles through the window, dropping into the room while Grayson’s still planted on the ground below.
He checks the window for alarms, then allows himself to flick on his flashlight.
Just a quick look around. Then he’ll open the window.
#