Throughout Infinity

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/19718083.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All
Media Types
Relationship: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, implied Tim Drake/Kon-El
Character: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Artemis Crock, Wally
West, M'gann M'orzz, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Kaldur'ahm (DCU), Dinah
Lance
Additional Tags: Bat Family, Bat Brothers, Damian Wayne is Robin, but Dick Grayson is
also Robin, Time Travel, Dick Grayson is Batman, but er Bruce Wayne
is also Batman, the author has extremely limited knowledge, Alternate
Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Damian Wayne time
travels, Damian Wayne travels to the young justice universe, it's the
young justice universe so the other bat bros are v background, Canon-
Typical Violence, Minor Violence, Minor Swearing, Dimension Travel,
which is a tag, hooray!!, Multiverse Travel, which i'm adding as a tag
again ;), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Collections: Ashes' Library, Bruce Wayne and his ever growing batfam,
the_middle_ground, S.T.I.L.L., Long Fics to Binge, Tempus et Spatium
(Time and Space), 蝙蝠家, Leymonaide fic recs, There are no words for
this beauty, Batfam Adventures, FTTN's Favorites,
hufflepuffdemiwizard's completed works, Bat Babes and Babies,
Ripon’s Fanfic Recs, The Batfam Fanfic Survey, Прочитано,
Completed Fics , Fics Adored and Loved , Quality Long Fanfic,
Batifavs, Wan Shi Tong's Library , FreakingAmazingFics, Fics that
quench my thirst and breathe life into my soul, ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆,
Must binge-read every month, cauldronrings favs ( •̀ ω •́ )✧, fics that
live up to mads' impossible standards, Best Universe/Time travel fics
Stats: Published: 2019-07-07 Completed: 2021-08-27 Words: 73,939
Chapters: 19/19

Throughout Infinity
by flumen

Summary

Damian Wayne did not anticipate going into the mission that he'd find himself in an
alternate universe where his father is still Batman and there's an eerily similar (but thirteen
year old) version of his partner/mentor/guardian/brother? who has somehow managed to
find himself another pack of incompetent superhero associates just as intensely irritating as
the ones Damian's familiar with and borderline suspects him of being an illegal Cadmus
clone but...

...well...
 ...sometimes life just plays out like that. And he'll be damned if he doesn't find a way home
to his actual partner before he manages to impale himself on his own cowl or something
equally ridiculous. Honestly.
A sort of Damian time travel fic except he finds himself in the universe just after season 1
of Young Justice. Misadventures ensue.

Notes

Ok! So!
This is an experimental work since I've watched the Young Justice cartoon but not
massively recently and I' hardly a religious reader of the Batman comics but I love these
characters so much and think there's such potential for time-travel hi jinks here that I
couldn't pass the idea up.
This is the first chapter and I won't be able to update for another week so I'm essentially
tossing this out there and seeing what people think.
If I get something major or plot-wise wrong PLEASE TELL ME!! I will fix it immediately.
If you disagree with my characterisation, I respect that entirely but just know I may not
make the change you suggest. Consider it multiversal creative liberty if my version of a
character doesn't fit with yours. Both can exist!
In which case, please enjoy!
 Chapter 1

Damian Wayne has an approach to life he’d like to charitably refer to as business-like. Todd refers
to it as being an anal hardass. Drake refers to it as ‘slitting first, desecrating corpses later’ which is
a typically inaccurate assessment; wasting the time to desecrate a corpse is the exact kind of thing
Damian’s business-like attitude means he has no patience for. What a pointless expenditure of
energy and resources which reeks of instability.

This disciplined way of combat and life where the only emotions to be felt on the field of battle are
pride and controlled rage is one of the main reasons Damian had such difficulty adjusting to the
role of Robin. Robin doesn’t just take down bad guys, he quips whilst doing it. His entire fighting
style down from the cape to the smoke bombs is flashy and only a tedious erosion of instilled
practicality has allowed Damian to adapt. But he has adapted because he is a Wayne, an Al-Ghul
and more than that, he is Robin.

(And he’d be lying if he said the wise-cracks and explosions haven’t grown on him into something
resembling fun).

Despite this, Damian still, at his core, is not willing to suffer fools or the convoluted plots they
cook up for the sheer purpose of their deranged aesthetics. And the most deranged and convoluted
aesthetic of all is that of the riddle.

“I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you but you cannot feel me. I reveal
everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?”

“One well-aimed punch away from permanent brain damage.” Robin growls.

“Tut, tut, tut, little bird.” The Riddler giggles with a sticky spray of blood. “Wrong! Two more
guesses. Two more guesses before…” He trails off teasingly. “Well, that’s a game for another
time.”

“I’ll bring forward that playdate.” He offers, unsheathing a shiruken and making a move towards
the chair the Riddler is strapped to.

“Robin.” Batman warns and with a sigh, Robin pre-emptively puts the blade away. “Although the
comebacks are coming along nicely, no need for knives.” He cracks his knuckles. “Punches leave
less of a scar.”

Just for a moment the Riddler’s bruised and bloodied face gulps and Robin feels a prideful rush of
satisfaction. “No need for any more of that. It’s just a riddle, Batman, and you asked me a
question.”

“For which I’d like an answer.” Batman growls. “So we’ll try again. Who are you working with
and what is the purpose of that machine?”

The machine, Robin thinks darkly. He sends an unconscious glance to the glowing archway
standing at the centre of the grimy warehouse in which they find themselves. He and Batman have
been tracing its construction for weeks throughout Gotham, picking up on transfers of radioactive
material and post-Cadmus alien tech. They don’t know what it’s for yet, but practically every crook
in Gotham has now had a part in its construction. Whatever it is, it isn’t friendly.

How irritating that all their searching has led them to the most frustrating and incompetent villain
in the whole city. It’s like executing a wild goose chase only to discover the goose was a tiresome
duck all along.

“I told you who I’m working for and you’ve still got two more guesses!” The Riddler says as if
they are being ungrateful. “I am everywhere but you cannot see me, I am touching you-”

“We’ve heard the riddle!” Batman snaps. “I want a straight answer!”

“If I did that I’d undermine my whole theme!” The Riddler practically whines. “Cut me some
slack, it isn’t even a trick. I am telling you who I’m working for, if you can solve the riddle.” He
shifts uncomfortably in his bindings, his bowler beginning to come askew. “Now if you could just
loosen these pesky ropes a little-” Without another word, Batman and Robin turn to privately
convene.

“Something isn’t right.” Robin says immediately. He’s been feeling uneasy since they arrived at
this warehouse and found the machine sitting practically unguarded and tantalisingly simple to
commandeer. Perhaps it was something about its eerie, pulsating glow. “This was too easy. The
guards were practically amateurs and there was nowhere near the manpower anticipated for such a
large scale operation.” As if to punctuate his point, he reaches out and kicks one of the unconscious
guards in the side. He doesn’t so much as groan.

“You’re right.” Batman says instantly, with confidence and Robin feels his chest swell. “You
wouldn’t trust Riddler with something as important as this. I don’t think he’s lying about his riddle
being the answer to who he’s working for, the man’s a liability.”

“Tick tock!” He calls from across the room, head lolling mockingly. “Have you solved my riddle
yet? Time’s running out!”

“Why wouldn’t there be more guards?” Robin questions again and he can tell Batman is thinking
the same. They simultaneously reach the same jarring conclusion.

“Time’s up!” The Riddler cackles, throwing his head back so his hat tumbles to the ground. “Sorry
about those last two guesses, boys, I suppose you’ll have to save them for a rainy day. If you live to
see another, that is.”

Batman instantly pulls up the external security camera feed on his wrist computer and switches
with the speed of a blink from image to image until they find what they’re looking for. Whilst
Robin had been researching the warehouse and surrounding area, he had noticed that an incoming
motorway route had been road-blocked by police and hadn’t thought much of it, assuming there
had been an accident and considered it convenient blundering civilian traffic was less likely to get
in their way (or in harm’s way, Robin amended, which was of course more important). He now
realises being so dismissive was a deadly mistake.

Marching down the motorway is what Robin can only describe as a small army. Several hundred
men armed to the teeth, dressed like SWAT teams in bullet proof vests, helmets and visors and
amongst them some of Gotham’s most notorious villains. Robin catches a flash of red and green
that can only be Poison Ivy, recognises the lumbering gait of Mr Freeze and his whole family of
frost-related rogues and dozens of the commonplace criminal, scraped out of Gotham’s back alleys
into something resembling a formidable force.

There are also armed vehicles adorned with machine guns powering across the concrete and every
now and again Robin sees a glimpse of helicopter wing in the skies above.

Batman swears softly. “Quarter of a mile due North and moving fast. It was a trap.”
“This was my error.” Robin says softly, feeling mortification pool in his chest. Abruptly, he turns
to the Riddler who is giggling with an even greater, more infuriating hysteria, smile threatening to
tear his face in two. “What are the scum of Gotham doing convening on this spot? Speak, cretin!”

“I told you! I told you!” He chuckles and Robin aims a powerful punch at his jaw. He can’t muster
any guilt when it knocks him out cold.

“He was our only source of information.” Batman chides, deceptively calm.

“He was delirious, and irritating me.” Robin spits. “Can we call for back up?”

“Red Robin, Oracle and Batgirl are on the other side of the city working a case and Red Hood isn’t
exactly at my beck and call.”

“We have other allies.” Robin admits reluctantly. Normally he’d never be able to stomach
grovelling to another hero for help, but these are extraordinary circumstances.

“No one’s within range.” Batman says, pressure building behind his voice. “It’s just you and me,
Robin.”

Neither of them even bring up the possibility of fleeing. With so many villains in one place, a plot
is about to be executed of dangerous magnitude. To leave now could condemn Gotham to its
death.

“You and me.” Damian echoes before scowling at his own sentimentality, even as Grayson smiles.
“Correct. More importantly, what can we do in the limited time presented to us?”

There’s a beat of silence in which Robin almost imagines he can hear the oncoming rumble of the
enemy’s marching feet.

“The machine.” He decides. “That’s the catalyst to all of this. If we can disable it, that may
debilitate whatever fiendish force is at work here.”

“If it were that simple, we wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near it.” Batman reasons.
“Instead we’ve been given prolonged access. Whoever created or commissioned it is confident in
its security.” He grins and brings up his wrist computer again. “Let’s see how confident.”

Robin doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing the Batman smile, but it’s always a welcome
sight. No matter what the situation, it means things are about to start going their way.

“Robin, barricade the doors.” He orders as he begins inspecting the monitor of the machine. “That
will buy us some time. Once that’s done, prepare to fight. You may have to defend me whilst I
hack.” Suddenly his screen glows bright red and alarms begin to blare from somewhere up above.
“You will definitely have to defend me whilst I hack.” He amends, mouth pressing into a tight,
concentrated line.

Robin nods. He can’t do much but release hardening foam to secure the doors, and yet he knows
first-hand of its effectiveness. He’s been trapped in it once before when he was in an argument with
Drake that swiftly got out of hand (as most of their arguments seemed to). It was practically
impenetrable from the outside or inside. Of course he had eventually manged to escape when
Alfred had formulated the correct solvent and then there had been hell to pay but he doubts many
of the soldiers are carrying highly corrosive substances. Or he sincerely hopes not.

He returns to Batman’s side and pulls out his escrima sticks. He wishes he could exchange them
for swords but his partner had insisted on the less destructive weapon, at the time posing it as a
challenge to make a gentler form of combat equally devastating. Robin had succeeded, naturally,
but an exhilarated, anxious part of him yearns for the bloodlust and effortless cut of steel. Nothing
makes him feel safer but nothing also makes him feel less like Batman’s partner, less like a hero.

“I’m making progress.” Batman informs him. “Just… not fast enough. The surface tech I can
recognise, but it’s as if at its core this machine is from a different planet. It’s reacting in entirely
unpredictable ways.”

“We could always just blow it up.” Robin suggests innocently.

“Radioactive material.” Batman says shortly. “Unless we want Gotham to be the next Chernobyl,
we can’t risk it.”

Robin shifts from foot to foot, tightening his grip on his sticks. He’s now certain he can hear the
army’s approach. He’s not deluded enough to believe their only weapons are the ones coming up
on the camera feed. With so many super villains involved, who could tell the extent of their
arsenal?

The dynamic duo will prevail, he insists internally. He will not allow the scum of Gotham to
overcome them, especially as it was his mistake to overlook the blockade. He feels a surge of
mingling guilt and fury. He will not put them at risk again.

“Yes.” Batman hisses and Robin turns to see the words ‘Access Granted’ emblazoned in bold print
across the machine’s monitor. “Cadmus tech. Always overlooks a back door. Now all we need to
do is disable it-”

It is at this moment that a force like a battering ram shudders the warehouse doors. Robin curses
darkly. The foam holds, but only for the moment. He breathes deeply in anticipation and feels his
limbs twitch with energy. Batman has turned coldly silent as he sets himself entirely to the task at
hand, switching directly to the machine’s monitor and ploughing through its system.

“It can’t be disabled!” He growls as a second attack is levelled at this doors and cracks splinter
through the foam like lightning strikes. “There’s no override! Who builds a machine this complex
with no override?”

“In which case, create an override!” Robin says furiously.

He lets a shuddering sigh out through his nose and begins pounding at the monitor again. With a
rattling explosion, the doors are blasted open. Robin does not hesitate. He charges.

He has knocked out two men before the rest even have time to aim their weapons and then
dedicates his attack to causing as much havoc as possible. He never focuses on one individual too
long to ensure their focus remains on him. A few filter past but out of the corner of his eye he sees
Batman make short work of them. For a few precious seconds, the battle appears to be on their
side.

Then Mr Freeze appears in the doorway and Robin has to retreat to avoid being encapsulated in
ice. The enemy gains ground. Calling on an adrenaline-fueled reservoir of strength, Robin leaps up
and impales a birdarang into his helmet, causing him to stagger backwards as fractures appear in
the glass. However, as soon as one super villain falls back two more appear in its place with Poison
Ivy rising above the soldiers enwreathed in vines and Clayface blundering through his own men to
strike at Robin with his hammer fists.

These are some notable heavy-hitters absent, Robin notices, and those who are present are those
most easily bought and manipulated. There must be a mastermind as the Riddler had alluded. But
who?

Eventually, as the flood of armed men only continues to swell, Robin retreats back to Batman,
ignoring the super villains’ taunts to play. “Progress?” He demands. All he receives is a grim shake
of the head in return as Batman turns from the infernal machine and raises his own fists.

“No.” He says, the gruff, dangerous tone of voice every inch Robin’s Batman. “Guess we’ll be
fighting conventional.”

And they charge. Robin loses himself in the crack of bone and the constant ache of his fists and
feet as he strikes, dodges and ducks in and out of the soldiers. The soldiers either fire sparingly or
in all directions and again Robin feels himself struck by how amateur the force seems, contributing
to the idea that this is but one patch of a bigger picture. Still, even Batman and Robin cannot dodge
the bullets indefinitely.

It is Batman who is shot first and Robin feels him slump momentarily by his feet, realises the
bullet imbedded in his partner’s torso would have struck his back. His rage flares anew as Batman
stumbles to his feet and he roars “Cowards! Shoot for the head or don’t shoot at all!”

“Don’t give them advice!” Batman says but there’s no anger behind his voice, only a wince. Robin
does not know if the bullet was stopped by the Kevlar. The uncertainty alone is enough to make
him cry out with fury and he takes down the next soldier with a particularly savage blow to the
head.

They fight on for a further minute at least, although it seems to both stretch out endlessly and pass
in the blink of an eye. Robin can feel Batman lagging, his punches becoming sloppier, his aim
deteriorating and is aware he is not faring much better. They can’t keep this up, as much as it
grieves him to admit it, and as many soldier as they take out, more only emerge with fresh
weapons, an inexorable supply.

It ends with a gun pressed to Batman’s temple and Robin backed up to the machine. His breath
comes in harsh rattles and his whole body seems torn between exhaustion and a self-supporting ire.
He is bleeding in various places, the blood soaking through his suit and, now that he has a moment
to pause, the bruises and cuts ache and sting like pernicious insects.

Curse Grayson and his recklessness, Robin internally seethes. He cannot seem to go five seconds
without putting himself in some form of mortal peril. Despite this, seeing the weapon against his
partner’s head makes something else emerge in Robin’s stomach, something he tries immediately
to quash but arises sickeningly once more: fear.

“Surrender, Robin.” Poison Ivy, says a honeyed laugh on the tip of her tongue. “Or Batsy’s brains
go boom.” She clicks her fingers and the soldier holding the gun thrusts it more insistently into
Batman’s skull. Robin’s breath hitches.

He has two options. One: surrender and go against every lesson and principle that both his training
as an assassin and hero have instilled in him. Or two: turn the tables. Damian Wayne has an
approach to life he’d describe as business-like. And the first rule of business is you never make a
deal on someone else’s terms.

He raises his hands, an escrima stick in one and a birdarang in the other as if to drop them. Instead
he brings the stick down hard on the machine’s monitor and throws the birdarang straight at
Poison Ivy.
She ducks, which is thankful because Robin doesn’t really want her death on his conscience and
Batman takes the opportunity to wrestle the gun out of the bewildered soldier’s hand. With one
sharp jab, he’s knocked out.

However, the relief Robin had felt at the release of his partner immediately sours as the machine
begins to hum with the force of a thousand bees. Its glow intensifies and as Robin tries to move
away, he realises it is beginning to radiate a force that is pulling him in.

“Batman!” He yells but Batman is battling Two-Face and when he turns to look at him, he only
narrowly avoids a punch to the jaw. Still, Robin recognises that look on his partner’s face and in
the meantime fires a grappling hook that connects to the rafters and anchors him, even as the pull
of the machine strengthens.

The archway begins to glow with pure white light that bathes Robin’s legs in a warm, dissociative
sensation that scares him more than any pain could. He swallows down the panic and watches as
Batman knocks out Two-Face only to almost receive a blast to the face from one of Mr Freeze’s
cronies (Kid Icicle? Junior Icicle?).

“Hold on, Robin!” He yells and Robin resists the urge to yell back that there’s not much else he can
do. That would be childish, sarcastic and Grayson would be delighted. Batman, Batman would be
delighted. He re-secures his grip on the grappling hook as it begins to slip…

Snap!

For a moment, time appears suspended and Robin becomes entirely weightless. Poison Ivy waves
at him, a cruel smile across her ruby lips, the ends of the grappling robe held in each hand, torn
apart by one of her thorns. The sensationless feeling extends to Robin’s torso. He watches
Batman’s head fly up too late, a hand reach out uselessly and his mouth silently form the word
‘No!’ as bright light encroaches on Robin’s vision.

His own mouth tries to create a name, his partner’s or his guardian’s he cannot tell, as the machine
swallows him up and everything turns to white.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

Damian finds himself in a place very similar but somehow also very different.

Chapter Notes

The promised chapter 2! I'll get on writing chapter 3 as soon as possible but once again
WARNING updates will be sporadic for a while
I appreciate the patience :)

Damian feels as if he’s dissolving. His entire body is numb and aflame at the same time and he
can’t conjugate a single thought except that what is happening to him is wrong, unbearable even
and that he wants it to stop, needs it to stop. Nothing in his training could have prepared him for
this. He falls into an all-pervasive panic as he travels through the blinding void, his heart aching
for God or Batman or Grayson or anyone to let him out as every nerve in him rejects and sickens.
He has never felt so incongruous, shattered or mortal.

And then as soon as it begins, his journey is over and Damian find himself stumbling gracelessly
onto solid land. He gasps for breath as his body is returned to his control and he feels his corporeal
form click back into place with the world around him. Then he blacks out.

Dimly he becomes aware of muffled voices like lighthouses on a distant shore. In a moment of
childlike weakness, Damian groans and curls up on his side, body still throbbing from the cuts and
bruises and now his disconcerting travel through the ether. Sluggishly, his ears sharpen and he
begins to think he recognises a voice amongst the muddied words.

“No I don’t ‘know him’, KF.” There’s something off in the timbre or pitch, Damian can’t quite
tell, but he recognises that voice and automatically feels his troubled mind soothe. Perhaps all he’d
received was a nasty shock and if he opens his eyes, it’ll be him and Batman back home in the
Cave.

“Who knows what Batman knows.” It continues somewhat bitterly and Damian becomes certain.

“G-Grayson?” He mumbles, beginning to squint up only for black spots to reign throughout most
of his vision. Abruptly there’s a pounding of feet and a figure looms over him.

“What did you say?” It hisses and the sudden acidity in tone jolts Damian awake.

Instinctively his body reacts: he aims for a deadly pressure point in his aggressor’s neck. Rapidly
he pulls back, but not rapidly enough. Damian’s feet lash out and connect hard with his chest,
sending him reeling. He leaps upright, draws his escrima sticks and takes several hasty steps back,
before regaining his balance and sliding smoothly into a defensive crouch. The sight that greets
him is so completely jarring, Damian almost loses consciousness again.
They are standing in a warehouse, practically identical to the one Damian was in before and behind
him is a machine, similarly identical to the one he just travelled through. However crouched across
from him in an almost identical stance to his own, as if he’s looking into a mirror, is Robin. Or, at
least, a teenage boy in a Robin costume. His hand hovers above his utility belt and his mouth is
marred into a frown. Damian feels a dizzying flood of rage as he realises the look on this other
Robin’s face must reflect his own: he’s looking at him as if Damian is the imposter. Behind him
stands a gaggle of gormless-looking teenagers all in costume. He recognises some outfits and
insignia but others are completely foreign.

“Stay back, charlatan!” He says, raising his weapons in warning.

“Charlatan!” Splutters the boy in the garish Flash tribute. “Rob, you think he’s a clone?”

“No.” The other Robin says softly and the single word strikes Damian so hard, he almost staggers
back. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Who are you, kid? Honest answers only.”

“Maybe I should…” Begins the green girl Damian now assumes is a Martian, but he cuts her off.

“NO!” He yells with such authority he can see her physically back down. “Do not come anywhere
near my mind. This is-” Horrified, he finds himself at a loss for words.

“He looks scared and wounded.” The tall Atlantean says, slight sympathy colouring his voice.
“Perhaps we should make ourselves appear less threatening.” He lowers his weapons and the
others follow suite, all except the other Robin. He continues to scan Damian piercingly,
understandably incapable of relaxing. It is this intense assessment that forces Damian to get a grip.
He cannot imagine the pathetic state he must be presenting. There are procedures in place for such
scenarios as this, and Damian is an expert at following procedure.

Slowly, so as to not arouse violence, he puts his own weapons away. “What is the date?” He asks,
keeping his voice as steady as possible.

“The date?” A girl Damian does not recognise whatsoever repeats sceptically. “You’re kidding,
right?”

“I am extremely serious.” He responds icily and there’s a charged pause.

“It’s not going to do any harm telling him the date.” A boy eerily resembling a beefier version of
Drake’s moronic (boy)friend huffs and he tells him.

Damian frowns. The date is different but not substantially enough to equate to time travel. Not if
their Robin is who he thinks he is and Damian doesn’t think he could mistake that glare. It’s
chilling to have it turned on him with all its force of animosity and suspicion and yet utterly
unmistakeable.

“You didn’t answer my original question.” Robin says, snapping Damian from his reverie. “Who
are you? Because I don’t remember Batman picking up any failsafe Robins recently and certainly
none who would try and kill the original.”

Damian bristles. “I am Robin.” He snaps before he can think about it, the retort familiar on his
tongue and then curses his instincts as the whole sidekick squad looks at him with more scrutiny.

“Ok, so he’s crazy.” The mini Flash snorts.

“Or delusional.” The archer agrees, nocking an arrow. “Either way, he’s coming with us.”
“To Batman?” Damian says, considering the implications of where and when he is. Logically it
would be a productive first step towards his safe return out of whatever inter-dimensional rabbit
hole he’s fallen down, but personally he wonders whether facing his father would only generate
more conflict. Grayson will undoubtedly find a way to get him home from his side, so it’s feasible
there’s no need to involve this Bruce Wayne at all. If he managed to escape the villains he was
battling when Damian left, that is… but of course he would. He’s Batman. “I don’t think that
would be wise.”

“Luckily it doesn’t matter what you think.” The other Robin says with a wicked grin, one which
Damian knows mean chaos is about to ensue.

“We’ll see about that.” Damian responds with a grin of his own, rising to the challenge.

“Now, now…” The Martian giggles nervously. “Er-Robin, we don’t want to harm you-”

And because she’s displaying weakness, Damian attacks her first. Luckily she’s too thrown off
guard to use her telekinesis as he hurls himself at her, knocking her off her feet, kneeing her in the
stomach and then kicking her aside like a ragdoll. It’s ruthless and Damian feels a flicker of
conscience, one which has begun smouldering more frequently under Grayson’s tutelage, at the
sight of her crumpled form. Unfortunately his escape is more important and he begins to race
towards the doors.

Budget Flash is on him immediately and Damian’s humility gives way to frustration when he
realises he has his doppelgänger’s powers. “Hey!” He yells as he speeds to block the doors. “Rip-
off Robin! You can’t do that to Miss M and get away with it!”

“Can’t I?” He snipes back, lodging a punch Flash Jr only just dodges. He thinks this must be Wally
West, one of Grayson’s old Titans friends who he does have a memory of being some sort of Flash
sidekick before taking up his mentor’s mantle and… dying. How unfortunate. Still, Damian
wouldn’t mind him being a little more corpse-like as he manages to duck a second blow.

With a roar of frustration, he crushes his escrima stick against his head, slams the other one into his
ribs and sweeps his legs out from underneath him. He too crashes to the ground. Can’t use super
speed if you can’t use your feet.

Instinctively Damian feels someone coming up from behind him, and without looking back, hurls
an exploding birdarang in their direction. There’s a bang and two cries, one male, one female.
Damian doesn’t look back to see who it is but he’d guess it’s the archer and Superboy who have
taken a spill. Adolescent Flash begins to groan and rise and although the doors are so close,
Damian knows he’ll be caught if he makes for them. Instead he unleashes a smoke bomb and
disappears.

“Where’d he go?” Comes a hoarse cry, the archer.

“No clue.” Child Flash grunts. “But the little blighter’s quick.”

Damian gives a small prideful –tt- from up in the rafters at the inadvertent praise.

“Spread out and attempt to find him.” The Atlantean says. “Be on guard. And where on earth is
Robin?”

Damian is just beginning to think the same thing when a harsh whisper comes from his ear.
“Gotcha.”

He only spins around fast enough that the blow to his head is glancing but blocks the next two
punches with his own hands, leading to a dangerous aerial grapple between him and Robin 50 feet
up on a flimsy wooden beam. For a breathless moment the wood groans. Robin’s jaw is taught
with effort and Damian can tell he’s pushing with all his might but neither one of them is stronger
than the other. This is foolishly dangerous, Damian thinks as the wood gives another awesome
creak and escape be damned he has to get them both out of here.

Suddenly it feels like they’re Batman and Robin again and this is just another suicide mission with
a set of odds to prove wrong.

“I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” He says as softly as he can, although his harsh breathing
somewhat ruins the effect. “You’re Robin. Of course you’d know my moves before I make them.”

“Robin!” Somebody cries from down below, perhaps the Atlantean. “Get down from there.”

Robin goes to kick his legs but Damian darts back, grunting against the extra strain on his arms as
is assailant pushes ever harder. “This is beneath you!” He gasps. “Let me go or we both fall!”

This was the wrong thing to say. “I am Robin.” Grayson heaves. “I won’t fall.”

There’s a heart-rending crack. Damian watches the wood beneath his partner splinter. “No.” He
says. “You won’t.”

The beam beneath Robin gives way but Damian leaps back, pulling him with him. It’s not enough.
Robin’s boot slips and he steps back into thin air. He makes a noise resembling a yelp and there are
cries of horror from below them. Damian pays these no heed. Instead he tightens his grips on
Robin’s hand and lets his momentum carry him. The wind is knocked out of him as he folds like a
deck chair, his stomach hitting the solid beam but he grits his teeth and clings on, both to Robin
and their lifeline.

“You won’t fall!” He repeats as Robin instinctively flails. He’s suspended in mid-air, held aloft
only by Damian’s quivering arm, and understandably begins to panic. Damian feels his grip begin
to slip and desperately scans the ground beneath him, spotting a beacon flash of red and yellow.
“Or at least, not unless I want you to. Kid Flash!”

He lets go. Robin screams for a total of two seconds before landing in the ready arms of the
resident speedster and Damian swallows down the tension thickly. He’s safe and even gazing up at
Damian with something other than mistrust and hatred. The victory is short-lived, however, as
seconds later he feels his limbs seize up and his body lift from the beam to hover above the teenage
superheroes.

The Martian, Miss M he catalogues, stands beneath him, arm aloft and eyes glowing poisonous
green. She’s looking far less conciliatory than before. Beside her stands the tall Atlantean who
appears to be the leader of this troupe from the way the others gather behind him to gape at
Damian like an exhibit in a zoo, albeit with more animosity as they rub their wounds. That’s
strange, he notes, as even Robin hangs back in his wake. He can’t recall a time his mentor hasn’t
been the leader of any team he’s part of.

“Good work Miss M, Kid Flash.” The Atlantean says. “And you, Robin,” He says the name as if
he doesn’t trust it in his mouth. “Despite that display, I am willing to hold out judgement on
declaring you an enemy. Will you now co-operate, or must we knock you out?”

Damian considers, brushing aside the irritation at the boy’s patronising tone. Now that he’s in the
grip of telekinesis, escape is highly improbable. He feels his stomach sink but bears himself against
the despair. Being taken to Batman is not the worst thing that could happen. In fact, he should
probably be relieved he did not tumble out of the machine into the open arms of another hostile
armed force. And if Grayson is Robin, he may prove an ally, whether he’s from the past or some
other entirely infeasible explanation. With two versions of his partner working for his return,
hopefully Damian can get back in half the time.

Back to his Batman. Back home.

“Acceptable.” He grinds out eventually. “On one condition.”

“Yes?” Robin asks hesitantly, sounding far less sure of himself and Damian than when they first
met.

“You bring that machine with you.” He says, referring to the damnable device that transported him
into this mess. “It may be my only way back.”

“Back where?” The archer demands.

Damian considers this momentarily. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see.”

They confer briefly and whilst they do, he can feel his heart pound in his chest. He has put himself
entirely at these children’s mercy. If they choose to consider the machine a security risk, as
Damian would probably do in such a situation, and it falls into enemy hands he can kiss his
chances of recreating his journey goodbye.

Finally they turn back to him. “Your terms are accepted.” The Atlantean says. “Miss Martian will
lower you to the ground and we will handcuff you. Then your paralysis will be reversed. We will
blindfold you and lead you to our ship. Any sign of struggle and you will be neutralised.”

“I will not struggle.” Damian promises.

“Oh, gee couldn’t you have said so earlier?” Kid Flash huffs, rubbing his ribs mulishly.

“That was self-defence in a foreign environment. I will not struggle.” He senses a sudden light
pressure on his consciousness and feels his muscles violently contract in a helpless attempt to
struggle. “What did I say? Tell your Martain not to touch my mind!”

“Your Martain?” Miss M echoes, scandalised, and the pressure only increases.

“Miss M!” Robin snaps. “Quit it.” He turns to Damian and his expression is indiscernible.
“Believe me, I don’t trust him either. Still, that doesn’t give us an excuse to go recklessly tracking
through his mind.”

“Some secrets should be kept.” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Robin nods, and then looks at the Martain beseechingly. Stiffly, she desists and Damian feels
himself drift to the ground. Superboy, Damian now sees and recognises the symbol on his
unprofessional t-shirt, locks his hands together with a glowing set of cuffs and then rips a shred off
of said inappropriate clothing to use as a makeshift blindfold.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Kid Flash says condescendingly.

“Rot in hell.”

There’s an audible gulp. “Yep, he can’t see.”

“Before we go any further, may I know who I’m dealing with?” Damian says, feeling uncommonly
vulnerable and more than a little apprehensive. Normally that translates to a defensive anger. He
must make sure to keep a reign on that if he doesn’t want to kill and/or wound the egos of any of
this Robin’s little superhero friends, even if he has trouble getting along with Grayson’s bumbling
stooge associates at the best of times. “Are you the Teen Titans?” He guesses.

There’s an incredulous snort. “Teen Titans? What kind of pretentious name is that?”

“Alliteration?” Another voice agrees. “That’s just tacky.”

“We aren’t the Teen Titans, whoever they are.” Robin pipes up. Damian can practically see his
smile, even through the fabric. “Kid, you’re in the hands of the Young Justice League, and I dibs
not explaining that to Batman.”
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

Damian is brought aboard the Bioship. He and Robin have a chat.

Chapter Notes

Sorry that this one is slightly shorter. I wanted to make sure I could upload something.
The action really picks up next chapter!

Damian is blindfolded when they lead him to the bioship, but that does not mean he is any less
acutely aware of his surroundings. He feels the iron grip of Superboy’s hands around his arm and
the fickle contact of the metal handcuffs on his wrists. He can hear the swishing sound of the
archer’s bow against her side and the rhythm of Robin’s light step. He can also hear snippets of
Kid Flash’s inane prattling, even though he is violently hushed whenever he picks up volume as if
his eager description of the sandwich awaiting him at their top-secret base will somehow aid
Damian’s escape.

He feels the sting of his wounds. He tastes the salt of sweat on his upper lip. His lack of vision may
have enhanced his other senses, but the weakness still writhes beneath his skin like something
alive. He is in the presence of multiple meta-humans, including a Martian who may have
committed the folly of ceasing to paralyse him but has the power to put him in a permanent coma if
she so desires. His powerlessness is not only grating, it’s agonising.

He is not afraid, he assures himself. Grayson would not let any harm befall him at the hands of his
teammates.

But this isn’t your Grayson, a tiny, evil voice whispers against his skull and it takes all his mental
power to quash it.

He is aware he has entered a Martian bioship as soon as one foot hits the floor. It is thrumming
with life, a feeling he recognises from entering his Martian Manhunter’s similar craft. At the same
time he knows this information is of little importance to him, as he cannot interface with its
intelligence. Nevertheless it is somewhat reassuring that he is in a vessel he at least recognises and
does something to improve the credibility of this alleged Martian superhero.

“Stay there.” Superboy grunts and Damian is roughly deposited onto a seat, feeling a belt wrap
itself around his chest like a harsh embrace. It’s so alive, Damian marvels once more; he has, after
all, always had a soft-spot for non-human life. However, he doesn’t grant himself the idle comfort
of sitting and marvelling. Immediately he begins to strain his ears to listen in on his captors’
conversation and their rough, heated exchange would make easy listening even without Damian’s
perfect audio faculties.

“The machine?” The Atlantean asks, barely bothering to hush his voice, forcing Damian to hold
back a tut at the incompetence.
“Secured in the hull.” The Martian reports but when she next speaks, Damian detects something
gentler in her tone. “Kaldur… I feel bad about tying him up like that. He’s just a child and he can’t
be any older than Robin- I mean our Robin. I think the Bioship feels the same way.”

“He almost knocked you out, M’gann.” Says the archer with both sympathy and incredulity. “And
he might have murdered our Robin. You want to what- let him loose?”

“I agree with Artemis.” Robin’s voice chimes in plainly. “Argue he’s just a kid all you want, he’s a
kid trained to kill.”

“He saved your life.” M’gann reminds him, not unkindly but it’s enough to induce an
uncomfortable silence.

“Tell you what I feel bad about.” Kid Flash says eventually, breaking it. “That freaky machine he
made us take on board. What’s up with that?”

“It does bear a creepy resemblance to something Cadmus might have created.” Superboy says
grimly. “Even if we know it can’t be them.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for someone to agree, but
they don’t. “I don’t think we should have brought it with us.” He finishes.

“Yeah, plus those files you dug up showed it was constructed with high levels of radioactive
material such as plutonium and uranium.” Kid Flash agrees. “What if we’re carrying an atom bomb
right into the open arms of the Justice League?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” M’gann says worriedly.

“Well what if it's his only way back?” Robin cuts through exasperatedly and the others fall silent.
“Would you rather he stayed? No.” Damian imagines him shaking his head. “We had to take the
machine. B’s dealt with situations like this before.”

“Situations like what?” The Atlantean, Kaldur, says only a little impatiently. “Robin if you know
something more about our captive, I’d appreciate you informing the team. It’s never wise to keep
secrets from our teammates.”

“I don’t know anything.” Robin says through gritted teeth. “I have theories, that’s all.” With a
rustle, Damian hears him rise from his seat and realises he’s making his way towards him. He
schools his expression into one empty of emotion.

“Grayson.” He acknowledges softly as Robin sits next to him. He hears the sharp intake of breath
at the name.

“So that is what you said.” He murmurs tensely, almost to himself. When he continues his tone is
loaded with apprehension and more than a little hostility. “What’s the significance of that name?”

Damian restrains the urge to roll his eyes. Robin wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. “You
needn’t play dim with me, Grayson, you’re half-witted enough as it is.”

He receives a violent shushing. “Keep your voice down, Superboy has super-hearing.”

“And a brain made of brick.” Damian says derisively. “Even if he were paying attention, he
wouldn’t understand what we were saying.”

“How do you know that name?” Robin demands, tactfully ignoring the insult to his teammate.
“Who are you?”
Damian considers. He wants Grayson on his side. He may even need Grayson on his side after so
long working alongside him. Without him, he’s afraid he may lose sight of how to be the hero; that
he might devolve into the ruthless assassin once more. It’s so much easier to be Robin fighting
alongside his Batman.

However, although they’re the same person, this Grayson is younger and inexperienced. More than
that, he feels threatened by Damian’s presence. He isn’t Batman yet, he’s only Robin and Damian
knows all too well how defensive he’ll be to maintain that position. He himself has had to fend off
accusations that he’s not really Robin, not really Gotham’s Dark Squire and certainly not the Boy
Wonder. More than that, he’s all too familiar with the threat of a usurper. Drake may nowadays
insist he has no designs for the identity of Robin but Damian has always wondered if that could
change.

Not feared. He has too much pride to fear. If Drake did unwisely decide one day he wanted to be
Robin again, Damian would not hesitate to reissue his death threat, Grayson be damned. He’d do
anything to defend his claim to the identity because he now hates who he’d be without it.

So what if this Grayson feels the same?

“I am not your replacement.” Damian says carefully after a contemplative pause.

“As if you could be.” Robin snaps but there’s a definite undertone of intrigue.

“Neither am I a clone, which I’m sure you’ve already deduced.” Damian continues. “Although
why you would even consider that theory I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve been a little overwhelmed recently.” Robin grumbles and Damian is once again sure
he’s not in the direct past. He’s pretty sure his Grayson would have gushed for hours about facing
an epidemic of clones. “And believe me, I barely considered it.”

“Wise.” Damian agrees. “For one thing, I am vastly superior to you in every way. Genetic science
has gone far, but not so far as to turn your subpar DNA into mine.”

There’s a stony pause and he realises Robin is probably fuming at the insult. It’s such an out of
character reaction that Damian is, for a moment, stunned. Up until now Grayson has always taken
all his specious boasting and insults as just that: superficial and borderline affectionate. Their
partnership had been founded on a deep, unspoken respect. He is now harshly reminded that such
respect did not develop overnight. It had taken the better part of two years to reach their implicit
fellowship and now he’s found himself back at square one.

“That was poor taste.” He admits. “What I meant was that we are very different, both externally
and internally.”

Robin grunts in acknowledgment. “Agreed. So I’ll ask again. Who are you?”

For a moment the growl in his voice is so painfully reminiscent of Batman, Damian is tempted to
spill out his secrets like a mission report, let them overflow onto the floor and hope Grayson can do
something to make it all work out. Instead he purses his lips.

“For now all you need know is that I’m not your enemy. I intend to explain to Batman in more
detail but I need to choose what is and isn’t pertinent for him to know and I don’t intend to repeat
myself.”

“You’re not my enemy.” Robin echoes cynically. “After you attacked my teammates and claimed
to be me?”
“I claimed I was Robin.” Damian says. “Not you. There’s a difference.”

“No there isn’t!” Robin insists. “I am Robin! We’re not mutually exclusive. He’s nothing without
me and I’m-”

He cuts himself off but Damian doesn’t need to hear him finish. He knows the words.

“I’m nothing without him.” He says quietly and he can feel the raw communion in the air between
them as the words ring true.

“Who-?” Robin is just beginning again when there’s the sudden brash beep of the communicator
and like a bird taking flight, he’s gone, a faint swish of his cape against Damian’s leg the only
evidence he was there at all.

Damian feels himself lean forward and it’s with a sense of unshakeable dread and a far less
understandable pain that he recognises the voice across the intercom.

“This is Batman contacting the team. What is your status?”

“Batman.” Kaldur says and there’s a noticeable relief in his tone. “We’ve been attempting contact.
We’re all safe and accounted for-”

“Who is he?” The audio takes on a graver, angrier quality and Damian realises it must be a video
call. This means Batman has already seen him.

Purposefully he turns his blindfolded head towards the sound of the monitor and gives the Batman
what he hopes is a severe but non-threatening look. He imagines the second aspect may be harder
to discern. Todd had once told him that when he drew, he looked like he planned to murder the
paper.

“We found him at the warehouse in East Gotham.” Robin pipes up. “Along with a machine of
possibly alien or Cadmus origin. We’ve got it on board-”

“I explicitly forbade you from pursuing that case.” There’s a frosty silence.

“I know.” Robin says eventually. “But that’s not important right now. Batman, he’s calling himself
Robin.”

Another silence. Damian longs to see even the faintest sliver of what emotions are flickering
beneath the cowl.

“Bring him in.” Batman says at last and the audio cuts out.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

Robin arrives at the team base and comes face to face with this universe's Batman.

Chapter Notes

WARNING: In this chapter Damian refers to Black Canary's job as a therapist as

'nonsense'. This is not my personal belief in any way shape or form, but just the
opinion this emotionally constipated pre-teen has formed for himself. She obviously
proves him wrong pretty quick.
Enjoy and leave a comment to keep me motivated (read: pressured).

Everything about this Batman is a stab in the chest.

Damian had remained blindfolded for another excruciating 30 minutes whilst they flew to what
must be this team’s base of operations. He knew they couldn’t be travelling to the Watchtower
because although the Martian vessel was fast and hardy, he would have felt the up-thrust and G-
force as they exited the atmosphere. Instead the rest of the journey was silent and felt practically
motionless as the tension between them all stagnated in the air.

“We’re here.” Kaldur had said quietly when they touched down and Damian had felt the belt
around him release, only to be instantly replaced by another tight grip on his bicep. He was yanked
to his feet and marched from the vessel, the hiss of the doors as they released them as low and
ominous as a snake.

As soon as he touched down on solid ground, felt that the air was still and contained, Damian
yanked his arm from his captor’s grip, objecting to being led like cattle. He is growing weary of
these plays at maturity from heroes who are still fresh out of civilian garb, who mimic their
mentors like children playing dress up. He hopes he’ll soon be rid of them and can work with those
with experience rather than suffer any longer in the throes of their teenage angst.

He told them so and wished he could relish the affronted looks on their faces. (It doesn’t occur to
him that this, in itself, is childish.)

Still, they relinquished their grip and eventually the blindfold followed along with it and Damian
found himself in the loading bay of what appeared to be a cavernous hollow cave. There had been a
few feeble attempts to shield his location (monitors extinguished, pin boards taped over) but
nothing can disguise the looming ragged stone walls and far-off susurrus of the sea: Damian knows
he is in Mount Justice, an ancient League base abandoned after its location was compromised.
Damian has never visited but he’s read the records on the ill-fated base and he supposes he
understands the theory of hiding in plain sight. It does figure, however, that Batman would place
this team here rather than expend it on anything useful.

So it is with his vision returned and a colourful flanked vanguard of teenage sidekicks that he
enters the heart of the mountain and finds an even more formidable and suspicious guard awaiting
him. Half a dozen heads turn as Damian and the team enter the main chamber but he only has eyes
for one. It appears that Batman only has eyes for him too.

He had never taken the time to catalogue the exact differences between his father’s Batman and
Grayson’s. He has always grudgingly believed that his mentor had done quite a good job of
imitating the old blood and most villains of Gotham had clearly thought the same as few ever
challenged the minute changes from Batman to Batman. Now the disparities are as clear as day.

There are minor physical differences, of course. This Batman is slightly taller, bulkier and there are
near invisible lines forming around his mouth, lips which are carved of stone and set like locks in
his square jaw. Looking at lips like that, Damian cannot imagine them ever stretching into an easy
smile the way Grayson’s do. He has a face like nothing human, chillingly cold and entirely
indiscernible from the cowl that clouds his features. Damian feels he could peel it away and find
nothing but a glaring skull beneath.

And there are so many things that are the same. The calculating gaze, the powerful stance, the
threatening aura like an oncoming storm. Grayson has mimicked all of these perfectly. But
unwittingly he has injected something more into his incarnation of the Dark Knight: life. Damian
can look at him and see more than the shadow in Gotham’s darkest alleyways; he can imagine
peeling away the mask and seeing the laughing features beneath. Grayson can shrug Batman on
and off like the trailing cloak. Certainly on occasions it tangles and it appears for a moment he’ll
remain ensconced in the shroud but he always tears free, no matter how clumsily or violently.

The man Damian sees before him has died in the shroud, shrivelled into the Kevlar. He is nothing
more than the Batman. He is nothing more to Damian.

Perhaps under different circumstances he’d appreciate the reunion. Damian misses his father in a
way he can’t control, even if logically he knows he’d never have truly become Robin or gained
Batman’s trust had it not been for his death. Unfortunately what he sees before him is simply the
Batman who always rejected him and that is torturous enough.

“Robin.” He says the name with such disdainful scepticism, Damian feels old flames of anger flare
up as if they were never extinguished. He restrains the urge to reply with a biting ‘father’, just to
remind him of the intrinsic link between them and instead keeps his voice as steady as possible.

“Batman.” He replies and is pleased to hear himself sound even and reasonable. “I believe we have
a sensitive situation on our hands.”

“And what situation is that?” Superman says. Behind him the Flash, Black Canary, Martian
Manhunter and Red Tornado lurk hesitantly. They are each gawping at him with their own brand of
disbelief. Well, all except Black Canary who is keeping a piercing eye on both himself, Batman
and Robin. She’s a therapist, he recalls, or a psychologist or some other nonsense of that sort. It
would be best to avoid her and her discerning gaze if he wishes to keep his secrets.

And he does. For the sake of this world’s future and possibly his own, he does.

“A situation in which I am not where I’m supposed to be.” He answers eventually. He’s hesitant to
entirely reveal his hypothesis. Even to his own mind, it sounds improbable. It should be
impossible.

“That’s obvious.” Robin scoffs and both Damian and Batman turn to look at him.

“Robin.” Batman says and he all but flinches. “Mission report.” Damian watches as he palpably
stiffens, all feeling draining from his face.

“We arrived at the warehouse at around midnight.” He lists off. “We conducted a sweep of the area
but encountered no threats besides an inexplicable road block outside the building with no evident
police monitoring. We found the machine unguarded and defenceless. I attempted to hack it-”

“You should have contacted the League.” Superman cuts him off angrily. “We had no clue of the
capabilities of that thing. What if you had triggered some sort of defence mechanism and it had
killed you all?”

“That’s what I said.” Mumbles Kid Flash but he is resoundingly ignored.

“Batman, if I may-” Aqualad begins but Batman does not allow him to finish.

“I wish to hear Robin’s version of events. He was, after all, the one who cleared this mission to you
without my authority. Continue.”

Robin has gone pale, but does as he’s ordered. “The surface tech I recognised but the deeper I
went, the more foreign and… well… alien the hardware became. I just thought I’d found a
loophole in the firewalls when the whole thing began to spark and alarms began blaring overhead.
A few seconds later he-” Robin gestures roughly to Damian. “-tumbled out.”

Batman seems to consider this for a moment before saying “Did he display aggression?”

Infuriated at being spoken about as if he’s not in the room, Damian snaps “Minor.” At the same
time as Kid Flash exclaims “He tried to kill Rob!”

With a sense of impending dread, Damian watches the iron grip of protectiveness invade every
inch of his father’s body. It’s an emotion he’s observed rarely displayed in his defence but often in
Grayson’s or Drake’s. The Batman is about to become unreasonable.

“It was in self-defence.” Damian says instantly, having to justify his violent instincts once more to
the man who helped plant them. “I was barely conscious and he appeared threatening. I did not
realise he was Robin.”

“I thought you were Robin.” Flash pipes up, ever the smart alec.

“I am.” He says with a weary snarl and watches their gazes sharpen at the admission. Suddenly the
scrutinising heat of their multitude of stares seems to burn into him. He’s not used to being around
so many heroes at once, let alone attempting to coalesce with them. Normally it’s just him and
Batman and they are so attuned, they could complete a patrol without needing to talk. Not that
Grayson ever would, as he feels impulse to vocalise every fleeting thought that enters his head…

Do not think about him right now, Damian chides himself fiercely. However, the affectionate
pangs continue to chime and their pain only encourages the ignorance of these heroes to rankle
further.

“I am willing to explain,” He says through gritted teeth. “to Batman and Robin. My presence
involves them and them alone. The rest of you are superfluous.”

“Super-what?” Kid Flash says and turns to Robin. “Am I right to feel insulted?”

“Yes.”

“Then hey! How dare you!”

“Superfluous.” Damian snaps. “Unnecessary. You are surplus, hence you are superfluous.”

“That is actually factually inaccurate.” Red Tornado says hollowly in refute. “Considering that we
have an excess of Robins, you are the one who is superfluous.”

Damian is so stunned he doesn’t even get angry. He has never heard Red Tornado speak in such a
way. Beside him Kid Flash snickers.

“Nice sass, RT!” He says, shooting him thumbs up that the Leaguer stiffly returns.

“Red Tornado is correct.” Batman says. “And any sensitive information disclosed I trust with
members of the Justice League. Team, you are dismissed.”

There is an immediate indignant outburst from the teenage heroes around him.

“What?”

“But we brought him in!”

“Batman, I don’t think it would be wise-”

“Like hell we’re dismissed, he slammed a staff into my ribs!”

No one is more insistent than Robin. “B, please.” He says and that sincere, manipulative edge
enters his voice as he stares up at Batman entreatingly. “I know you told me not to pursue it, but
this is my case now. You have to let me follow it through.”

“I’m not a case.” Damian seethes but he is ignored.

“I told you the League would investigate the creation of the machine. You went against my orders
and almost got yourself killed.” Batman growls and this is where Grayson would drop it, withdraw
and formulate a different battle strategy for a better time. Instead Robin continues to push.

“Batman.” He says seriously. “He knows my civilian id.”

Batman’s jaw clenches. Around them others drop. The caped crusader turns to Damian and he feels
his blood run cold.

“Is this true?” He says, voice as sharp as a knife.

Damian swallows thickly and when he speaks his voice is a rough whisper. “There are many
things I know. The identity of multiple League members is the least of the secrets I need to keep.”

“Do you see now why I need to be involved in this?” Robin says. “I’m personally implicated.”

“You’re personally compromised.” Batman barks, suddenly furious. “That is enough, Robin. You
have overstepped your bounds tonight and acted rashly with no consideration of the implications on
yourself and your team. You are dismissed.”

“But-” He begins.

“You. Are. Dismissed.” Batman bites out each word.

Robin bows his head, mouth trembling. An awkward silence falls across the room.

Damian can only watch the standoff with wide eyes. The way Batman just reprimanded Robin is
both uncharacteristic and yet completely familiar. It is the exact way his father had used to scold
Damian, the same harsh belittling tone and cumbersome inflictions of responsibility. However he
has never heard him speak that way to Grayson.

Grayson, who, to Damian’s great rancour, could do no wrong. Grayson, who was always held in
father’s greatest confidence and could calm or lead him with a look. It should be satisfying to see
the shoe on the other foot and watch him rip the ‘Golden Boy’ of the family apart for once but
infuriatingly Damian cannot even enjoy the moment because of Batman’s unserviceable
obtuseness.

“Robin needs to hear this.” He says, just as it looks like he’s about to turn to leave. Batman’s
molten glare turns to him.

“You are not our guest, you are in our custody.” He reminds him. “Why should we do anything to
indulge you?”

“Because you want answers.” Black Canary speaks up, voice deceptively soft and benign. To
Damian’s surprise, she walks forward to him and holds out a hand. Immediately there are noises of
alarm from the other heroes and Damian himself cannot help but eye the hand with reservation,
concerned that it’s a trap. However Black Canary’s face is so non-patronising, she doesn’t even
force a smile, and so empty of inhibition that the sheer novelty compels him to shake.

Her grip is firm and supportive. “Hello, Robin. My name is Black Canary.”

“I know.” He says.

“I’m sorry about all this.” She says. “Batman can get a little paranoid.”

“I know that too.” He says wryly.

She laughs, a light, pleasant sound. It reminds Damian of another laugh. “I feel as if there’s a lot
you know.” She says. “And not just about us.” Turning back to Batman, her voice becomes more
authoritative. “See how reasonable we can be when we talk to each other respectfully? You want to
know who this boy is and where he’s come from. He wants Robin to stay. It doesn’t take a genius
to see the compromise.”

For the first time, no one says anything; even Batman has been left grudgingly speechless. Damian
grasps the opportunity.

“Robin must stay, that is non-negotiable. However, I would be willing to allow others to remain if
they vowed confidentiality.”

“Nothing leaves this base.” Batman promises.

“On pain of death.” Damian says, charging enough gravity into his voice that all listening know
that this is a promise, not a condition. There is a scattering of nods.

“Then Robin may remain.” Batman concedes gruffly.

“Hold up,” Artemis says. “Only Robin?”

“We brought him in.” Superboy reiterates.

“Technically I allowed myself to be brought in.” Damian says but no one seems to care for this
technicality.
“I’ll only stay if my team stays.” Robin says, grin back in place. “You know I’ll tell them
everything anyway, B.”

Damian doesn’t think he likes the idea of a bunch of glorified sidekicks learning information that
could change their entire stream of existence, but if it gets Robin to stay he’s willing to stomach it.
Batman considers for a moment.

“Fine.” He says and Robin and Kid Flash high-five. “But you must all swear complete silence on
anything shared surrounding this case. If any of you disclose anything without my permission, it
won’t be him you need to worry about.”

There’s a series of frightened squeaks of agreement and Batman focuses on Damian. “Well?” He
says. “Does that meet your conditions?”

He nods stiffly.

“Then who are you? And where have you come from?”

Damian lets his eyes drift across the audience of heroes. They’re not the first people he’d look for
in solving a multidimensional crisis but he supposes they’ll have to do. After all, in this universe he
is not Robin and Grayson is not Batman. This is the best they’ve got.

“I am the vigilante known as Robin.” He says. “And I believe I have travelled to a parallel
universe.”
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

The interrogation continues and typically takes a turn for the worse for Damian.

Chapter Notes

Phew has it been a while. Really sorry for the long break I was on holiday but was
paranoid enough not to want to broadcast that on the internet :D
I swear this fic is going somewhere!! It is!! I have a plot!! The problem is I care about
it so much I want to cover everything and sometimes that comes across a little waffley,
sorry
Hope you enjoy! Drop a comment to tell me what you think

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There’s an earth-shattering silence as the words slowly sink in like the tip of an arrow.

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Batman says at last but Damian can tell that the cogs are
already whirring in his industrial brain. He doubts there’s anything Batman won’t believe anymore.

“I had trouble accepting it as well.” Damian confesses. “But to me it is the only viable theory. I fell
through a machine and travelled through what I can only describe as a space-time void. I found
myself in a world that closely echoes the past of my own, only with some undeniable errors.”

“That’s why you asked the date.” Artemis says. “Because you suspected you had what- time
travelled?”

Damian nods. “Stranger things have happened in Gotham.”

Succinctly and deliberately vague, he explains the series of events that had led himself and Batman
to the warehouse that night and the ensuing fight that sent him tumbling into their world. With each
description of the small army they’d battled and the supervillains involved, Batman looks more
and more dire.

Damian does not mention that his Batman is not the same person as this Batman. He doesn’t
consider it relevant or productive to the task at hand.

“I recognised Robin immediately, both as a hero and as his civilian ID; only where I am from he’s
older, perhaps by a decade.” He says, risking a glance at Robin and struggling not to superimpose
the image of his mentor in his place. “However, I had no recollection of the heroes Artemis, Miss
Martian or Aqualad ever working with him and the Superboy I know is younger and lacking a
considerable amount of muscle definition.”

“Sucks to be you, Supes.” Kid Flash snickers whilst the Kryptonian clone appears to internally
debate whether a jab at his parallel self is a jab at him. “What about me, changeling Robin? What’s
the dashing Kid Flash like where you’re from?”

“Don’t call me that.” Damian says warningly. “And if you ask me, you should take a leaf out of his
book. He doesn’t talk as much.” It’s as close to ‘drop dead’ as he thinks he can hazard. “Together
these minute disparities have led me to believe that by falling through that machine, I have
inadvertently travelled to a parallel ‘sister’ universe, if you will. One so similar that mine is
practically the future of yours.”

“That’s one hell of a theory.” Superman says slowly once he’s finished. “And the implications if
you’re right are staggering.”

The Martian Manhunter nods. “Even highly sophisticated alien races have not yet mastered the art
of travelling through dimensions. Humans should be centuries away from such technology.”

“You’d be surprised at the human capability to defy expectations when pursuing what they want.”
Black Canary says thoughtfully. “An ability that can be both a blessing and a curse.”

“Were you and… Batman able to discover who was responsible for the creation of your machine?”
Batman asks. He’s still looking at Damian as if he can’t decide whether to trust him or run him
through.

“No.” He admits, shaking his head, eyebrows knitting in concentration. “But the Riddler did
provide one of his inane puzzles which might hold the key.”

He recites it and their company falls into a contemplative silence as they all try to make some
sense of what, on the surface, sounds like the ravings of a madman.

“I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you but you cannot feel me. I reveal
everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?” Robin echoes, a hand resting on his
chin. “That does sound like something the Riddler would concoct.”

“Do you believe me now?” Damian says with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh, I believe you.” Robin says and Damian is momentarily taken aback by his surety. “In fact I
think this is the first straight answer you’ve given us since you dangled me from the rafters of that
warehouse.” Batman’s scowl deepens slightly and Damian feels his own spring up to mirror it.
How typical that this is the thanks he gets for saving Grayson’s life. “But B, I really think we’re
overlooking-”

“How do we know you’re telling us the truth?” Batman says abruptly, cutting him off. Robin’s
mouth hangs open for a moment, words dangling listlessly on his tongue before he snaps it shut
again with a furious simmer. “Can you provide any evidence besides your word?”

Damian can tell from his tone just how little his ‘word’ means to him. “The machine I convinced
your team to bring with me is one example. As you heard from Robin’s assessment, its completely
alien design-”

“-means it could have been placed there by anyone for any purpose.” Batman says smoothly. “And
since creating a portal to a parallel universe should be impossible, we have no way of ascertaining
whether or not it is one.”

Damian nods his head, conceding the point. He’s fine with a challenge. He’d be sceptical in
Batman’s place as well. “Fine. I know your civilian identity.”

“A concerning security breach but not evidence of dimension travel.” Batman frowns almost
patronisingly. “Several people in this room know that information. Why should it mean so much
coming from you?”

Because I know how scared you are of it, Damian internally seethes, and how careful you are to
keep it hidden. That barely any villains in the world know of Batman’s civilian id is no miracle: it’s
the result of years of stringent secrecy and constant vigilance to create an unbridgeable dichotomy
between Batman and Bruce Wayne. It is the one mystery the World’s Greatest Detective is most
eager to remain unsolved.

Damian has also heard he only became so obsessed after he took on Robin. A different approach,
in that case. “I know Robin’s secret identity.” He says and is frustrated when Batman’s visage
offers no change.

“I should hope so.” He says. “He told me so himself. It’s not like Robin to make two mistakes in
one evening.”

Robin flinches and Damian is surprised to find his own teeth beginning to clench. It had begun
pleasing to see Grayson chastised by his father after so long appearing infallible to the man but
now it’s becoming increasingly an issue of pride to witness his mentor belittled.

“I know the security codes to this compound.”

“I thought you said you were from a decade in the future? The codes change monthly.”

Damian internally curses himself. How could he possibly forget that? His mind is beginning to
fuzz around the edges, he realises, as the pain of his accumulated wounds and the stress and fear
begin to catch up with him. It’s late, well past midnight. Damian prides himself on working well
under pressure but this whole farce is just irritating.

“What can I do to prove myself?” He asks, remembering with an increase in displeasure how he’d
hoped never to have to ask his father that question again. “You are clearly attempting to undermine
me and my theory. What do you need to believe me?”

“This isn’t a matter of proving yourself, Robin.” Black Canary says soothingly, glancing from him
to Batman with a steel scrutiny. “We’re just exploring all the options.”

“Yeah, like that he might be a Cadmus Clone.”

In-sync they all turn to look at Kid Flash, who must have dipped out to get a snack at some point
during the conversation as he’s holding a half-eaten banana and looking very disinterested in the
proceedings. When he notices they’re all looking at him, he swallows his mouthful with a gulp.
“Or were we not supposed to say that?”

“Dude!” Robin hisses incredulously, elbowing his friend in the shoulder. “No! Absolutely not.
He’s nothing like me!”

“I mean… he’s a bit like you.” Kid Flash says, and then quails beneath his glare. “Come on, Rob!
He’s calling himself Rob! Plus he’s totally got your whole ninja thing going on.”

“He did disappear much like you do earlier in the warehouse.” Aqualad points out and the rest of
the team cautiously nod in agreement.

“Great to know that you guys are on my side.” Robin says bitterly.

“I wasn’t aware Cadmus produced clones.” Damian says, turning to capture the response from
Batman.

He instantly notices the way Batman has alighted upon the theory. He’s descended into a
contemplative stillness as he scrutinises Damian with new interest, eyes roaming from him to
Robin as if searching for similarities. Robin notices too.

“Batman, there’s no way.” He grits out. “We look nothing alike, he tried to kill me-”

“It’s possible.” Batman muses and the single phrase causes Robin to bury his face in his hands and
a vein to pulse in Damian’s neck.

Batman is stringent to the extreme when it comes to possibilities. If he’s even considering this
theory, then he will pursue it, chase it down and gnaw every scrap of evidence off its bones. Until
that moment, he’s indefatigable.

“You truly believe I’m a clone of him!?” Damian says, gesturing violently to himself and then
Robin to punctuate his point. “I will not stand here and be insulted!”

“First of all, not an insult you homicidal gremlin,” Robin says. “And second, he just provided us
with an entirely viable theory, if not one that raises concerning questions. Speaking of which, can
we stop to consider-”

“When was the last time you could possibly have had a DNA sample extracted?” Batman
questions, already turning away to the black screen behind him and booting it back to life.

Robin lets out a long sigh through his nose. “I’m not certain. When we broke Superboy out and
destroyed the original Cadmus labs, they were planning to create clones of KF, Aqualad and I but
they didn’t get a chance to finish.”

“Finish what?”

He hesitates. “The extraction process. But I blew up the cloning chambers before we left. There
shouldn’t have been any DNA remaining.”

“Let’s say there was.” Batman says, bringing up a mission report on the monitor and summoning
three different articles on cloning for good measure. “That was approximately 7 months ago. We
believed we had taken every scientist working there into custody but we had no register of the
genomorphs, meaning some may have been able to escape with the incomplete structure of Robin’s
DNA.”

“Superboy,” Superman says, and despite his looks of perplexity, the sidekick puffs out his chest at
being addressed. “Would it be possible for someone emulating Cadmus’ cloning technology to
create a clone of Robin in such a short space of time?”

He frowns and Damian is vindictively reminded of a toddler trying to count past 10. “Maybe…
they have growth accelerators. It doesn’t explain why he looks younger though, and normally the
physical resemblance is more uncanny.”

“Perhaps due to the incomplete nature of the DNA sample?” Red Tornado queries in his
emotionless tone.

“Or perhaps to throw us off the scent. Make us believe his sob story about parallel universes and
the future.” Flash suggests.

“A story so outlandish they’d hope we wouldn’t even question it.” Batman agrees, already sombre
as if regretting he could have been so easily swayed.

“I am not lying to you.” Damian protests.

“But neither was Red Arrow,” Artemis says, eyes glimmering furtively at the older heroes. “He
had no clue he was a clone because they fed him false memories. Maybe they’ve done the same to
this Robin; invented a crazy backstory and placed him here as a sleeper agent.”

“I have no clue who this ‘Red Arrow’ is,” Damian seethes, feeling the bruises on his face ache as
they crease into a snarl. “But I assure you, my memories are real. All we’ve discerned so far is that
Robin may or may not have a clandestine clone somewhere in the world. There is no real evidence
to prove it’s me.”

“Then you’ll be willing to provide us with a DNA sample?” Batman asks and Damian’s blood runs
cold.

Throughout Damian’s life his genetic structure has always been more trouble than its worth. What
would his father do if he realised he was his son? Surely he wouldn’t harm him, he thinks uneasily,
but memories of the initial distrust he displayed when Damian first went to live with his father
surface in his mind and he doubts the reception will be much warmer than it was then.

Besides, there’s always a chance that in this parallel universe he isn’t born yet. Damian’s in no way
an egotist but he likes the idea of being alive whether it’s in his world or beyond. Maybe that’s why
I was sent here, he thinks suddenly, in an attempt to prevent my own birth by forewarning my
father. It would be a mighty convoluted and risky plan if that were the case so he doubts it but even
the idea of the accident of his birth being averted makes Damian feel… wrong, that all-pervasive
wrongness he’d felt travelling through the portal.

He can’t let it happen, he decides determinedly, because if I do, Drake will remain Robin and
Gotham will be plunged into anarchy under his incompetence.

“I… I can’t do that.” He says stiffly, crossing his arms. “That would be compromising information,
the kind that could severely disrupt your timeline. Besides, it’s a major breach of privacy. I have a
secret identity too, you know, and you’ve no right to take it from me.”

“That timeline excuse is beginning to sound less and less legit.” Flash says and Batman clearly
thinks so too from the way his own arms cross beneath his cloak, unknowingly mimicking his son.

“Your reluctance to co-operate isn’t helping your cause.” He growls. “Will you provide us with the
evidence we need or will we be forced to take matters into our own hands?”

The threat does little for Damian but Black Canary looks at Batman in alarm. “Batman, he’s a
child.” She says. “Younger than Robin!”

“We get it, I’m 14.” Robin mutters mutinously and despite everything, Damian raises an eyebrow.

“14? Is it not February? I know I joke that you’re lacking brain cells, Robin, but surely you can
remember your own birthday?”

“Yeah.” He says slowly. “November 11 th. I turned 14 last year.”

“Your birthday’s March 20 th.” Damian insists stubbornly.

“I think I’d remember my own birthday.” Robin retorts coldly and he relents. He doesn’t like that
even something so small is different about this Grayson. Perhaps that’s the reason why this group
 was never formed in Damian’s world: the few months difference were enough to convince Batman
that Robin was too young.

There’s really no point speculating, Damian thinks firmly, and he doesn’t really care about
Grayson’s birthday. It’s just unnerving is all, like a discordant note in a familiar song.

“You might think he’s a clone,” Black Canary continues, “But manhandle that kid and you’ve got a
human rights violation on your hands.”

“Moreover, Superboy and Red Arrow were as much victims of Cadmus as we were.” Martian
Manhunter says, looking sympathetically at Damian in a way that makes him want to kick him in
the oversized cranium.

“Give him some time to mull it all over and then ask again for that sample.” Black Canary
suggests. “In the meantime, we’ll investigate the machine and see if this incident is linked to any...
recent conflicts.”

“You mean we’ll investigate the machine.” Superboy says. “We brought it in, not the League.”

“I think you’ll find I’ll investigate the machine.” Damian says snappishly. “Since it has displaced
me from my world, not the League. If you think for a second I’ll be content to mull over your
generous offer of a sure-fire way to obliterate your timeline, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“And if you think we’ll let a potential sleeper agent be involved in League business, you’re sorely
mistaken.” Superman says.

Every hero in the room besides Robin is looking at him with an identical mask of mistrust and
accusation. They really think I’m a clone, Damian thinks. They truly don’t trust me. They don’t
believe I’m Robin.

Why does that still hurt? He wonders. Why do I keep on allowing it to hurt? I should be stronger
and surer than this.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly comfortable.” Batman says, as if that should consolidate Damian
to the idea of his future going up in smoke. Turning to the Martian Manhunter’s sidekick, he
implores “Miss M?”

She dithers nervously before raising her fingers to her temple. “I’m really sorry.” She says and as
her eyes begin to glow, Damian realises too late what’s about to happen and scrambles to rebuild
his mental fortitudes.

“M’gann, don’t!” Grayson says at the same time as Damian here’s a powerful voice in his mind
say “SLEEP.”

His vision dims. He begins to crumple, unknown hands catching him before he touches the floor.
The last thing he hears is Grayson’s indignant cry of “Batman!” before succumbing to
unconsciousness.

Chapter End Notes

So I googled Dick's birthday to try and calculate his age and apparently he's got two
canon birthdays, 11th of November and the 20th of March?? Batman Dick Grayson's is
definitely the 20th of March so I thought that'd just be a fun lil thing to insert in there :)
Thanks for reading!!
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

Damian wakes and plans his investigation. The team is faced with a difficult choice:
follow the League, or their guts?

Chapter Notes

Note: Damian says mean things about other heroes. These are not representative of my
idea of these heroes. I love everyone in both the Bat family, Teen Titans and Young
Justice. Damian is just a lot of salt concentrated in a tiny body.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Damian seldom dreams.

Dreams are a denotation of a disturbed mental state and Damian practices regular meditation and
an immaculate diet and exercise regime to ensure he doesn’t succumb to such frailty of mind.
However, an alien-induced slumber doesn’t make for restful sleep and so Damian, even to his lucid
sleep-self’s surprise, finds himself dreaming.

He dreams he’s at home, in the manor, sitting at the grand table in the dining hall. Every one of
Gotham’s bat vigilantes are seated around him and that is the first thing that assures him that he is
in a dream; no measure of puppy-dog eyes or bribery on Grayson’s part could ever convince Todd
to sit so peacefully next to Drake beneath the watchful eyes of the Wayne family portraits. Yet
somehow, although he knows he’s dreaming, Damian doesn’t feel the need to do or say anything.
He just observes.

Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown are swapping food from each other’s plates, chewing with
their mouths wide open in laughter. It’s mildly repulsive. Barbara Gordon and Drake are
comparing something on tablet screens, perhaps mission reports. Every now and again they’ll
elbow each other affectionately or clink glasses with appropriated smugness. Selina Kyle is there,
for some reason, stroking Alfred the Cat’s head with gleaming red nails and accepting a refill of
red wine from Alfred the Butler who is smiling genially, looking more at peace than Damian has
seen him since his father’s death.

And Grayson is at the head of the table, laughing at something Todd has said and then passing on
the comment to Alfred who smiles and shakes his head indulgently. His eyes alight on Gordon and
Drake and he tells them off kindly, ‘No hero business at the dinner table!’ and everybody laughs in
unison, their bright eyes and teeth glittering under the dazzling refractions of the chandelier. He’s
wearing the smile Damian keeps seeing in the mirror. He looks safe and content and Damian
realises he feels exactly the same way.

The rest of the meal passes sleepily by. No one seems to really eat. Before Damian knows it,
Grayson has lifted him from his chair and even though he acknowledges the indignity of it, in a
very real sense he’s grateful for the comforting embrace of his arms. His mother has never held
him like this, he thinks.

He’s deposited gently onto his bed and Grayson smooths back his hair before he closes the door,
saying something that makes Damian grumble but inwardly glow all the same. This is a dream, he
thinks, as the door swings shut and his partner’s figure retreats back into the warm glow of Wayne
Manor. I don’t want to wake up.

He wakes up, still expecting to hear Titus scrabbling against the door. All the warmth and comfort
leaches from him as if he’s just been dumped in an ice bath and the pain of his wounds racks him
in a sudden, physical jolt. Wincing, he sits up on his canvas cot and finds himself in a barren room
reminiscent of a cell, one wall hewn from rough rock and the others made of smooth, bare
concrete.

There’s no camera, so Damian assumes this would ordinarily be a private room repurposed, and
one door with a digital lock that he gives a futile tug, unsurprised to find it locked tight. He’s being
treated like a prisoner, he fumes, shaking off the final dregs of sleep and being left with a cold,
frustrated fury at the ridiculous nature of his situation. Luckily he can also feel that his mental
faculties are back to more or less full capacity, the few hours of involuntary sleep having done him
more good than he’d like to admit.

However, it appears he has been relieved of his gloves, wrist computer and utility belt as he slept.
His escrima sticks were confiscated when he was first taken prisoner but luckily the heroes have
neglected to remove his boots, perhaps unwilling to force him to walk barefoot, which is their
mistake: he has a blade and security override USB drive hidden beneath each sole.

For the first time, he takes arsenal of his injuries and is relieved to find they consist mainly of flesh
wounds and have ceased their sluggish bleeding. As he probes each ache and pain, he also
ascertains that nothing is broken which is good so he’ll need little medical attention besides a few
simple stitches in his arm and perhaps a plaster or two.

Still, it would be a nuisance if any of his wounds got infected so he decides to see to them first.
After that, he intends to hack into one of the computers and bring up mission reports and a map of
the area, access the League Database if he can though he has never had much patience for
developing a hunch over a computer screen like Drake. It’s the beginning of a plan and Damian is
pleased to feel his mind focused and collected again. It’s practically mortifying looking back on his
composure the night before. He’d been practically a Grayson-level of hysterical.

As soon as he thinks the name he wonders whether he should attempt to involve him in his
investigation. His gut says yes but logically he thinks he shouldn’t. Not only would he probably
insist on roping in his intolerable team of care-bear sidekicks (and that Martian really sets Damian
on edge) but although he doesn’t suspect him to be a clone, he’s withholding his trust for other
reasons.

Ones Damian aren’t sure of yet, which troubles him, making him frown as he shimmies the blade
from his shoe, hiding it amongst his armour for easy access. Up until this point, Grayson has been
the only one from whom he could ensure trust.

The lock is almost laughably easy to disable: Damian plies it open with his knife and slashes the
appropriate wires until the thing caves and he scampers out, immediately blending in with the
shadows. Camera in that corner, another down the hall. If he had his wrist computer, he might have
a hope of disabling them but as it stands he’s perfectly well trained to evade such simple security
systems.

He travels this way, ducking and rolling enough to make Grayson proud and his head pound, until
he comes upon a flight of stairs and wagers the medical bay will be down rather than up, for easy
access. No point toting a hero who’s bleeding out through the whole mountain before treating
them.

He finds the loading bay and the Martian ship he was escorted here in, knowing if it wasn’t alive
he’d give it a vengeful kick for the sake of it. Sure enough, the medical bay is adjoining and
deserted; two rows of clean, white beds and a cabinet stocked to the brim with everything Damian
could need.

He cleans his wounds assiduously and tries not to wince from the cool sting of the alcohol and the
raw scent of it lingering to the cuts on his cheek. He doesn’t bother trying to control his hisses as
he sews the bigger lacerations shut: Todd had told him once when he didn’t, he looked like a
toddler trying to develop heat vision. An unfavourable comparison, but not an overall inaccurate
one.

Once he’s finished and still no one has disturbed him, he decides he may as well take the time to
close some of the larger tears in his uniform. Needlework is an enriching and practical skill, he
thinks stoically as he expertly weaves the pin in and out of the cloth and watches it close up like a
scar. Alfred has told him so many times on the occasions they sit down together and practice. It’s
not regular, Damian doesn’t often have much time for colluding with the hired help, but he has
found it therapeutic the few times they’ve managed to embroider together.

Of course this was mainly because Alfred didn’t feel the need to fill the air with talk. They had
been planning to move on to knitting next time, Damian thinks somewhat wistfully. He was going
to craft himself a navy scarf, like the kind his father and Grayson always wear…

“Just fixing up the bikes!”

He’s so lost in nostalgic thought, he almost doesn’t duck when the doors to the loading bay open
with a metallic groan. The thread he was using snags on his chest plate and he rips it savagely in
two, wondering what on earth someone could be doing with the vehicles so early in the morning?

A minute later, back in the hallway with his wounds attended to, he wishes he hadn’t asked.

“Repulsive.” He mutters to himself, feeling mildly queasy. “They’re supposed to be teammates.

How wildly unprofessional.”

He almost wishes Drake were there just so he could rub it in his face that his parallel-universe
boyfriend was currently locking lips with some telekinetic Martian between the motorcycles. Then
again, he’s almost grown used to coming upon his predecessor and the clone entangled in some
corner and this only makes what was already a disturbing scene all the more horrific: it feels like a
betrayal not only to Drake, but to Damian’s normalcy.

He genuinely does wish Drake were there when he makes it into what he can only describe as the
‘control centre’ of the cave and has to wrangle the computer. When he enters the lights are dimmed
and the outer perimeter of the room is bathed in shadow so Damian waits, listening intently for any
signs of life before creeping forward on light feet. He’s not going to let Grayson get the jump on
him a second time, even if he is the family’s resident twinkle-toes. He has work to do.

Someone has left the largest monitor on but it demands a passcode which Damian doesn’t even
attempt to guess in case it automatically locks him out. The passwords Batman and hence the
League uses are random nonsense and he can only recall the ones in the last few months, never
mind the last 10 years. Taking out his security override USB, he considers whether it’s worth
expending on this search. He’ll only get one use out of it and he isn’t confident he even knows
what he’s looking for…

In the end, he tucks it back into his boot and cracks his knuckles.

“Alright.” He says softly, resting his fingers on the keyboard the way one might on piano keys
before playing a concerto. “Let’s see if you can stand up to the great Damian Wayne. This can’t be
that different from the Batcomputer.”

It is very different from the Batcomputer. Damian is not a bad hacker by any means. Every hero in
Gotham has sufficient tech expertise and could certainly code their way in and out of a locked
Justice League computer without leaving a trace. Drake is the best programmer, Damian will
grudgingly admit, although this does not prevent him from being the most forgettable Robin. And
Gordon practically lives online, having constructed enough search algorithms to have the entire
combined knowledge of the internet at her fingertips.

Grayson is by far the best hacker and general wreaker of technological destruction. If Drake could
construct a computer program in 10 minutes, Grayson could dismantle it in half that time. He’d
tried to get Damian interested in computers and fire walls but having grown up in a world where
technology was practically obsolete, he didn’t take to it. Now he’s wishing he’d paid a little more
attention.

He slams his fist down on the table and sighs through his nose, all stealth forgotten. This computer
is somehow both outdated and 10 steps ahead of him. Moreover the text is in a grating shade of
orange which itches his eyes and makes it all too tempting to bash the screen in. Whoever made
that call will be receiving a very strongly worded email and then a follow up batarang to the
jugular. Damian may not be able to torture this infernal device but people are not so complicated.

He’s just about to throw himself at the firewall for the fifth time when the hair on the back of his
neck stands on end. In the reflection of the monitor, a disembodied hand emerges from behind
Damian’s shoulder and before he has time to feel even a hint of shock or fear, he has lashed out and
flipped it over his shoulder causing the rest of the body to slam into the ground with a crash.

“Ouch.” It whines and Damian has his forearm forced against its neck before he realises he’s
standing over Robin.

That was much easier than anything kind of hacking or programming, he thinks, offering the Boy
Wonder a hand which he pushes aside before rising elegantly to his feet. For one thing, he’s now
making a big show of clutching his torso and gives Damian a reproachful look that grants him
more fulfilment than dismantling any security system could. The humming and whirring of a
computer cannot substitute the vocalisation of human pain.

For another he now has Grayson exactly where he wants him: in front of a screen. “Tell me the
passcode for this computer.” He orders.

Robin looks as if he hasn’t slept, although it’s hard to tell behind the mask, and the glare he shoots
Damian is one you might give to the sleep-paralysis demon lurking at the end of your bed for the
fourth time that week. “An apology might be nice. I cracked my back in like, 5 different places.
Gonna have to reschedule my chiropractor’s appointment.”

“You’ve already walked it off.” Damian snorts. “Passcode. Now.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of parallel universe you come from, but here in the land of the
luded-”
“The what?” Damian thinks he must have misheard him. There is no way a word just came out of
Robin’s mouth. “Who are ‘the luded’? Is the earth being run by alien overlords known as ‘the
luded’? Does humanity still exist autonomously?”

Robin looks at him for a moment, the unblinking whites of his domino mask giving a static effect
that makes Damian afraid someone is re-wiring his brain. Then he splutters. A hand flies up to try
and smother his giggles. Soon enough he’s cackling without such maniacal vigour, Damian still
isn’t sure nothing’s wrong with him. The sound of it reverberates around the cavernous roof of the
mountain like the chattering of bats and Damian is reminded acutely of home.

“Alien overlords!” He crows, back forgotten as he is wracked with laughter. “Only a bat could be
that paranoid. Damn kid, you are who you say you are.”

“Then what is ‘the luded’?” Damian demands crossly, more irritated at missing the joke than it
being at his expense.

“Luded! Like deluded.” Robin explains. “Remove the prefix and you get an antonym of the
original word. You’re deluded, we’re luded.”

“That is not a word.” Damian objects. “And don’t think for a second you’ve distracted me from
getting that passcode. I need access to the mission reports if I want to get home.”

“Well why do you think I’d know them?” Robin says, still grinning with mirth. “Bats doesn’t trust
me with anything these days. He’s got me on a tighter leash than Wolf.”

“Of course you’d know them.” Damian says, taken aback. “You’re Robin.”

“Yeah, well.” Robin chuckles again but this time there’s a more bitter edge to his voice. “Maybe
Robin works differently where you’re from.”

Damian opens his mouth to demand what he means when he’s cut off by a sudden blur of lurid
yellow and Kid Flash materialises at Robin’s shoulder. He’s tossing crisps into his mouth and
looking so bored, he doesn’t even notice Damian at first.

“Hey man,” He begins to Robin. “Artemis heard you laugh so she made me check to see what you
were doing. She says if we do even one more thing to upset the boss-man-” It’s at this moment that
he catches sight of Damian and his eyes widen, the crisp packet falling pathetically to the ground.

Before Robin has a chance to explain, he’s hightailed out of there shouting “Oh holy- guys, the
prisoner’s escaped!”

“Prisoner?” Damian lets out a small –tt- at the sound of that. “I wasn’t aware I was being treated as
a hostile.”

“You escaped, didn’t you?” Robin says dismissively. “You think we’d put you in a room you
could escape if we considered you a prisoner? Kid’s just still sore you slammed him in the ribs.”

Damian gives an internal cackle of his own. “Literally.”

Within seconds, the rest of the team has flooded into the room and are all staring at Damian with
varying looks of hostility and dismay. Aqualad places down his water-bearers in what he probably
intended to be a friendly gesture, but it’s offset by Artemis’ arrow trained at his forehead and the
way Superboy is cracking his neck, looking like a bull ready to charge.

“Remain calm, my friend.” Aqualad says. “Step away from Robin. We can talk.”
Damian reaches for his escrima sticks only to curse when he finds they aren’t there. Luckily, Robin
is the one who defuses the situation.

“Hey, Kal, do you know the passcode for this thing?” He asks, jabbing a thumb at the computer.
“Only murder-me wants to read all our mission reports and I’m trying to get him in.”

Kaldure blinks. “Robin, wha-”

“Never mind.” He trills, tapping one key and watching as the screen floods with code. “I’ve got a
pre-set override sequence for this monitor.” A second later, a bubble pops up reading ‘ACCESS
GRANTED’.

“Robin, what are you doing?” Artemis demands, sounding slightly shrill.

“What the rest of you will not.” Damian snaps, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Robin is aware that
helping my investigation is the only way to return me to my world.”

Kid Flash groans. “Rob, not this again. I’ve spent all night trying to convince you to drop it. He’s a
clone! A Cadmus clone! Being Robin, the whole parallel universe thing- it’s all baloney!”

Robin doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes trained on the screen and finger clicking erratically at
the mouse, but his jaw clenches.

“It’s fine if you don’t believe us.” Miss M says kindly, holding her hands open as if to welcome
him into an embrace. “But the whole League’s in agreement. Surely you trust their judgement,
Batman’s judgement.”

“Batman is not infallible.” Damian says immediately. He would know. He has half his genetics.

“Of course you’d say that.” Superboy scoffs. “You just want us to turn against each other.”

“You’ve got lipstick on your nose.” Damian observes coolly and watches as both he and the
Martian turn beet red.

“Fixing the bikes.” Robin mutters derisively, without glancing up but Damian’s glad to see the way
his lips twitch. “Yeah, right.”

“You were spying on us!” Superboy says, furiously.

“Don’t act as if it’s such a major breach of privacy. Not comparable to having someone knock you
out from inside your own head.”

If it were possible, Miss M blushes even further. “Sorry.” She mumbles, twiddling her thumbs. She
reminds Damian a little of Starfire, another flying redheaded alien he knows. He idly wonders
whether she exists in this world. Hopefully not. She’s an acceptable hero, but a substandard
girlfriend for the (future) Batman.

“That was a necessity, Robin.” Aqualad says. “Don’t try and tell me you’d have come quietly.”

“As if.” Damian says, a phrase he’s picked up from Brown who uses it to the point of affectation.
“I need to find my way home and I don’t know how long I have to do so. Perhaps once I have all
the League data surrounding the machine and its origins, I can find a way to reverse its function.”

The sidekicks suddenly look uncomfortable, giving each other sideways glances and dropping
from their defensive stances.
“What?” Damian questions, ramping up his own. “What is it?”

“Ooo.” Artemis winces, sounding not at all sympathetic. “About that…”

“The League has it.” Robin says shortly and all the air leaves Damian in a rush.

“What?”

“We tried to convince them to let us keep it.” Aqualad sounds frustrated for the first time. “It’s our
case. But they would not listen. They said they were taking it to a secure location where it would
not fall into enemy hands.”

“I tried to reason with them.” Robin says, speaking directly to Damian. He’s stepped away from
the computer now and is looking generally disaffected. “Unfortunately, Batman isn’t acting
reasonably.”

“I need that machine.” Damian says, sounding desperate even to his own ears. “It’s my only lead.
Without it I have no idea how to return to my world.”

“He sounds very upset.” Miss M says anxiously. “And homesick.”

“What home does he have to feel sick for?” Artemis asks, with a touch of cynicism. “A test tube?”

“I’m not a clone!” Damian roars. “My home is a place with the people who fight by my side and
right now, it is worlds away. And no matter whether you attempt to stop me or stay out of my way,
nothing you can do will prevent me from returning to it.”

They all look a little stunned and more uneasy. Damian notices the way they look to Aqualad for
guidance but his own eyes are trained to the ground, looking both cowed and torn. It is Robin who
speaks up.

“Is it really so far-fetched?” He asks and Damian recognises the way they now all gaze at him like
lost sheep, already half-prepared to follow his lead. “As a team we’ve fought magic and robots and
you draw the line at time travel? I’ve thought about it and him being a clone just doesn’t make
sense. Why would Cadmus create a sleeper agent who wants to escape the people he’s supposed to
be spying on? And why use a prop so complicated that the greatest tech experts in the Justice
League can’t figure out how it works just to back up his convoluted storyline?”

“Those radioactive substances couldn’t have been safe or cheap to build with.” Kid Flash admits,
tapping his chin contemplatively. The others are beginning to nod and agree. Grayson is working
his magic.

“Exactly.” He says firmly, his smile at the affirmation acting as a mental pat on the back for Kid
Flash. “Believe me, I don’t like that he’s masquerading as Robin,”

“What?” Damian says, the abrupt turn of the speech surprising him. He is resoundingly ignored
and Robin carries on:

“But he’s right that we should get him back to his own time before we do some serious damage to
the time-space continuum.” He wiggles his fingers explanatorily. “Y’know, wibbly-wobbly timey-
wimey stuff. And who knows, this could be a massive conspiracy, one that really does threaten the
safety of the entire dimension.”

“Forget heroes of earth, we could be saviours of reality.” Artemis says slowly, awe beginning to
set in and causing her bow to dip.
 “And rub it in the Leaguers’ faces for trying to take away our case!” Kid Flash adds, fist-pumping
the air. “Oh go on Kal, can we? Can we?”

Aqualad looks at Miss M, clearly hoping for some sensible suggestions.

“I don’t know, Kaldur.” She says, looking away as if afraid to see his look of betrayal. “But I think
he might be telling the truth.”

“I never did think he was a clone.” Superboy tags on.

“How very helpful now.” Damian says, with a touch of aggravation.

“Cadmus knows by now everyone in the League is on high alert for possibly invaders. Robin’s
right, it doesn’t make sense.” He shrugs. “Messed up as it is, maybe he’s who he says he is.”

Aqualad looks overwhelmed by these various appeals. “Going behind the back of the League…”
He begins worrisomely.

“Is nothing we haven’t done before.” Robin reminds him and there’s a rumble of excited
agreement. “And we’ve been right more times than wrong. The Leaguers are heroes but they’re
also old and paranoid.” A touch of resent enters his voice here. It’s not reminiscent of the way
Grayson would usually refer to his elders. “It’s up to us to display a more open mind. What’s the
worst that could happen?”

“I stab you all in the back because I find you too annoying.” Damian suggests, impatient at this so-
called leader’s indecision. He doesn’t care whether these children offer their aid or not. Can they
just get on with it so he can get back to work?

“Shut up, kid. Not helpful.” Robin says, holding a hand up to silence him. If it were a year ago and
Drake’s, Damian might have bitten it. He’s lucky he’s learnt some decorum since. “Well, Kaldur?”
He says plaintively, finally appealing on his I’m-your-little-brother-don’t-do-this-to-me act.
“Please? It’s our case.”

Aqualad dithers for a moment more. Finally, he caves. Robin has severed all the correct wires.
“Yes.” He agrees. “It is.”

There’s a round of cheers, similar to the kind that would erupt at the first goal of a football game.
Well that’s that, Damian grudgingly accepts as he watches the teen sidekicks rejoice, although I
hope they’re aware there’s much more of the game to play.

“Yes, yes good for fish-spawn, he made a big boy decision.” Damian grumbles. “Now let me see
those files.”

Chapter End Notes

I should really edit that TimKon to more-than-implied, huh?

Comment your thoughts! I love reading what you guys think, often it really helps
progress the narrative having some feedback :)
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

The team make a deal and a plan... sort of.

Chapter Notes

is this a filler chapter? pffft! no?! how ridiculous would that be ha ha... unless...?
basically i said i'd get this out at the end of last week but i Did Not so i'm posting a
shorter chapter than i'd like now rather than making y'all wait until the end of THIS
week
so sorry about that but i hope you can enjoy anyway :)

“You said the League had good reason to suspect I was a clone.” Damian says, not looking up
from the computer even as Robin skips and twirls around behind him. He’s hacking the League
database from his wrist computer and insists activity will improve the circulation to his brain.
Damian has heard this excuse before.

It’s almost amusing to watch him dance around like a ballerina with a look of intense concentration
on his face. Unfortunately he is evading Damian’s questions as gracefully as he moves, weaving
and eluding with verbosity so masterful, he can’t help but wonder if his Grayson forces himself to
tone it down. If not he would in no way keep up the ‘loveable doofus’ reputation he’s acquired.

“Care to explain that?”

“Nah, it’s complicated.” He typically deflects. “Besides, didn’t you say you were from the future?
Surely I’d have told you all about it.”

That does bother Damian somewhat, that he cannot distinct between what has been altered by the
parallel quality of the past he’s in and what Grayson has simply not deigned to tell him. He cannot
recall there ever being a clone crisis in his world besides Superboy’s conception and the League
had taken that firmly in their stride, almost grateful for a new Kryptonian hero to encapsulate
beneath their wings.

The League of Assassins and the Justice League are vastly different in all the ways that count. On
occasion, however, Damian cannot help but pick up on small similarities.

“It probably never occurred where I’m from.” Damian responds succinctly and clicks a promising
file labelled ‘Prototypal Blueprints of Radioactive Device.’ Up comes immediately a mechanical
framework of the machine they’d found in the warehouse, labels denoting from which criminal
each part has been acquired from. He’s just zooming in on the rather impressive internal cooling
system labelled ‘Mr Freeze, Arkham Asylum?’ when Robin hits him with his most penetrating
verbal bullet yet.

“Hey, am I dead?”
His hand spasms violently against his will and he almost exits the page. “What?” He demands,
furious for no particular reason besides the fact that Robin looks only bemused at the proposition.
“What a ludicrous suggestion! Why on earth would you think that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, smiles easily. “You just get really edgy whenever I’m brought up. I
mean, future me.” With an air of nonchalance, he looks down at his wrist. “Almost as if you’ve got
something to hide.”

Damian lets the indirect accusation hang in the air for a moment longer, before pulling his hood up
over his ears and looking stubbornly back at the computer. “I do not.” Is all he replies and
thankfully at that moment the rest of the team returns.

“We tracked the Justice League to Santa Prisca,” Superboy says, nose wrinkling as if the place
brings up at bad memories. “We think they’re investigating the Kobra cult.”

“More importantly, we don’t think Batman’s with them.” Artemis says. Kid Flash has an arm
around her shoulders and Damian resists the urge to gag. This team is like a petri dish of
inappropriate underage romances. “Maybe he’s returned to Gotham, to try to tie up some villainous
loose ends. Maybe-”

“Aww!” Miss M suddenly exclaims, executing an aerial twirl and zooming over to Damian so
enthusiastically that he raises his hands up to parry a strike. Instead of hitting him, she simply
pinches the fabric of his hood, tugging at it for the others to see. “Look at that!” She squeals,
beaming at him. “He’s got a little hood!”

“Don’t touch that!” Damian hisses, but the others are suddenly observing him as if he’s merely a
distempered kitten. “It’s for stealth purposes!”

“It is very endearing.” Aqualad says, fighting to keep a warm smile off his face.

“Aww.” Kid Flash agrees, a hint of a sneer in his coo. “Rob, why don’t you have a wittle hood?”

“Because I asked for one and Batman said it would obstruct my peripherals.” Robin says, frowning
grumpily. “How come he let you have a hood?”

“You asked for a hood?” Damian says, his blush receding for a moment before he shakes his head
and snaps out of it. He cannot be bowled over by every little snippet of new information he learns
about his partner. “Never mind. My acute senses of perception allow me to not be inhibited by a
hood. I learned to fight with one. I would feel inadequately garbed without it.”

“You’re so weird.” Kid Flash says eventually. “Anyway, we also tried to figure out where they’ve
put the machine but that was a dead end. We thought maybe the Watchtower since they know we
can’t access it…”

“But they also know if I wanted to, I could totally access it.” Robin concludes.

“Exactly.” Kid Flash says. “So essentially… we got nothing.”

“Inaccurate.” Damian states, spinning around in his chair. He finds his chin resting on his fist and
draws it back as if he’s been scalded, momentarily repulsed by himself. That is one of Drake’s
mannerisms. 10 minutes in front of a computer and he’s acting like his most mortal rival.
Technology truly is humanity’s greatest vice. “You have got nothing. I, on the other hand, am not
anywhere near as incompetent-”

“Remind me why we’re helping this guy again?” Superboy asks approximately no one.
“-and have uncovered a most promising series of leads.” Damian brings up the blueprint on the
largest monitor and watches as the skeletal figure of the machine dominates the screen. “Here is a
labelled diagram of the machine that brought me here. It has annotations to denote the function of
each part and more importantly which criminal has supplied it.”

Kid Flash gives a low whistle, unwrapping his arm from around Artemis and approaching to squint
at the schematics. “I’m not a massive engineering nerd but this is some crazy machinery. You see
that cooling system? Carbon neutral and 89% efficiency.”

“It is a very nice cooling system.” Damian grudgingly agrees. He is also grudgingly impressed by
Kid Flash noticing this. “More curiously, it was designed by Mr Freeze who should be in Arkham
Asylum. Whatever or whomever made this machine has friends in high places.”

The other team members suddenly exchange looks, as if all coming to some sort of similar
conclusion.

“Do you think this might have to do with-” Miss M begins.

“Maybe.” Kaldur says. “It would not hurt to assume so.”

Damian feels his brow knit crossly. He does not appreciate being out of the loop. “What are you
talking about? I demand to know.”

Before they can answer, Robin looks up from his wrist computer and announces “Jump city. That’s
where they’re keeping the machine.”

“What?” Artemis asks. “That dinky little metropolitan place with all the hippie pizza joints?”

“The very one.” Robin agrees, dismissing his screen and rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“It’s in Jump city?” Damian repeats, just in case he has heard him wrong. Before the Titans, there
were no heroes in Jump. The place is practically undefended!

“There’s a Wayne Industries building there.” Robin says quickly. “You know how Bruce Wayne is
a sponsor of the Justice League? Well they’ve got good security and I guess the League assumed it
was the last place anyone would look.”

Batman must be really concerned about this whole situation if he’s willing to get his civilian
identity involved, Damian thinks uneasily. Although he’s happy for Bruce Wayne to appear to
support the Justice League in public, he tends to fall short of getting him involved in any real
League business.

“Right.” Damian says. “That makes sense.”

The words wouldn’t hold any significance to someone who didn’t know but Robin shoots him a
burning look all the same.

“So… do we just go after it?” Artemis says, twirling an arrow between her dexterous fingers. “If
we know most of the League are in Santa Prisca, it should be virtually ours for the taking.”

“We don’t know that.” Robin says swiftly and Damian knows what he’s thinking. If Batman is
unaccounted for then that means he’s handling things as Bruce Wayne and chances are he’s all
over the machine’s security. “And even if we retrieve the device, how are we going to inverse its
function without the League’s help?”
There’s a momentary silence as the impossibility of their task seems to sink in. They’re a bunch of
sidekicks and an inter-dimensional fugitive with little information, few resources and dubious trust
up against some unknown force with designs for the multiverse. Damian wishes his Batman were
here. He’d have found some way to gain all of their loyalties and returned to his world with 7
billion new friends.

Aqualad is just opening his mouth to speak, perhaps to undergo some nauseating speech about
teamwork and friendship, when the zeta tubes begin to glow and a robotic voice announces “Black
Canary, 13.”

“Shoot!” Kid Flash declares on behalf of them all and there’s a frantic flurry to look natural during
which Damian quietly slips into the shadows beneath the computer’s desk. Not the most dignified
of hiding places but it will serve his purposes well.

Seconds later Black Canary strides into the mountain, carry a file and looking distracted. “Hey,
kids.” She says, offering them a cursory glance.

“Hi, Black Canary!” They chorus eerily, smiling as widely and woodenly as ventriloquist
dummies. Black Canary’s cursory glance becomes a piercing gaze.

“What are you doing down here?” She asks.

Robin shuffles so that Damian is entirely obscured by his cloak. “Nothing, BC, just discussing
training schedules and the like, you know…” He trails off, cheeks twitching. Normally Grayson is
cool and collected under pressure and a fantastic liar. Unfortunately, Black Canary seems to have
an incredible knack for non-verbal interrogation.

“Who gave you the password to see those blueprints on the computer?” She asks, and Damian
realises her verbal interrogation is pretty good too.

The team stiffens like goose bumps along a singular track of skin. Miss M giggles nervously and
fumbles to turn off the computer.

“You hacked it, didn’t you?” Black Canary says, bringing a hand up to her forehead wearily. It’s
less of a question, more of an indisputable fact.

They all slowly nod, shuffling their feet sheepishly, looking fairly reminiscent of scolded children.

“Technically Robin hacked it.” Kid Flash provides which only earns him a jab in the gut and a
smack over the head from his friend and girlfriend respectively.

“Speaking of our guest, he wouldn’t happen to still be locked up safely in his room, would he?”
Black Canary asks and the rhetoric in her voice is so strong, Damian doesn’t even bother hiding.
Reluctantly, he parts the curtain of Robin’s cape, feeling as if he’s standing in front of a firing
squad.

To his surprise, this merely extracts a smile from the hero. “You’re good. I had no idea you were
hidden under there.”

“The key is controlling your breathing.” Damian says automatically. “Although I wouldn’t
presume to patronise you on stealth.”

Her smile widens and she nods affirmingly. “Very good, Robin. Now, there’s no chance you’d sit
in your room and wait for Batman and the rest of the League to get back, is there?”
“No.” He growls. “Not without a fight.”

“I imagined that would be the case.” She taps her chin with the corner of her file, observing him
with a clinical eye. “Okay. I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

Damian perks up. He’d imagined they’d be ratted out immediately, especially as Black Canary was
so notoriously protective of children in the superhero business. He’d been prepared for the
humiliation as she called up Batman to scold them and even afraid that he might rush back that
instant and demand the DNA test hanging so oppressively over his head. This was a welcome turn
of events.

“One therapy session.” Until it wasn’t. “All I ask is an hour of open and honest discussion in a
peaceful, confidential environment at a time of my choosing.”

“Done deal!” Kid Flash declares even as Damian splutters indignantly.

“Absolutely not!” He argues, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’m attempting to return to my home.
Time is literally of the essence! I will not waste a fruitless hour subject to the drivelous questioning
of a shrink!”

“Then I’ll try my best to be clear and concise.” Black Canary offers. “I can tell from your attitude
that you’ve never had a therapy session, Robin, and any child in the hero business is, in my
opinion, in sore need of one. If you do this, I’ll turn a blind eye.”

“So you’re fine with us physically putting ourselves in harm’s way as long as we can have a chat
about it afterwards?” Damian scoffs but he’s beginning to doubt he’ll be getting out of this one.

“There’s nothing I can do to prevent you from physically damaging your health.” She says. “But
mentally, I can. Everyone else in the team sits down with me once a month for a judgement-free
session. They can vouch that nothing they’ve said leaves that room.”

Turning to the posse of sidekicks, Damian finds them all nodding and beaming eagerly with a not-
so-subtle threat of murder in their eyes if he even considers turning down such a generous offer.

“Robin?” Black Canary coaxes softly. “What do you say?”

Swallowing down his pride along with the lump in his throat, Damian nods grimly to a fizzle of
triumph from the others and a contented hmph from the scheming harlot herself.

Satisfied, Black Canary tucks her file back under her arm and offers them a playful wink. “Then I
didn’t see a thing.”

After she’d left (and the rest of the heroes spent long enough craning their heads in the direction of
her retreating back to ensure she was well and truly gone) there was a great heaving of relief.

“It’s our lucky day!” Kid Flash crows, sweeping Artemis into an embrace she only weakly protests.

“We must be more vigilant in future.” Aqualad chooses to point out, though he too is smiling and
accepts a fist bump from Superboy. “Although that was very fortunate.”

“For you maybe.” Damian scowls, pulling his hood up once more before catching Miss M’s eye
and yanking it down again. “Now I am sentenced to suffer through an entire hour of futile attempts
to get me to talk about my emotions.”

Robin is examining him quizzically but simply shrugs off the whole situation. “Black Canary’s a
good therapist. If anyone could make a dent in your attitude, it’s her.”

“I don’t mean to ruin the moment,” Miss M says and they realise she’s brought the blueprints back
up. “But other League members might start appearing any minute now and they probably won’t be
so willing to let us off the hook.”

“We need a plan.” Superboy agrees, squinting uselessly at the technical annotations. “Any ideas?”

To approximately no one’s surprise, it’s Robin who raises his hand and clears his throat
importantly. “Well,” He grins, zooming in on the design. “That’s a really nice cooling system.”
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

The team go on their first mission. A lot goes to plan, a lot does not.

Chapter Notes

WOOH HAS IT BEEN A WHILE. i am so sincerely sorry that this chapter has taken
so long but believe me when i say i did not stop thinking about it for a moment. i hate
hate HATE writing action so that's why this one's been so tough for me but i've finally
reached a place where i'm happy with it.

enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“22 bottles of bored on the wall, 22 bottles of bored! Take one down, toss it around you’ve got 21
bottles of bored on the wall. 21 bottles of bored on the wall-”

If Kid Flash sings another verse, Damian is really considering bringing forward his death by a few
years. From the grumpy faces around him, it seems as if the other heroes are of a similar frame of
mind.

To begin with, both Robin and Miss Martian had joined in with the repetitive melody and the
sound of off-key singing had filled the bioship like a sing-along on a road trip. There’d at least
been a joyful vitality to it and Damian had only threatened to rip out their vocal chords and use
them to asphyxiate them a few times. Now that Robin and Miss Martian have given up and Kid
Flash is nearing the end of his third encore, the irritating song has taken on more of a pathetic
strain and the frequent voice cracks hit them like physical battering rams.

“19 bottles of bored on the wall, 19 bottles of bored! Take one down, toss it around you’ve got-”

A sudden fizzle of static cuts off his warblings, that and a round of furious shushing from the other
occupants of the ship as they lean forward in tandem to hear whatever the now familiar, weary
Gotham accents on the radio have to report:

“Mugging down 22 nd street, perp apprehended. Paramedics taking victim to A&E.”

The team deflates gloomily.

“I hope they’re ok.” Miss Martian comments weakly and Kid Flash picks up where he left off.

“18 bottles of bored on the wall. 18 bottles of bored on the wall, 18 bottles of bored…”

They’ve been listening to the Gotham police channel spew out reports of crime for the past two
hours, crime they aren’t even able to prevent. Robin has promised that although all official sources
state that Mr Freeze is locked up tight in Arkham, there’s been a string of frosted felonies
throughout downtown Gotham that are unmistakeably the work of his ice blaster. According to Kid
Flash’s calculations and Robin’s experience (one of which Damian trusts much more than the
other), he should be due to run out of resources any day now and since there’s little chance of a 7
foot tall convicted criminal wearing a goldfish bowl on his head strolling into the local Walmart to
pick up a couple bags of ice cubes, they’re on guard for any and all ice-related offences in the
vicinity.

They’ve only had one close call: a burglary alarm going off at an ice rink, but a few seconds later
that had inexplicably turned out to be the work of Cat Woman and they’d been back to square one.
It’s now nearing noon but no one suggests going back to the mountain, being unable to stomach
returning empty handed more than going without lunch.

And Damian hasn’t eaten anything all day, as Kid Flash reminds him, lapsing into a sudden silence
half way through ‘7 bottles’. The team have chosen to exclude him from their mind link and
Damian knows it’s because of a certain incident involving baked goods that took place before they
left Mount Justice.

The Martian makes truly terrible cookies. She has offered to bake some for all of them to get their
blood sugar levels up before they left and although Damian would have prepared a fibre-rich cram
before going on a mission, he associates cookies purely with the delicious taste of Alfred’s and
with trepidation, accepted the proffered biscuit.

He’d taken one bite, felt his teeth sink forebodingly into the doughy middle, and spat it out
immediately. They were raw and stodgy at the centre and burnt around the outside and strangely
savoury, as if she’d mixed up her salt and sugar.

“Are you trying to poison me?” He’d demanded of the alien, convinced this was some form of
vengeance after he had attacked her in the warehouse. Instead of getting angry, she’d simply wilted
into herself, mumbled something about human recipes being difficult to follow and flurried out of
the kitchen.

How had Damian been supposed to know she was inept but well-intentioned rather than malicious
and bitter? He had met few people so unflaggingly eager to please, besides Grayson of course but
he had glared at him along with the rest. So great, now Damian’s the bad guy again and he’d felt a
poignant cold emptiness in his mind when the heroes had linked up. All throughout their stake out
they’d been silently communicating, the pauses in Kid Flash’s singing serving only to remind
Damian that he was being purposefully isolated.

He doesn’t want to be mind-melding with these incompetents, for the sake of his own privacy and
secrecy, but he loathes their constant displays of mistrust. For one thing it’s hard to work in a team
when they all suspect you’ll turn on them at any moment (which had been part of the difficulty co-
operating with his father) but more importantly it makes Damian feel incapable. He knows that his
ability to work with others is a weakness; every school report he’s received in the past year and a
half have attested so and although he stands by the fact that he works best alone (with a very slim
exception), this is not always realistic in the superhero business.

It’s fine, advisable even, to be a lone assassin. Being a lone hero can get you killed.

So he has been, to the best of his knowledge, fairly agreeable towards these sidekicks. He hasn’t
made too many remonstrances against working with them and threatened them with grievous
bodily harm even less. What more could they possible want from him? He can work well with
Grayson… after nearly 2 years of painstaking bonding.
“1 bottle of bored on the wall, 1 bottle of bored! Take one down toss it around, you’ve got-” Kid
Flash cuts himself off again and Damian is just about to finally demand what it is they’re
discussing that cannot be said aloud when he realises the radio has flickered to life once more.

“Break in reported at an ice sculpture shop off of West Avenue.”

“That sounds promising.” Artemis says, and Damian feels the beat of his heart strengthen, the
blood pumping through his limbs and tingling up and down his muscles.

They listen for the address and then the report ends with a short: “ETA for squad deployment: half
an hour.”

“Half an hour?” Superboy echoes , frowning. “The place will be picked clean by then.”

“Welcome to Gotham.” Robin and Damian say in unison and then glare at each other.

“Don’t copy me.” Damian snaps.

“Don’t copy me.” Robin mimics in a sing-song voice. “And you’re right, Superboy, but luckily for
Proprietor Ice Sculpture, they won’t need to wait that long.”

“Oh man!” Kid Flash says, enthusiastically slinging an arm around his best friend’s shoulder.
“Finally! Some action.”

Damian is of a similar mind. He has a lot of internal rage and would love some criminal scum to
misdirect it at.

“Team, let’s go.” Aqualad orders, and one by one they leap out of the ship.

Robin leads the charge and although part of Damian wishes it was him at the head of the pack as
they leap across the rooftops, this isn’t the Gotham he remembers. Some things are the same, he
recognises a neon fast food sign advertising Batman burgers which he’d made a point to shatter the
last time he was in this part of Gotham, but so many others aren’t. Robin has to stop him from
leaping off an apartment building into open air when he discovers the fire escape has been replaced
with a drainage pipe.

“Get traught, man, you can’t fly with a broken wing.” He’d warned him and then, inexplicably,
added: “Batman will want you back in one piece, won’t he?”

Damian still doesn’t know how to feel about that but the intense look on his young partner’s face
makes him think he was saying more than just ‘be careful’.

The skyline quivers before him like a faulty heartbeat. They’ve built whole new skyscrapers with
logos he’s never seen before. Of course, that’s not so striking in Gotham. Conglomerates come and
go like the turning of the seasons.

The little street on which the shop is situated is already quiet when they arrive, but upon seeing the
heroes, any remaining civilians flee.

“What?” Kid Flash says, standing in the middle of the street and holding out his arms as if waiting
for a hug. “No cheers for the valiant heroes? That’s like… 99% of why I signed up for this gig!”

“Would you stand around cheering if you knew the Joker might be nearby?” Damian demands, and
even at the name a chill dances up his spine. He looks up and down the neat, grim road of little
shops and houses and tries not to imagine a tell-tale laugh echoing down it. Damian is not scared
of villains on principle but the Joker… he’s a different breed entirely.

“The Joker’s in Arkham though, right?” Miss Martian says nervously.

There’s a sudden crash and a shriek from down the street, accompanied by the unmistakeable
sound of ice crackling, fracturing through the air like breaking bones.

“And so is Mr Freeze.” Aqualad says grimly. “But I doubt that’s Cat Woman.”

“She’d never make such a mess.” Damian says, lip curling in disdain. “Now what are we waiting
for? The Justice League?” His legs practically move of their own accord as he sprints towards the
sound of the destruction, the sidekicks scrambling to keep up behind him.

The ice sculpture shop might once have been a pretty little establishment but now it looks as if it
has been ransacked by a small army. The door is hanging listlessly off its hinges, the windows
have been reduced to jagged spikes of glass and most disturbingly of all is the decapitated Robin
statue standing pride of place at the centre of the shop’s display.

The head has been almost neatly blasted away, the execution clean and spiteful. The R on its chest
is just beginning to perspire in the dingy Gotham sunlight. Damian doesn’t think he can feel more
nauseous until he takes a step forward and watches Batman’s face crunch beneath his boot.

Instantly the sickness transforms into fury. Mr Freeze was one of the rogues from his world that
had attacked himself and Batman. He had been one of the villains bearing down on Grayson as
Damian had been tugged helplessly away into this nightmarish realm of yesteryear. If he has
placed one frostbitten digit on Damian’s partner…

He growls lowly and it is at this moment that Robin and the rest of his team catch up. He sends one
distressed look at his own beheaded self and then a warning glare at his younger counterpart.

“Robin.” He orders in a low voice. “Don’t you dare.”

He sounds so much like the Grayson Damian knows that he almost listens to him. Except he’s
buoyed on by a wave of rage and the thrill of oncoming combat and he doesn’t do half the things
Grayson tells him to anyway so he charges into the shop.

“Robin!” Aqualad chastises and Damian acknowledges the sound of their feet pounding after him
as he draws his repossessed escrima sticks and looks warily around the interior.

He’s entered a small reception area blasted entirely to bits by huge starbursts of ice that gleam
almost ethereally in the shivering artificial lights. The linoleum floor is littered with glass and
errant cents from the upturned cash register. There’s a large poster along one wall advertising
various ice sculpture options from the classic gala swan to almost every member of the Justice
League.

Grayson would get a kick out of having a Superman ice figure at the next party Wayne manor
hosts, Damian thinks, but what should be a pleasant thought only incenses him further. He hates
those stupid events and yet now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever attend one again.

“We need a plan!” The Atlantean continues, pulling up to and yanking Damian round to face him
but it is at this moment that his eye catches on quivering head of hair, like the body of a petrified
rodent, peeking up from beneath the shop’s counter.

“I have a plan.” Damian snarls. He marches over to the desk and yanks the shop owner up by his
wrist, revealing the cowering form of a skinny middle-aged man who stares at them with eyes the
size of saucers. “You five can escort the civilian,” Damian gives the man a little shake to punctuate
his point and he yelps in terror. “Off the premises. I’ll hunt down and obliterate Mr Freeze.”

“Batman?” The shop owner whispers in awe.

“Do I look like Batman to you?” Damian snorts but he’s very privately flattered and misses
Robin’s flinch.

“All five of us?” Kid Flash protests.

Damian raises an eyebrow behind the mask. “We’re acting as a team, correct? Isn’t it customary to
delegate roles of responsibility? That is, unless you’re incapable of it…”

“Incapable!?” Artemis says, cutting herself off with a furious growl. She marches over to the desk,
yanks the shop owner from Damian’s grip (who looks no less pleased to be in the custody of an
equally terrifying saviour) and pushes him towards the door. “Scram!” She barks and dusts off her
hands as he scurries thankfully into the street. “There. Civilian escorted from the premises. Now
get the hell off your high horse and we’ll go and interrogate Mr Freeze, not obliterate.”

Damian is momentarily taken aback. The look in Artemis’ eyes is almost savage when they meet
his. There’s something familiar in the way she holds herself, the force with which she moves,
almost desperately. It reminds him of himself when the old programming kicks in. “Fine.” He
concedes reluctantly, feeling the more violently motivating anger burn away like alcohol, leaving
behind a faint simmer. “But try not to get in my way.”

This time he leads the team as they enter the shop’s storage room, a large, cavernous space which
is dimly lit and freezing cold. It’s almost entirely taken up by large shelves upon which malformed
ice sculptures cast frankensteinian shadows. The walls are lined with frost. Damian watches his
own breath unfurl from his mouth like a ghost.

Somewhere deeper within the maze of shelves and ice he thinks he can hear heavy shuffling and
make out the dim outline of a figure, like the silhouette of some colossal rat or a monster your
mind might conjure from the shadows. Luckily Damian grew out of his fear of the dark years ago.

He takes a step forward and yells into the dinge “Victor Fries! So you have been reduced now to
petty thievery. Show yourself you yellow-bellied thug! Come out here and fight me!”

“Well, well, well.” Comes a deep, velvety voice and the mound Damian had identified rises slowly
to an impressive height, the dome of his head becoming visible. “Who might you be, child?”
Slowly Mr Freeze emerges from the richest shadows and into the thin light, his pallid blue features
carved into a sneer, his metal armour frosted over. “I wasn’t aware Batman was in the market for a
second sidekick. And with the first still breathing, no less.”

“Mr Fries, we did not come here to harm you.” Aqualad says, even though Damian absolutely did.
“We just want some information.”

“That’s what the police told me,” Freeze’s lip curls into a snarl. “Before they threw me into
Arkham Asylum. I’d have had more chance escaping harm in the frozen wastes of the Arctic than
that hellhole.”

“And yet you stand before us,” Robin says. “Shockingly unharmed! So how come, Freeze? Who
slipped you a key?”

Mr Freeze’s suit gives a sudden hiss, expelling a cloud of steam. In the tense quiet, it sounds like a
snake preparing to strike.
“Answer my question first.” He says, turning his attention back to Damian. “Who are you, boy?
Has Gotham gained a new birdbrain?”

“You should know very well who I am!” Damian says savagely, raising his weapons in challenge.
“You built part of the machine that brought me here.”

For a moment Mr Freeze’s smug smile cracks, his mouth dropping open in awe. “Then it worked.”
He says, sounding genuinely amazed.

“A little too well for you.” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Mr Freeze’s cold exterior returns in the blink of an eye, his arrogant pleasure only appearing to
deepen. “Then there’s no hope for the Justice League.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robin asks, taking a confrontational step forward but glancing
suspiciously at Damian.

Mr Freeze simply laughs, the arrogant mockery in his voice causing them all to stir in irritation.

“I said what’s that supposed to mean?” Robin repeats.

Mr Freeze’s chuckle comes to a leisurely stop and he mimes wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.
“It means, thing 1, that the Justice League has finally met its match. Wonder Woman, Superman,
Batman… they’re as good as dead.”

The words take less than a second to register before Damian lets out a roar of anguished fury and
charges. Mr Freeze aims his blaster but he is faster than the roiling blast of ice. He ducks and zig
zags to avoid the lazy path of its blaze and leaps up, a strong sense of déjà vu bolstering his
strength as he brings down his escrima stick hard on Freeze’s helmet and watches it fracture. As he
leaps back, he drags a birdarang down the rogue’s armour and feels a satisfying sense of triumph
when it catches in a chink and explodes, sending him staggering and clutching in pain at his torso.

To Damian’s further ire, he’s still sneering when his head resurfaces. “My, that is an upgrade.” He
says silkily. “Where did Batman pick you up? The local pound?”

In response, Robin appears out of nowhere and lands on Freeze’s helmet, tugging him downward
with all his strength for Kid Flash to trip him up. He lands with an earth-shaking thud and a groan,
only to cry out in horror as he’s telekinetically slammed into the wall. It would be a successful
takedown, only when Mr Freeze is dropped one of his flailing legs lashes out at Damian and sends
him flying, knocking his head against one of the icebergs created by the villain’s blaster with a
strength that knocks all the breath from his body.

“Robin!” Miss Martian’s voice floats shrilly into one ear, but it’s almost entirely drowned out by a
deafening ringing and the strange sensation of the smooth ice beneath his head, cheek and fingers
swiftly replaced by cold and piercing pain.

“-Tt-” Damian groans, bringing up a hand to touch the afflicted section of his skull and being
unsurprised to find it smeared with blood. It occurs to him how ironic it is that a being of such
theoretical mental power can still have a head so full of air.

He allows himself ten seconds of recuperation as the blasts of cobalt light and cries of battle regain
their clarity and the bolt of pain is reduced to a dull ache. As if from a dream, the red, yellow and
greens of Robin cartwheel across his vision and slowly achieve a defined, clear form. He observes
as he narrowly avoids a blast of Freeze’s ice gun and grapples out of sight.
His absence fills Damian with a sudden distress worse than the pain in his head. It doesn’t register
momentarily that this Grayson isn’t the same as the one he abandoned in the warehouse. He
doesn’t want to lose track of him in battle again. That is the thought that binds his scattered head
together and propels him shakily to his feet.

Kid Flash and Superboy have been frozen to a wall and Aqualad and Miss Martian are attempting
desperately to get them free. Artemis is defending them, shooting arrow after arrow at the
advancing form of Mr Freeze but they seem to do little more than irritate him. Robin suddenly
swings out of nowhere, aiming for the villain’s helmet which will only take one good kick more to
shatter it, but a massive, armoured hand grasps his legs and slams him unforgivingly into the
ground. He gives a rasp of pain but rolls to his feet in a movement so fluid, you’d think he was
dancing. A moment later, Freeze’s boot cracks the concrete where his head would have been, the
same way Damian’s boot had crunched through the face of Batman.

Robin is holding himself with a noticeable hunch, but spits a globule of blood from his mouth and
forces a fantastic grin. Silently, Damian draws two smoke bombs from his utility belt and just as
his partner appears to be readying himself to leap back into the fray, he crushes them against the
ground.

The smoke spreads like wildfire, obscuring every dingy corner of the room and leaving figures
barely distinguishable. There are cries of distress that echo around the chamber but Damian feels
the billowing smog surround him in a veil of calm. His instincts are never wrong and to defer to
them now fills him with confidence. Mr Freeze may not know it yet, but Damian has become the
hunter and he has become the prey.

“Robin!” The villain’s voice bellows and Damian’s ears prick. “Show yourself, or I’ll freeze your
little friends."

The threat barely registers; instead he listens hard for the scrape of Freeze’s armour, the rustling of
his movement, the pant of his breath within the hamster ball of his helmet. He visualises his target,
pinpointing his stance, the speed of his heart, the sweat freezing down his back, all without
opening his eyes. Once he’s created a clear image in his mind’s eye, he pounces.

The whipping of his cape is the only sound as he darts through the fog, the fin of a shark rising
from a placid sea. Freeze’s cumbersome form looms out of the smoke, but Damian treats it with the
apathy you would a cliff face. Drawing his arm back, he serves a deafening strike to the back of his
knees and quietly savours the grunt of alarm that follows, though not enough to slow his spring
backwards or the splayed hand that releases explosive pellets with enough force to blast away
sections of his armour.

What happens next is a massacre fit for a small army, let alone one hypothermic engineer in a
glorified spacesuit. Damian batters his arms and legs, using his birdarangs to lacerate the soft spots
and his escrima sticks to deflect any movements of resistance. He can hear himself growling and
snarling with an amalgamation of rage and violent pleasure: the terrific thrill that occurs at the
culmination of the hunt.

More pleasingly, he fights like Robin. The cape is practically an extension of himself. He senses
the weightlessness of flight with every jump and doesn’t shy from the flips and showy frippery that
has become so natural. He’s having fun. Once the smoke clears, the team don’t even attempt to
intervene: they simply stand, open-mouthed, and watch the show.

It’s a disappointment when it comes to an end. Mr Freeze’s deadly mistake is attempting to use his
ice blaster, aiming it wildly at Damian only to have him flip the muzzle and pull the trigger. A
brilliant blast of ice shoots Mr Freeze directly in the face and he staggers blindly, clawing at his
helmet.

“Robin!” Artemis cries, and he turns to see she has three arrows aimed and ready to shoot. She’s
asking his permission to work together.

“Fire!” Damian orders and a volley of arrows hit Mr Freeze’s chest. He uses the momentum to
send the goliath crumpling to the ground with one final, neat kick to the kneecaps.

Within seconds the team has converged on the fallen villain. Robin grabs the ice blaster and uses it
to freeze his hands and feet to the floor. He then tosses it to Superboy who breaks it over his knee.
Damian feels a flicker of regret at the destruction of what he now sees as a converted instrument of
destruction but it is gratifying to see the despicable rogue so helpless, pinned to the floor and
weaponless.

He scampers onto his breastplate, ensuring to plant his boot into one of the manufactured chinks in
the armour, and looks down on Mr Freeze’s enraged, defeated face.

“I think it’s time we had a friendly talk.” He says, drawing a birdarang and inspecting its razor-
sharp edge.

Mr Freeze gulps but there must be some modicum of pride left in his petrified heart; either that or
self-preservation meaning whoever they’re dealing with is even scarier than Damian could possibly
be right now having stamped this scum into the dirt. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“I think you can.” Aqualad says lowly. “Or you can at least be persuaded to.”

Damian gives a quick flick of his wrist and the birdarang imbeds itself into the concrete an inch
from Mr Freeze’s domed head.

“Alright! Alright.” He amends, eyes flitting around like a cornered rabbit’s. “But you must
understand that I don’t know much. I was supposed to be given more information if the plan was a
success.” His nose wrinkles in disgust. “Clearly it was not.”

“You mean the machine wasn’t intended to travel across multiverses?” Robin asks.

“It wasn’t intended to transport some Bat brat with anger issues.” He says icily. “But yes, it was
supposed to access another multiverse. I was told to design a nuclear-grade cooling system with my
freedom and 10,000 as a deposit and triple that if the thing worked.”

“Told by whom.” Damian presses.

“Some… some creepy guy who appeared in my cell.” Mr Freeze blunders. “In a black suit with
a… a cat.”

This description means little to Damian but the other team members gasp.

“Did he give a name?” Miss Martian asks urgently.

“No.” He answers. “He laughed when I asked who he was. Called himself some puffed up title…
like Baron of evil…or…”

“Lord of Chaos.” Robin supplies soberly but it’s more of a statement than a question. “Then we
were right. They are back.”

“Who are back?” Damian asks, feeling a hopeful fire ignite in his chest at finally having some
affirmed answers.

“We’ll explain later.” Robin says. He’s frowning and avoiding Damian’s eyes, which is even more
infuriating than the evasiveness of his answer.

“You will explain now.” He orders, unconsciously pressing down harder on Mr Freeze’s injuries
and causing him to wheeze out a laugh.

“Trouble in paradise, Boy-Wonders?” He says mockingly. “Whatever happened to the dynamic

duo?”

It’s a weak barb but appears to strike a nerve in both of them. Damian punches the already
fractured glass of Freeze’s helmet , finally shattering it and if it weren’t for Kid Flash’s arm
holding him back, Robin probably would have done the same.

“Robin!” Aqualad says sharply. “Both of you!”

Mr Freeze is choking on the air, blue features rapidly turning purple before the Atlantian freezes
over the hole. He gives a shuddering gasp and glares at Damian with new loathing, struggling
futilely against his frozen bonds and Miss Martian’s telekinetic strength holding him down.

“You snot-nosed demon.” He hisses.

“Be more creative.” Damian spits. “I’ve heard that one before.” With carefully painful steps, he
clambers off of Mr Freeze’s chest to join the other sidekicks who all look at him with mingling
wonder and uncertainty, perhaps even with a little bit of fear. “Well?” He asks impatiently. “Are
we going to call the police or will I be forced to drag this cretin all the way to Arkham Asylum?”

They call the police.

Damian hides on a nearby rooftop so as not to deal with the hassle of explaining two Robins to the
Gotham police department, especially as Jim Gordon arrives in order to verify Freeze’s escape
from and return to Arkham. Robin feeds them some bullshit cover story which they’re all too
weary to question besides the Police Commissioner himself, and even he is eventually worn down
by the Boy-Wonder’s impenetrable cheery façade. Mr Freeze is handcuffed, sedated and packed
into the back of a van on a one-way trip to Arkham Asylum with the promise of a much securer
cell with stronger padded walls.

The shop owner reappears at one point but his babblings about two Robins are taken as hysteria.
He’s given a shock blanket and escorted calmly away from the scene of the crime, still demanding
to know what happened to the ‘little angry one’.

Damian watches them pull away and can’t help from noticing the red head in the passenger seat of
the Gordon’s cruiser. Barbara Gordon surveys the scene with a lazy indifference so unlike the
usual alertness she maintains as Oracle, barely giving Robin a second glance and most tellingly of
all, kicking her feet up onto the car’s dashboard. This is almost certainly pre-Bat Girl Barbara
Gordon and definitely pre-Oracle. It’s chilling to witness her mobility and know how it’ll soon be
taken from her. Damian almost wishes he could swoop down and tell her father not to sweep her
legs off of the dashboard, to let her use them however she pleases whilst she still can.

He’s beginning to feel the appeal of changing the future.

He dismisses the mutinous thoughts and allows the cars to roll out with only a small tug of regret.
He then agilely flits down to ground level to stand with the other heroes.
“I’m expecting an explanation.” He says, which causes a chain reaction of awkward stillness and
silence. “And I can tell when you’re communicating over mindlink.” He adds, causing them to
sheepishly break focus. “Haven’t I proven my trustworthiness to you? I feel we cannot work
effectively together if you will not disclose all information to me.”

“Work effectively?” Kid Flash says, crossing his arms indignantly. “Dude, you were a total loose
cannon in there! I mean, don’t get me wrong the way you took down Mr Freeze…” He trails off
with a long, impressed whistle. “But you can’t go charging off threatening to obliterate people.
That’s not how a team works.”

“I am aware of that.” Damian concedes. “I am not used to working in a team. Working with
Batman is one thing,” He looks to Robin for support but he’s stubbornly studying his wrist
computer. “It’s a partnership, built on mutual understanding and goals.” If anything, this only
makes Robin’s frown deepen. “But functioning in a team like this is more complicated. It requires
a level of empathy and compromise that I find…challenging.” Damian doesn’t think he can say any
more without appearing emotionally vulnerable but luckily most of the team seem to appreciate the
snippet of honesty.

“I get that.” Superboy admits. “When I first started out in this team, I also had difficulty getting
along with people. I guess all I can say is that it gets better.”

“Human boundaries are complicated.” Miss Martian agrees. “Even now I still have trouble
understanding them.”

The cookies were a misunderstanding, Damian considers saying, but he doubts his pride can take
that much of a beating.

“Yeah,” Artemis says and again when they lock eyes Damian feels strangely… seen. “Gaining
people’s trust is never easy. It can be long and tedious but once you get there, it’s nice to have
someone watching your back.”

“Indeed.” Aqualad says. “And besides a slightly rocky start, I believe by the end of this mission we
were watching each other’s backs.”

Damian can’t help but look at Robin but he still doesn’t say anything, his mouth having paled into
a thin, hard line whilst the team were dispensing their sappy anecdotes. He realises he wants
something from him, something to affirm that he’s still watching Damian’s back the way he
always has, but the air between them remains frigid as if they haven’t left the ice sculpture
warehouse.

“Your words are appreciated.” Damian elects to say eventually. “I hope that our future co-
operations will be productive and profitable.”

“They will not.” Comes a familiar, gruff growl from behind him and Damian watches as the
expressions on his team’s face turn from happy pride to abject horror. Robin in particular looks
paralysed in the sudden shadow that engulfs them and it takes all of Damian’s willpower to turn
and face the unwelcome figure that has so soured their success.

The Batman looms over them, his body entirely swallowed by the swathes of his cloak and his
mouth set into the grimmest scowl Damian has ever witnessed; and he has witnessed many scowls.

“Commissioner Gordon called.” He says, and if possible his expression becomes even more
furious. “I’m expecting an explanation.”
Chapter End Notes

read!! leave a comment!! drop a kudos!! let's all celebrate the fact that neither i nor this
fic are dead!!
 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

Damian and the team return to Mount Justice and Artemis provides a heart-to-heart.

Chapter Notes

woop de doo folks i really enjoyed writing this one after the ugggh action of the last
one
i hope everyone is in character! i tried my very best!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For the second time Damian enters Mount Justice under guard.

Only this time, his guards have become his fellow prisoners. Although Damian was the only one
handcuffed and disarmed (he’d rolled his eyes at the futility of the gesture: as if he couldn’t still
kill them 20 different ways with his hands tied behind his back), there was no broach for argument
in Batman’s tone as he’d ordered the team back to the base and the heroes awaiting them on the
other side of the zeta beams eerily resemble an assembled court.

The sight of so many disapproving role-models is almost too much for Miss Martian, who was
already distressed that she’d been forced to leave her bioship in Gotham. She gives a loud sniffle
but stoutly refuses to brush away the unshed tears gathering in her eyes, an act that would have
almost impressed Damian if she hadn’t then clutched Superboy’s stupid, muscled bicep a moment
later.

Where’s Drake when you need him? At least he has the decency to rebuff the Krypto-clone’s
advances in the field. God Damian hates it here.

Robin had appeared more composed, back straight and gaze unflinching as any hardened soldier,
but his resolve wavers any time Batman looks at him, chin dipping downwards as if tugged by an
invisible magnet. Damian can’t remember ever seeing Grayson scared of his father but he
undeniably is now, or at least of what he’ll do. Damian can’t entirely scoff at his weakness. He too
feels a strong sense of trepidation at the reckoning to come.

It’s the same heroes who greeted Damian the first time he entered the Mountain who await them
now and he feels a syrupy sense of having taken one step forward and two steps backward at the
redundant familiarity of the situation.

It’s quickly replaced by an acute flame of rage as he spots Black Canary hovering uneasily near the
back of the pack.

“You.” He snarls, lunging forward and only just restrained by Artemis’ quick hold. “You
duplicitous, underhanded vixen! What do you have to say in defence of your deceit?”
Black Canary looks more than displeased but somehow Damian feels it isn’t at the insults he’s
hurling her way. “Robin, I promise you, I wasn’t the one who informed Batman of your
whereabouts.” She tells him, casting sidelong looks to her fellow heroes. “I couldn’t tell you who
did.”

“Commissioner Gordon.” Batman answers gruffly, pulling up from behind the disgraced sidekicks
to stand opposite them and glare with all his might. He’s radiating so much darkness that Flash
takes a nervous step away from him. “He was concerned as to why an unsupervised team of
minors were apprehending a dangerous criminal in broad daylight.”

“Busybody.” Kid Flash mumbles and then quails just as pathetically as his mentor when Batman
inclines his head in his direction.

“He was right to inform me,” He growls. “Since you were fighting an escaped Arkham inmate
with the help of a League prisoner-”

“If I am a prisoner then I demand to know what charges you detain me under!” Damian snaps,
straining once more against Artemis’ grip. “I have done nothing to present myself as a threat to
your ennobled Spanish Inquisition! If my Batman were here-”

“There is no ‘your Batman’.” Batman cuts him off with a bark. “I’m the only Batman this world
has and I intend to protect it from all threats by any means necessary.”

“I may be a threat to your fragile authority, but a threat to the entire dimension is unfolding right
under your nose,” Damian reminds him. “And you choose to expend pointless energy on chasing
myself and your own sidekicks around Gotham whilst we attempt to solve it?”

“We have no proof of a deeper conspiracy.” Batman insists. “Besides your word.”

“Yes we do.” Aqualad says, stepping forward to stand beside Damian.

“Kaldur-” Black Canary begins.

“No, you need to listen to us.” He says. “We apprehended Mr Freeze today and he provided us
with plenty of evidence that backs up this Robin’s story.”

“So we also have the word of a criminal?” Flash asks cynically.

“Klarion appeared in his cell.” Robin says, and just as it had in the ice store room, the name sends
a shiver of recognition through the ranks of the heroes. “He bribed Mr Freeze with his freedom and
over $10,000 to design him a nuclear-grade cooling system. He himself said it was designed to
access another dimension.”

Martian Manhunter frowns sombrely. “That is certainly something to look into.”

“But we can’t be certain he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear.” Superman
points out. “I mean, he’s in Arkham Asylum for a reason.”

“Another thing I wanted to discuss.” Batman says the word discuss the way another man might say
dissect. “Robin. You know Mr Freeze. You know how dangerous the villains of Gotham can be to
those who aren’t familiar with them. You did not know to what extent he was weaponised and yet
you chose to lead your team into an altercation with him.”

Robin looks disturbed, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him, but he holds his ground. “I have
faith in our abilities. That’s more than I can say of you.”
“You put them in danger.”

“You’re putting us all in danger by refusing to accept the threat right in front of you!” Robin says
furiously. “In favour of micromanaging our team.”

“I’m protecting you. And your team.” Batman says and Damian doesn’t know if he’s hearing
things but some vestige of the protectiveness appears to have returned, bizarrely warped so that it’s
both in Robin’s defence and attacking him. “You don’t handle things like wide scale criminal
operations. That’s up to the League.”

“But the Light’s back.” Kid Flash says sharply, piercing through their monomachy. There’s a
restless silence and Damian realises this is the elusive taboo they’ve been dancing around since he
arrived. He can’t take being in the dark any longer.

“I demand an explanation.” He says. “Who is this Klarion? Who are the Light?”

The sidekicks look at him with trepidation. The Leaguers almost look embarrassed. In the end, it’s
Robin who elaborates in a tight, foreboding tone.

“You remember the Riddler’s riddle? I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you
but you cannot feel me. I reveal everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?”

The answer hits Damian like a sudden beam of sun. “Light. That’s the answer to the riddle. The
Riddler from my world is working for this…Light?”

Robin nods grimly. “The Light are a criminal alliance who aim to eliminate the League. They think
heroes are protecting people from the things humanity needs to evolve, like crime and natural
disaster.” His face scrunches up in genuine disgust. “Their leader, Vandal Savage, essentially
proposes a cull of the weak on his terms. He wants earth to become the strongest planet in the
universe by any means necessary.” He then adds meaningfully. “Perhaps even the strongest planet
in the dimension.”

“Would they have the resources to so vastly accelerate the developments of human technology?”
Damian wonders. He is certain he does not recognise this organisation from his world.

“Their influence extends nearly everywhere.” Superboy explains. “They have one foot in Cadmus,
another amongst the elements of Chaos and Order. That’s where Klarion comes in: he’s a Lord of
Chaos.”

“Of all the meaningless monikers.” Damian rolls his eyes. “Lord of Chaos indeed.”

“Don’t underestimate them.” Artemis warns him. “At the beginning of the year they nearly
succeeded in a full League take over. All the League members were infected with mind-control
bio-tech chips and if it weren’t for us, they would have used them to seize control of first the
League and then the world.”

“We stopped them.” Kid Flash reiterates. “And if they’re back, we can stop them again.”

“You should have never been placed in that position.” Superman says. “You stepped up when we
were indisposed and we’re grateful for that but you’re just kids.”

“We’re not kids!” Robin protests.

“Then quit acting like them.” Batman barks, a whole new dimension of anger present in his voice.
“The real problem here is that you let a potential clone loose in Gotham with no regard to the
consequences if you were wrong. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted to act objectively in this
case. You’re all benched and this time the entire might of the Justice League will come down on
the Light.” He clenches a fist to punctuate his point and then turns a glare on Damian that crushes
his breath just as violently. “And you. We had a deal.”

“We had no such thing.” He retorts. “The audacity! You knocked me out and imprisoned me!”

“Imprisoned is such a strong word.” Red Tornado drones. “You escaped, didn’t you?”

“Besides the point.” Damian says through gritted teeth. “I have no interest in your personal
vendettas or you clone paranoia. My only agenda is to return home and yet you have abetted and
condemned me at every turn, acting as a ball and chain around my ankle.”

“Robin, I hate to say it, but all this could be solved if you simply provided a DNA sample.” Black
Canary reminds him gently but now even the kindest coercions have become unbearable to him.

“I will not repeat myself again!” He says. “The exposure of my civilian identity would prove a
battering ram to the stability of our dimension. Believe it or not, I am Robin. I will not allow
myself to become accountable for the loss of potentially billions of lives.”

“Then it appears we are at a stalemate.” Batman says. “Because as much as I am a ball and chain to
you, I cannot proceed when I fear there may be a sleeper agent in our midst.”

Batman does the only thing that Damian could not have possibly seen coming next: he attacks him.

For one shameful moment, Damian is paralysed. Out of context the figure charging towards him,
draped in black and moving with the sleek grace of a predator, would look exactly like Grayson
and the very idea of the man who apologises when he knocks him down too hard during sparring
and insists on calling him lil D bearing down on him with such ferocity entirely immobilises him.
Grayson would never hurt him. He would never strike him to inflict pain. Somehow the very sight
of him has eroded Damian’s carefully established fight or (more seldom) flight reflexes.

He barely dodges the first blow. He doesn’t dodge the second, and although all it does is knock
him off his feet, it also knocks some sense into him. This. Is. Not. Grayson. He is not here. It is
just Damian and Damian is Robin. He doesn’t know what Batman is trying to do, but he will not be
fooled into striking lethally or losing his temper.

“Batman, stand down.” He says, ducking to avoid a fist and hearing the gasps of shock and horror
from the other heroes.

“Batman!” Robin calls and out of the corner of his eye Damian can see him dithering uselessly,
torn between sticking to his guns and interceding on Damian’s behalf and disobeying his mentor.
That’s fine. Damian would rather he weren’t involved. It would be difficult to defend both of them.

Instead he focuses on defending himself from Batman, whose hits are coming thick and fast but not
with the strength and skill he knows he’s capable of.

“Don’t hold back on my account!” Damian cries, executing a perfect flip that loops his legs
through his bound arms and brings them to his front, allowing at least limited access to his hands.
“But I am not your enemy. I would rather talk than scrap like wild dogs.”

Batman merely hurls a batarang at him and Damian takes that as his cue to draw his knife, using
his fingers to grip it carefully between his bound hands. This time he goes on the offensive, the
knife moving through the air like a silver fluid to slash and stab at Batman’s armour. Several times
he makes thin, hairline cuts in the Kevlar and though it doesn’t inflict any pain, Damian likes to
think of what it would do if he had been exerting adequate force. Lacerated femur, impaled
sternum, grazed bicep…

Elsewhere he thinks the team might be fighting the other Leaguers but he’s only vaguely aware of
their raised voices. In fact, everything else seems to slip away into ambiguity in the background of
the battle. Batman is still holding back, softening his blows and refusing to fight with more than
his fists, but he’s a more than worthy opponent and secretly Damian is enjoying this, the
opportunity to inadvertently prove himself to his father. He continually calls for Batman to stop, to
think about what he’s doing, that Damian isn’t a threat, but it has no effect. He remains driven and
quietly furious and Damian is just beginning to consider ways he might knock him unconscious
when the purpose of the sudden attack becomes clear.

It was a distraction.

All Damian feels is a light breeze that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and the
lightest pressure on his wounded head before it is all over. He hooks one foot around Batman’s
ankle and sends him crashing to the ground, with the knife raised over his chest but he realises in
an instant that he’s lost. It was a distraction. The whole thing was a distraction.

Flash is holding aloft a q-tip topped with a tiny pinprick of red which he then slots securely into a
testube. He looks triumphant but also grave, as if he hadn’t wanted it to come to this. Any means
necessary, Batman had said.

Damian feels as if every drop of blood has been drained form his body leaving him numb and
tingling. The knife shakes in his hands, dipping erratically towards Batman’s chest and then being
raised up again.

“Give that to me.” He hisses. “Right now. Or I will plunge this into his heart.”

Flash gulps, grip slackening slightly on the test tube, but to Damian’s despair, Miss Martian sees
this as her time to interrupt.

“Robin,” She says, voice soft and horrified. “This isn’t you. Put the knife down.”

There’s a moment of tense paralysis, the only movement the shivering of the blade and Damian’s
heaving chest. Eventually, with a snarl of disgust, he tosses the knife away.

Batman is out from beneath him in an instant and Miss Martian and the rest of the team rushes to
his side. She reaches out a hand to touch him in some pointless, comforting way but Artemis stops
her and Damian is glad of it. He might have instinctively struck and he doesn’t need to look any
more deadly and deranged.

“You fool.” He says, softly at first but increasing in volume as he feels the anger rise in him,
mercury in a thermometer. “You thoughtless imbecile! Do you have any conception of the
catastrophic consequences your paranoid meddling will have? You have no clue what you’re
dealing with! It is beyond your witless comprehension as to the chaos you are going to unleash!”

Batman looks at him, all trace of emotion purged from his face. “I cannot investigate whilst you act
like my ball and chain. Miss Martian?”

This time it takes seconds for Damian to assemble his mental fortifications but no assault of them
occurs. Miss Martian instead glares at Batman, curling her delicate green hands into fists.

“I will not.” She says.

If Batman is surprised he does not let it show. “Fine. Martian Manhunter.”

A far less elegant pressure than the one he’d earlier felt now presses itself against Damian’s mind.
He strains against it, feeling beads of sweat roll down his cheeks and neck, his sheer force of will
sustaining him. The force increases. There’s a grimace on Martian Manhunter’s face, somewhere
between effort and pity. Grayson’s voice swims in and out of his ears as thoughtlessly as a leaf in a
stream. He’s shouting at Batman.

But Damian is weary again. The physical pain in his head throbs and the mental shudders that
wrack him are beginning to hit like material blows. With one final last hybrid of a sob and roar of
exertion, he gives in and finds himself succumbing to the inky darkness of his own unconscious
mind.

When Damian awakes, he can tell that not much time has passed and he’s alert immediately. He’s
lying on a soft, elevated surface and his hands remain tied. Above him the high, rocky ceiling
reveals that he’s not back in his pseudo-cell and so he leaps to his feet, his whole body instantly
injected with pacing fury.

“Woah there, buckaroo!” Comes the irritating whine of Kid Flash. “Take a chill pill. You’re in the
rec room, the rest of the Leaguers are gone.”

He’s in a cavernous room with several plush, red couches and a huge flat screen TV. There’s an en
suite kitchen sectioned off by a half wall that somewhat resembles a war zone, no doubt the result
of Miss Martian’s telekinesis being unleashed on the unsuspecting ingredients. The members of the
team are perched on various surfaces around him and it unsettles Damian when he notices that
Robin is sitting placidly on one of the sofas. In such a large room, he should be hanging from the
rafters or at least arranged impractically on the coffee table. Instead he’s deathly still with his
elbows balanced on his knees and his eyes trained on the ground.

“Gone?” Damian demands. “Gone where? Tell me this instant!”

“Uh… we don’t know.” Kid Flash answers nervously. It strikes Damian for the first time that
although he’s still in uniform, he and the others (besides Robin, naturally) have removed their
masks and are observing him with glum, resigned eyes. “They all left after Martian Manhunter
knocked you out. Well, all except Batman.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“He tore us a new one.”

“Not that we care, obviously.” Miss Martian says defensively. She and Artemis are sitting where
Damian had been asleep moments before, as if they had been holding vigil over him. “Not after he
attacked you. What was he thinking?” She sounds genuinely scandalised and from the nods of
agreement from the rest of the team, they must be too.

To be honest, it doesn’t bother Damian much at all. There has been a mental struggle between
himself and his father far more bloody and violent than the one that physically took place for a
long time. In fact, he wishes Batman had hit him harder. Even fighting him, he holds back against
Damian.

“Where’s the DNA sample?” He elects to say instead, cutting to the core of his anger and anxiety.
“Have they taken it to the med bay for testing?”

An ominous silence ensues as the sidekicks eye each other reluctantly, all clearly waiting for
someone else to break the news. It’s Robin who pipes up.

“Batman sent it back to the cave. Agent A’s running analysis on it as we speak and B’s disabled
the zeta tubes. It’s gone. You’re not getting it back.” Having said his piece, he slumps dejectedly in
his seat, hands behind his head.

“That… that is unacceptable.” Damian blusters. His mind races to come up with a solution.
There’s no way he and Grayson can’t fix this. “Surely there is some way to win Agent A over to
our side… or perhaps you could hack the zeta beams…”

“What did I say?” Robin snaps, but he doesn’t move from his position of surrender. “I said we’ve
lost. We’re off the case. Just leave it. Batman isn’t listening to anyone.”

“And you do exactly as he tells you, is that it?” Damian says savagely, yanking futilely at his
handcuffs. “That’s not like you, Robin, and you know it. Why have you given up?”

Robin’s blank, domino gaze snaps to meet his and the emptiness in it makes Damian pause. “You
don’t know anything about me.” Is all he says, before he’s rising almost languidly to his feet and
loping off.

When defeated, Grayson takes on a lazy grace, all the energy which normally supplies his bouncy
athleticism sapped from him. Damian has never witnessed it to such an extreme. It’s as frustrating
as it is bizarrely fascinating. It’s also a little dangerous.

“I should speak with him.” He says, once the door has swung shut behind him and Robin is gone.
“This is most uncharacteristic.”

“Nah, bro, I’d leave it.” Kid Flash says, without an ounce of teasing in his tone. His eyes are
trained on the door and Damian recognises the touches of worry in his eyes and the set of his jaw.
“Give him some time to cool off. Things have been... rough between him and Batman recently so I
wouldn’t take it too personally.”

Damian can’t help but take it personally and it must show because Aqualad gives him a reassuring
smile. “We’ll send KF to talk to him in a minute to check that he’s okay. But I wouldn’t be too
worried. His mentor just gave him a real tongue-lashing, that’s all.”

Damian tuts. “Tt-. I was not worried.”

“Sure you weren’t, little dude.” Kid Flash says with a knowing grin that makes Damian want to
knock his teeth in. Still, his gaze keeps straying back to the empty doorway and it makes him
wonder…

It’s strange how little things about Grayson are both beginning to baffle and make sense to him.
Back in his world, Damian has always wondered and scoffed at Grayson’s sheer multitude of
friends and on several occasions demanded to know who his best friend was, since he couldn’t
possibly love every single one of them equally as he loved to perpetuate.

Grayson had always smiled a little sadly and shook his head. “No best friend, lil D. I don’t have
one of those.”

Damian had always taken it as his sentimentality preventing him from choosing one above the
others. Now he thinks that Grayson did have a best friend, he just doesn’t anymore.

The idea perturbs him and this in turn increases his distress over the entire situation. He’s trapped
in the past, surrounded by many people who he knows to be dead and many more that shouldn’t
even exist and now he’s about to be exposed as Batman’s accidental progeny with untold
consequences both to his person and the dimension as a whole. He cannot do anything. He’s stuck
in this pointless rec room with these pointless sidekicks and Grayson won’t even help him.
 “Robin?” Comes a quiet voice from beside him. He realises he has been zoning out and Artemis is
standing beside him. Miss Martian and Superboy have retreated to the kitchen and are now making
a series of loud, damaging noises. Aqualad and Kid Flash have turned on the TV and appear to be
mindlessly flicking through the channels. “Hey.” Artemis says again, waving a hand pointlessly in
front of his face. He bats it away.

“What do you want? Unless you somehow have a miraculous solution as to how to retrieve my
DNA, I doubt I’ll be interested.”

Artemis doesn’t get angry or punch him the way he thought she might. Instead she produces a
bobby pin from thin air and inclines her head towards his handcuffs. “You want any help with
those?”

His pride insists he doesn’t. His gloves are gone and with them his omnipresent lock-pick but with
enough squirming and biting, he could definitely free himself from these bonds. However, it would
take some time and require some loss of dignity, more than allowing her to aid him. So he nods his
head curtly and lets her set to work.

“You know, they may be blue and shiny but the principle of these handcuffs is just the same as the
regular police ones.” She comments as she works, pin clicking angrily in the socket. “And I’ve got
myself out of plenty of those.”

“Really?” He says neutrally, but in truth he’s somewhat curious. Artemis is one of the heroes he
does not recognise and he dislikes being uninformed, especially as Gotham’s vigilantes normally
have an alphabetised list of weaknesses for all Justice League members. Wonder Woman is the
only one they haven’t been able to crack and Oracle swears she’s working on it. Secretly Damian
thinks Gordon wants to come up empty handed.

“Oh, yeah.” She says, finishing the first cuff and moving on to the second. “I mean, my dad was
constantly in trouble with the police. Our place got raided all the time. My sister and I used to keep
a packed bag that we’d bring with us to the station. One time,” She chuckles nostalgically. “She
brought an entire packed lunch and just started eating it whilst the officer interrogated her.” She
finishes the second cuff and steps back, dusting off her hands and surveying her work. “There!
Done. No need to thank me.”

Damian rubs his sore wrists and surveys her sceptically. “Why are you telling me this?”

She shrugs and collapses onto a nearby sofa, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table. Damian
wrinkles his nose at the poor manners and considers what Alfred would say to that. He’d probably
smack them off with a feather duster. “I dunno. Maybe to show you that I’m not ashamed of my
past. I used to be really secretive about my dad and stuff. I was worried that if I told everyone he
was a criminal, they’d turn their backs on me and quit trusting me.” She smiles, her eyes wandering
from Miss Martian and Superboy panicking over a fire they’d somehow caused on the hob to the
TV where Kid Flash appears to be explaining the premise of Friends to Aqualad. “If anything, my
team trusted me more.”

“Yes, well they’re not my team.” Damian retorts and then realises he’s engaging with this bizarre
attempt to empathise with him. “And I’m not ashamed of my past! I was never arrested or
descended to petty crime. I received impeccable training, both physical and mental.”

“But I’m guessing at least one of your parents isn’t on the right side of the law.” Artemis says.

Damian considers how to answer. He could lie or refuse to say anymore but if his DNA is already
being analysed, everyone in the League is going to know eventually. He may as well break it
gently to someone who should be more naturally understanding.

“My mother is not on the wrong side of the law. She is above the law. She is, however, on the
wrong side of the Justice League. But I am not ashamed of my heritage.” He adds forcefully. “It is
of the highest degree.”

“Sure, that’s why you’re so eager to tell us all about it.”

“The fragility of our dimensional balance-”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Artemis mimics, moving her hand like a puppet. “You don’t really believe
reality is going to collapse because of your mommy issues, do you?”

Damian is fuming. “I do NOT have mummy issues.”

“Daddy issues then.” Artemis waves a dismissive hand. “Tomato, Tomahto. Point is, you’re afraid
of who you are and that we’ll see you differently because of it.”

“I am afraid of nothing.” Damian says aggressively. He pauses. “But I will concede to being…
apprehensive as to the reactions of several League members. Not because of whom my mother is,
or rather not exclusively because of that, but because I feel their responses may be counter-
productive towards my return home.”

“Any more counter-productive than they already are?” Artemis says incredulously.

“Believe it or not, yes.” Damian sighs. He finds himself sinking down onto a seat besides Artemis.
“It did not go down smoothly in my world. I dread to consider how Bat- how the League will take
it here.”

Artemis hums thoughtfully. “I mean, I was worried they’d think I was a mole. I wasn’t, obviously,
that did turn out to be a clone, but Batman knew all along and he still lets me hang out with his kid,
for pete’s sake.” Damian winces at the poor example but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, I
guess what I mean is, maybe you’re painting it out to be worse than it is. I know no one in this
team will judge you for whoever your parents turn out to be. I mean, you tried to kill Robin when
we first met you and look where we are now.”

“If I had been truly trying to ‘kill Robin’, Robin would be dead.” Damian grumbles which
strangely makes Artemis laugh.

“See!” She says enthusiastically. “That doesn’t even phase me at this point. We trust you now, you
murderous little time-travelling troll. Your mum or dad or whoever, no matter how big of
douchebags they might be, aren’t going to change the way any of us see you.”

“It might change how Robin sees me.” Damian says, the words slipping out unbidden.

Artemis lets out a little puff of air through her nose. “Maybe. But I doubt it. Robin’s one of the
least prejudice people I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure he knew about my dad for just as long as
Batman and he made an active effort to get along with me. He’s just been a little moody lately.”
She winks at him conspiratorially. “Puberty, if you ask me.”

Damian shudders at the thought. The threat of puberty has been hanging over his head for the past
5 years. The voice cracks, the hormones… he dreads the inevitable coming of it, even if he does
long to be taller than Grayson as his father’s impressive frame assures him he’ll be.

“I appreciate your misguided attempts at comforting me.” He tells Artemis stiffly. “They have not
been entirely without impact.”

“No problem, kid, any time.” She says, tugging his hood over his eyes and any and all feelings of
kinship or sympathy evaporate.

“Touch me again and we will have a problem!” He yells, jolting upward onto his feet on the sofa
and looming over Artemis as she cackles. The other members of the team, looking up in alarm at
the raised voices, also begin to laugh and Damian feels some of his anger dissipate, deigning to
plop back down on the sofa and pull his hood up himself.

For a moment, the atmosphere is comfortable and Damian can almost forget his troubles over
Grayson, returning home and most of all Batman, but naturally it is not destined to last.

“Recognised: Superman 01, Batman 02, Flash 04, Black Canary 13, Red Tornado 16.”

A forbidding hush ripples across the room and Damian’s feet move to stand him upright without
him telling them to. Without a word, the team files out into the briefing room and Damian follows
them, feeling Robin silently join them, his feet making barely a sound against the stone floor.
When they enter, the aforementioned heroes are already arranged and Damian feels a glimmer of
smug satisfaction at the looks they’re giving the group of them, the way they’ve noticed Artemis’
jutted chin and Miss Martian’s hand hovering above his shoulder. The show of protection is
unnecessary, but not entirely purposeless. It sends a clear message.

No one on this team will judge you for whoever your parents turn out to be.

He waits for Batman to say something, searching his face for any signs of anger, recognition or
repulsion. Instead it is the same emotionless mask he remembers seeing as he fell unconscious.

He doesn’t know, Damian realises. So why are they gathered here?

A call request appears on the monitor, from Agent A, and he understands. Batman intends to
humiliate him as publically as possible. He’s stopped short of creating an entire group call for the
entire Justice League. As much as it infuriates him, the irony is not lost on Damian either. He is not
the one about to be undermined, but he may be the one about to pay the price for it.

Batman accepts the call.

“Agent A.” He says crisply. “You have the results of the DNA test?”

“Yes, sir.” Comes the venerable voice of Alfred and Damian can detect what others in the
mountain may not, the barely distinguishable quiver in his speech. Robin has noticed it too, from
the way he shifts his feet and crosses his arms, leaning forward curiously.

If Batman has, he gives nothing away. “And?”

“There is a match for half the DNA of a member of the Justice League. A parent, sir.”

The heroes shuffle restlessly, and Damian can’t help but notice Black Canary’s jaw drop, her eyes
fly to his face in dawning recognition.

“Who?” Batman says, with the ignorant impatience of a man staring down a loaded gun and
demanding it fire.

“Yours, sir.” Alfred says, and this time the disbelief in his voice is as clear as day. “This Robin is
your biological son.”
Chapter End Notes

when i say cliff, you say hanger! CLIFF-

kudos, comment and thanks for reading :D

 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

The truth finally comes out and needless to say no one takes it well.

Chapter Notes

me: i updated
y'all: ...
y'all: it's been a mo-
me: I UPDATED

WHEN I SAY I'M SORRY that this chapter is SHORT and INCOHERENT and
LAAAATE i frickin MEAN IT
it killed me. i rewrote it FOUR TIMES. this is on top of life being VERY BUSY. i'm
finally not-entirely-unhappy with it but i still might mess around and rewrite it lol we'll
have to see :P but i couldn't keep you waiting any longer! so take it!! berate me!! i'm
sorry!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There’s a silence reminiscent of the kind that follows the explosion of an atomic bomb.

“Agent A, could you repeat that?” Superman says, in a choked voice.

“I believe you heard me, sir. The DNA you sent me is a paternal match for Batman. He is this
Robin’s biological father.”

There’s another prolonged, agonised breathlessness in which Damian studies his father’s profile
cast against the glow of the monitor, watches the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw and
listing of his head.

Then Kid Flash, of the ever impeccable timing, exclaims “He’s his WHAT?” and the stupefied
spell breaks.

“He’s Batman’s kid?”

“How much fear gas did I inhale?”

“Batman had a kid?”

“I knew that glare was familiar! How did we miss this?”

“No, seriously how in the hell did Batman physically have a kid?”

“You really want an answer to that, KF?”

“Ew, no, not like that!”

“And just to clarify…” Artemis pipes up, fingers twitching as if picking an invisible lock. “Batman
isn’t our Robin’s biological father, right? Angry Robin isn’t his clone?”

“Of course not.” Damian scoffs and immediately he feels the scuttling sense of dozens of eyes,
crawling over his face with a new fascination. He represses the urge to shudder. It is something
he’s grown accustomed to, this visual need to validate his claim. “I am Batman’s only son-” and
heir, his muscle memory provides, but he bites down the addition. “I am not genetically linked to
Robin in any way. This entire witch hunt has been a waste of time.”

Strangely, Damian feels pervaded by a sense of calm. This inane battle has finally been resolved
and in some twisted sense, he has emerged the victor. He has the upper hand over the Justice
League and an entire new lease of freedom now that the metaphorical bat is out of the metaphorical
bag. For one thing, the timeline’s stability is likely now in dire peril no matter what kind of havoc
Damian wreaks within it. He has been granted the kind of artistic license that should leave him
cackling like Grayson.

But instead he continues to study Batman, who has silently lifted one arm to prop himself up
against the rugged wall. The set of his shoulders reminds Damian of the incline of a mountain, the
tension in his lips and chin as frozen as a cliff face. He’d look as if he were taking the news
astonishingly calmly if it weren’t for the shivers running up and down his arms. Damian has no
idea what they mean. Is he angry? Sad?

When he eventually speaks, it is in a voice so devoid of discernible emotion, that Damian wants to
tear his hair out.

“Run the test again.”

The other heroes fall silent, eyes travelling between Batman and Damian as if witnessing a thrilling
plot twist in a soap opera.

“I have, sir.” Alfred informs him resignedly. “There is no mistake.”

“There must be.” Batman says, head still turned to the monitor, and this time there’s a definite trace
of instability in his insistence. “He’s a clone-”

“This rubbish again?” Damian demands and now it’s frustrating that Batman won’t look at him
when everyone else seems content to gawp. His calm is only so extensive and he hates that he has
no idea what Batman is thinking. Damian would rather he spit at him than continue to look away.

(He has not, purely for context, looked at Robin and will not for the foreseeable future. One
Batman at a time.)

“It is half your chromosomes, sir, not a full copy.” Alfred says, and from the sound of his voice he
must be seriously considering retirement. “Besides from the yet unanswered question as to how
they got there, everything seems proper and correct.”

“Another explanation.” Batman says stiltedly, the hand splayed against the wall curling into a fist.
“Genetic engineering.”

Damian tuts and crosses his arms, feeling his head spontaneously lol back at the obtuseness of it
all. “I can assure you, I was conceived in the natural way: through the union of yourself and my
mother.”
The implication of a mother seems to inspire a whole new sense of horror in the faces of the
heroes.

“Who is…?” Superman says, sounding as if the answer might strike him dead.

They’re going to find out anyway, Damian reasons, so he might as well be the one to tell them.
“Talia Al-Ghul.”

Superman produces the kind of sound damsels in distress typically make before they swoon and
there are various other scandalised outbursts. Batman’s head droops. Kid Flash’s jaw drops. Black
Canary pinches the bridge of her nose as if she can feel a psychoanalytic headache coming on.
Artemis is the only one who reacts positively, shooting Damian a thoroughly impressed look.

“You weren’t kidding. That’s one big, bad mama.”

“Thank you.” Damian responds without allowing his brain to unpack the entire offensiveness of
that depraved description of his mother. “It was an ill-advised love affair of which I was the result.
I was then incubated in an artificial womb and raised by the League of Assasins until the age of 10
when my mother granted me leave to travel to Gotham and continue training under Batman’s
tutelage. Do you now understand why revealing my identity was a mistake?”

There’s a general ripple of uncomfortable nods and a few murmured apologies. Black Canary steps
forward from the other members of the Justice League and places a hand over her heart. “Robin, let
me be the first to officially apologise for the mistreatment you’ve suffered at the hands of the
League. If we’d had any idea-”

“That cannot be correct.” Batman says, quietly cutting her off. The tension in the room suddenly
thickens. All eyes are either on Damian or Batman, besides the man himself who still has yet to
shift his gaze. It’s as if he’s retreated entirely into his own head, a place where Damian does not
exist, where nothing exists except palatable facts and statistics and where nothing cannot be
correct. “You can’t be my-”

“Can’t be your what, father?” Damian hisses and watches Batman visibly flinch with no
satisfaction. “Please. Look at me. What can I not be?”

Batman lets out a strained sigh from his nose but he doesn’t look up. “The timeframe-”

“I said look at me.” Damian snarls and when his father finally does raise his head, there is an
expression in the white blanks of his cowl that thrills his son to the bone.

He’s terrified of him.

It’s the thought that catches in Damian’s throat before he can even analyse why because it’s an
expression he’s seen a thousand times reflected in the mirror.

Batman is terrified of him.

The shivers wracking his arms, legs, clenched fists aren’t from anger or disappointment, they’re
from fear.

His father is terrified of him.

The worst thing is, Damian might as well be looking into the face of a sleep-walker. Batman’s
glassy eyes pass right through him and pierce into a nightmare. He’s looking at Damian but he
can’t see him, won’t see him. All he sees is a reflection of himself.
Damian feels a rush of acrid anger that floods through his limbs and lights the pitch coal of his
heart. He realises he’s sick and tired of existing only as Batman’s son. It is what solicited his
mother’s love, earnt him Grayson’s partnership and now causes his father to look at him with such
unnatural fear in his eyes. Why is it that he can never exist as an individual in his own right? Why
is it that the man he has been taught to exemplify his entire life observes their similarity and is
horrified by it? His father had never seen him as Damian, always as his problem, his inadvertent
and unfortunate progeny, the embodiment of his darkest parts. Even now he isn’t truly terrified by
Damian, he’s terrified by the parts of Damian that echo himself.

“The timeframe is improbable.” Batman grinds out, moving unsteadily to an unsupported stance.
“For you to have been conceived-”

“Spare me the inconsistencies of my own birth.” Damian snaps. He’s shaking like his father now in
some hybrid of horror and rage. Behind him, Miss Martian shudders at the cocktail of emotions
he’s probably emanating. He truly doesn’t care. “I cannot be reasoned out of existence, father, and
believe me you have tried.”

“Let’s not make this personal.” Batman attempts but Damian cuts him off in a spontaneous derisive
laugh.

“Personal!? I am your flesh and blood! There is nothing impersonal about that.” He takes a step
forward and this time when Batman flinches, he thinks he’s right to be scared. “But don’t worry.
I’m certain there must be some mistake if the timeframe is improbable.”

“I’m merely stating a fact.” Batman says, an edge of iron entering his voice once more and that
deathly chill taking a firmer hold over his features. Flash and Superman spontaneously take a step
back as the cold reaches them. “One you seem very eager to brush over.”

“What will it take to pierce through that thick cowl of yours?” Damian demands, fists clenching.
He doesn’t notice his own companions also take a step away from him on either side. “You take to
denying science to support your unfounded paranoia? Stop acting like an insecure child!”

For a moment an expression so vicious clouds Batman’s features that Damian genuinely believes
he’s pushed him too far and he’s about to throttle him. However, before he can take a step forward,
a colourful blockade intercedes between them.

“Maybe we should all calm down,” Someone says and for a moment Damian believes he’s truly
lost it and that’s the disembodied voice of Grayson ringing through his head in his final moments.
However, when he blinks the red mist from his eyes, he finds it’s only Robin, looking pale and a
little miserable but firmly resigned. He’s standing with a shoulder to both Batman and Damian so
he can address them both but also hold them back if they lunge at each other. “I think we’ve proven
we aren’t going to solve anything by fighting one another. If we do what Black Canary says and
talk-”

Batman lashes out at Robin so violently, he stumbles backwards and almost loses his footing.
“Robin you have been out of line this entire mission!” He roars. “Jeopardising your team, working
behind my back! For once, do what I say and keep quiet!”

Robin’s face freezes and whatever colour remaining in it drains like water down a sink. There’s the
return of that atomic silence, broken only by the gentle padding of footsteps as Kid Flash hesitantly
approaches his friend. Robin appears to swallow and squares his shoulders, nods wordlessly and
exits with a swish of his cloak leaving Kid Flash’s hand hanging emptily in the air still reaching for
his shoulder. Batman watches him leave and if Damian were feeling charitable, maybe he’d allow
that there was an instant sense of regret in his eyes. Maybe he’d allow that he hangs his head,
reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately for him, Damian is not feeling charitable.

“You dare…” He begins, finding the words are thick with choler and barely pronounceable. “You
dare to reprimand him for your folly?”

“Robin…” Several people sigh, and a dozen hands appear to encroach on his peripherals to cling
and pull at him, to soothe him. They do not understand. They are not privy to the unspoken
boundary his father has broached.

“I am a regret to you.” Damian states. He steps away from the circle of sidekicks that had before
ensconced him, brushes away a hand that roams too close and the others retreat, their bewildered
owners watching with even more appalled consumption than before. “It is a fundamental truth I
have grappled with since we met, a battle in which you have forced me to yield up the pride that I
have taken in my inheritance ever since I could say the word Batman, in view of the knowledge
that I will never grant you that same familial pride, that you will never speak my name with the
same reverence that I have yours. But you have always felt that pride for him.” Damian thrusts out
a hand at Robin’s now retreated back, feels his fingers reach to catch on the cloak…

“It has been your redeeming feature to me.” He confesses. “It is part of the reason I took on the
mantle of Robin so eagerly, vanquished and defeated as I was, because I hoped it would compel
you to grant some shadow of that pride to me despite the blight that is your blood flowing through
my veins. And yet now,” His rage reaches fever-pitch, shudders like a crescendo. “You dare to
deny me even that?”

Batman’s fury appears to shrivel and perish right in front of Damian’s eyes as he realises, without
fully comprehending, the secret line he has crossed. Grayson has always acted as a barrier between
the two of them, distancing his father from Damian by his position as the infallible eldest son but
more importantly, keeping the more uncongenial parts of them from mixing. When Damian had
received that first cold reception from his father, it had come as an icy shock to his perception of
Batman. However, when Grayson had taken on the role of Batman and allowed him to engage in
the legacy of the dynamic duo, he had renewed Damian’s faith in his father. At his lowest points
when he doubted whether the Batman he’d grown up on existed at all, Grayson could be relied
upon to provide the perfect anecdote of his wisdom, skill or even kindness, though Damian never
outwardly expressed his desire to hear of that side of him. And as stated, witnessing the genuine
pride and joy his father clearly took in his adopted son had reassured Damian that capability of
such existed, that it might one day be turned on him. Now, by callously tossing Robin aside, by
demonstrating once more his selfishness and his lack of capacity for that long-sought paternity, this
Batman has ruined himself in Damian’s eyes. No scrap of the Batman of legend remains. Damian
thinks Grayson’s Batman truly was Grayson’s Batman all along.

Which makes him Grayson’s Robin and it will simply not do to allow that legacy to go
undefended.

“You need not acknowledge me as your son, but you will acknowledge me as Robin.” Damian
continues. “If you do not, I myself will renounce the claim on that title until I return to my home
and all the trappings that come with it.” His lip curls in a blood-curdling snarl and he feels the
breath catch in every throat, knows he must look the figure of mercilessness, a picture of pure
ferity. He’s Grayson’s Robin, but that doesn’t make him any less Damian. “Do you know what that
means, Batman? I am an Al-Ghul as much as I am your son, more so at the current time. I have
been trained to kill since birth. I will not just defeat this dimensional threat, I will slaughter all
those involved and wash the sin away with their blood. Do I make myself clear?”

Batman says nothing. He’s too busy shaking again and the display is repulsive.
 Black Canary speaks in a low, even tone. “Explicitly.”

“Good. You have an hour to discuss your course of action. I do not expect an apology, I expect an
admittance of error and an acknowledgement of my validity as Robin. If not…” He trails off,
savouring the idea. “I could use some swords.”

Damian pulls up his hood against his father’s terrified gaze and follows after Robin.

The only noise that echoes from behind him is that of Alfred’s dry voice: “I must say, you have
made a pig’s ear of that one, sir.”

Chapter End Notes

in the immortal words of alfred: i've made a pig's ear of this one
fully guys if you want me to rewrite it let me know, i'm aware it's a long-awaited
chapter and not my best work so i apologise but drop a pity-kudos if you feel like it xx
 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

Damian does some research and joins a team.

Chapter Notes

Say it with me folks!

FILLER CHAPTER, FILLER CHAPTER
i have neither the energy nor the time to write a THICC, plot-driven chapter so have a
lil plot and some mindless fun
sorry it's a little late and a little short, i wanted to be sure i got something out :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Damian exits the briefing room on a crusade for destruction.

Luckily for the inhabitants of the base, he finds the training room before he can begin tearing any
of the monitors from the walls. There he demolishes not one but four punching bags, kicks six new
dents into the walls and secures a dozen bulls-eyes at the archery range by envisioning Batman’s
face on the target. At one point he becomes dimly aware of the sidekick team observing him
through the large glass windows but they only linger for a short while, electing not to disturb him.
A wise choice on their part since he’s in a mood to spar, not talk and has just discovered the
throwing knives.

He’s executing a particularly pitiless flying kick on an innocent training dummy when he hears the
automatic door slide open and automatically whirls towards it with his fists raised.

“Relax.” Black Canary says, shaking some punching bag stuffing off the toe of her combat boots.
“It’s just me.”

Damian certainly does not relax, but he lowers his hands to his sides. “What do you want, you
fraudulent shrink? Has Batman sent you to diagnose me with a complex and toss me back into a
cell?”

The look on Black Canary's face is nothing short of pained. “No, Robin. He’s sent me to inform
you we concede to your terms.”

Damian grunts. The concession doesn’t please him any more than another denial would since
Batman would be pushing the limits of sanity to refuse him now. It seems emotional brutality is the
only language his father- no, this prototype Batman- will negotiate in. “Good. You can leave now.”

Black Canary does not leave. “You should probably get some sleep. The League have located a
suspicious outpost in Mongolia we think might be a military base and your team have an early start
tomorrow on a covert observation mission.”
“My team?” Damian’s nose wrinkles. “And what do you mean ‘covert observation’?”

“Your team.” Black Canary agrees. “I don’t know if you noticed but they’ve effectively adopted
you. And yes, covert observation. It might not seem imperative to you, but the League operates on
a far grander scale than just Batman and Robin. They can’t go ahead and invade Mongolia without
proper justification.”

“And the League has no clue what it’s up against.” Damian adds with a sharp grin. “Besides the
shadow of an old enemy. Fine, I’ll agree to work with your glorified crèche; I doubt co-operating
with actual League members would be more palatable. However I expect to be informed of every
development in this case in real time. If I face one more deception or experience the slightest chafe
of restraint, I will find an alternate route home alone and damn this dimension to whatever
nefarious plot endangers it with a clean conscience.”

Black Canary nods and has the gall to half-smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll alert you if anything
changes.”

She turns to leave but Damian has one more request. “Canary?”

She pauses at the door. “Yes?”

“Get me my utility belt back and my gloves. I’ve got work to do.”

***

After Black Canary retrieves his belongings, Damian does not go to sleep; he’s had quite enough
shut eye from being forcibly knocked unconscious twice in 48 hours.

Instead he finds the nearest computer and to his private relief, as soon as his fingers touch the keys
it springs to life. He wonders if it’s Robin who’s keyed his biometrics into the system and feels an
itch to seek out his likely disenfranchised younger mentor. Grayson had been disgruntled enough to
find he had competition to the title of Robin so Damian can only imagine how he’s taking the
shock that he’s no longer an only child. Unfortunately, whenever they’ve been at conflict in the
past, it has always been Grayson who made the first conciliatory move and now that the ball’s in
Damian’s court, he’s unsure how to proceed.

What would Robin appreciate? A pep-talk? Grayson has always been very enthusiastic about
giving them, but Damian doesn’t know how he’d take to receiving one. A gift of some kind? When
Damian had given him a potted plant for his birthday last year with strict instructions not to let it
die, Grayson had wandered the manor teary-eyed for the next four days.

What will Damian do if he cries? He fills an involuntary shudder dance up his spine. Grayson is an
overly sensitive fool and it would be just like him to force Damian into staunching the flow of his
bleeding heart. The very notion is so chilling that he decides to put aside all thoughts of
reconciliation for another time and focus on the work at hand.

Which is research. Lots of research.

Damian is sick to the back teeth of being uninformed. He can no longer stand blindly stumbling
through this house-of-mirrors dimension, especially with such little information on his primary
enemy. His first mode of business is to scour the Justice League records for everything they have
on the mission and the Light.

The first thing Damian notices is that the League’s file on the Light is one of the most recently
established and that in itself is a testament to their covert operation: Batman’s record-keeping is
scrupulous and unlikely to overlook a potential threat unless they’re well and truly operating
beneath the radar.

The second thing he notices is his grandfather’s name amongst a list of potential members. The
letters, even in a small, neat font, seem to loom at Damian from off the screen and he eradicates
any notions of complacency towards this group’s operation. If his grandfather had deigned to
darken its doorway, there is no doubt they are up against a formidable threat.

He reads about their establishment, global strong posts and notable allies all whilst struggling to
divine some grander scheme to apply to the theme of dimensional travel. Control seems to be the
key: Robin has informed him of their twisted ideology to reintegrate natural selection into a society
they believe heroes have turned soft and such an ambitious plot would take an entire upheaval of
the western norm, let alone global application. To gain that, they would need an iron fist as
opposed to one cloaked in the shadows. Damian can only assume that one way or another, they
mean to take over the world and by force at that.

For now, however, the nuances elude him and he returns to the machine’s diagram to hopefully
shed some light on the situation. The frantic clicking of his mouse and the tippity-tap tapping of
the keys are the only sound that fill the cavernous silence of the mountain but Damian doubts
anyone else is actually asleep. The sidekicks are probably still up and excited, like children before
a holiday, and who knows what Robin is doing. The thought makes his back tingle like an exposed
wound and he can’t help but toss a glance over his shoulder whenever there’s some small sound
like the distant erosion of rock or a crash of waves.

He finds his real breakthrough lead when examining the minutia of the circuits, all of which
display startling similarities to the recent technology rolled out by Lexcorp. The engineering itself
makes little sense to Damian and Luthor’s soft touch in the physical evidence left behind makes
sense considering his scrupulous public image but he doubts someone listed as a permanent
member of the Light would contribute so little.

He hazards a casual internet search on recent Lex Luthor news articles and immediately finds the
word ‘light’ jumping out at him from a dozen different sites. It turns out Luthor made a tidy but
highly publicised donation to a charity named ‘NightLight’, an organisation that claims to provide
quiet funds to children experiencing prolonged stays in hospital. Damian finds his lip involuntarily
curling at the impudence of using a children’s charity to cover their criminal operations but
supposes it at least matches the Light’s mission statement: they’d probably rather do away with
hospitals entirely and let nature run its savage course.

Naturally, not to be left tumbling off the bandwagon, various other high profile individuals then
made similar and even steeper donations and that does make Damian smile bitterly at the shallow,
sycophantic herd behaviour of Metropolis’ elite: how ironic that they are unwittingly funding their
own downfall. He only wishes Bruce Wayne had been amongst them. That would have been two
sweet. He follows a link to the charity’s website and finds various interesting tidbits such as a
mission statement which reads like a thinly veiled villainous monologue and a world map
highlighting the lucky recipient nations of their good work: Canada, Zimbabwe, Taiwan,
Mongolia…

Damian files the information away in his brain and closes the monitor at the insistent gnaw of his
stomach. He really hasn’t had a chance to eat and he presumes it’ll now be safe to do so without
fear of Martian ambush. He also feels a desire to meditate and find some mental tranquillity after
such a long and troubling couple of days. The thought of having to vocalise his emotions and
rawest thoughts to another person is enough to turn his stomach, but Damian has no problem
attempting to organise them himself. To prune away the ones that don’t suit him, enlarge and
impassion the ones which do, to thoroughly stamp out childish sentimentality…

He finds the kitchenette, darkened and empty and cringes at the flour blanketing the floor like
snow that dusts his boots with each step. The fridge is absorbed almost entirely by baking supplies
and little actual food besides nutritionless junk which Damian assumes belongs to Kid Flash and
which will, needless to say, not make it within an inch of his mouth. In the end he rumbles himself
an apple, some thinly buttered toast and is momentarily tempted by some synthetic, sugary cereal
he recognises as Robin’s before regaining his wits. The last time he’d tried some, at Grayson’s
eager coaxing, he recalls it tasting like sickly sweet Styrofoam. He won’t subject himself to the
same again simply because of a longing for home.

He even finds some weak tea which, when he closes his eyes and strains his taste buds, almost
reminds him of the Earl Grey Alfred serves with breakfast. It’s never been Damian’s favourite,
preferring richer, more exotic flavours, but now the very wraith of the perfume is a comfort and he
cradles the cup in his hands on top of the fridge, legs twined into a lotus position and mind slowly
accomplishing some semblance of peace.

He stirs gently through the muddled events of the past few days and teases out different lines of
thought and feeling. Several he nips neatly in the bud and leaves to trail aimlessly into the deeper
recesses of his mind. Others he fortifies, braiding together into a reinforced steel chain of mental
defence. It feels good to have productive prospects ahead and greater leverage over his fellow
heroes. Batman and Robin have always been in a league of their own and to find himself at a
disadvantage in comparison to his usual unquestionable position at Batman’s side had been irking.
He’s not quite returned to infallibility but he will get there, and on his own merits.

Roughly a half hour into his meditation, however, he hears a tell-tale rush of air and the creak of
the fridge opening beneath him along with a greedy chuckle that makes Damian want to groan in
exasperation. He sits for a moment in silence, listening to Kid Flash ransack the kitchen and make
several disagreeable, gluttonous sounds before he cannot stand it any longer.

“You sound like a pig.”

“GAH!” The speedster stumbles backward, clutching a tub of ice cream to his chest like a life vest
and gazing up at Damian in horror. “Holy Son of Batman! What are you doing on top of the
fridge!?”

“Meditating.”

Kid Flash’s gaze seems to focus and he observes Damian’s seating arrangement quizzically. “On
top of the fridge?”

“Yes.”

A look of even deeper confusion takes hold of the speedster’s features. “Meditating?”

“Meditating on top of the fridge, I thought we’d established this.” Damian says dryly, setting his
now empty mug to one side.

“No, no, no.” Kid Flash shakes his head vigorously, placing the ice cream similarly aside. “I mean
you meditate? Isn’t that, like, a hippie thing to make you calm and chilled out and…” He trails off,
clearly second guessing what he was going to add.

“And…?” Damian prompts.

He gulps. “Less…murderous?”
Damian gazes at him just long enough to make his discomfort peak before tutting and uncurling his
legs from the pretzel knot. “It does. Imagine how murderous I’d be without my meditation.” His
eyes narrow. “And you just interrupted me.”

“All right, all right!” Kid Flash cries, hands pre-emptively flying up to shield his face. “Sorry for
ruining your Feng Shui. I’ll leave you to it.”

He makes a move to leave but Damian leaps down off the fridge and he stops in his tracks, like a
deer caught in the headlights. “No. As you so astutely observed, my Feng Shui has been ruined.
What are you doing down here?”

“Besides eating?” Kid Flash sends a longing look at the fridge Damian is obstructing but he
shuffles so he’s more completely obscuring it from view. “Ugh… I was just gonna play some
video games.”

Damian’s interest is instantly piqued. “Video games?”

“Yeah. They’re like board games but animated.”

“-Tt-. I know what video games are. Which ones do you have?”

Kid Flash bites his lip nervously, eyes straying to the nearest available exits. “I normally play with
Rob…”

“Robin is sulking. Plus he’s an amateur compared to me, and that’s with ten years of extra
experience. Show me. Unless…” He grins, cracking his knuckles. “You’re that scared I’ll
pulverise you.”

A competitive determination takes a hold of Kid Flash’s features and he too lets loose a wide
smirk. “Oh, you are on kid. I am the Batman of video games.”

“Well I’m his son, which makes me the Batman of everything but Batman.” Damian retorts.
“Show me the games.”

10 minutes later, Damian isn’t quite eating his words but he’s certainly being given a run for his
money. He chooses to attribute Kid Flash’s success to his superhuman instincts and familiarity with
this particular game because Damian definitely had the upper hand on strategy but there’s no
doubting he’s a good gamer and it’s a stimulating competition, one which absorbs Damian’s mind
even more entirely than meditation would.

When Kid Flash wins his second round out of three, he gives a hearty whoop and flings the
controller into the air in victory. “YES! Beat that, bat-boy!”

“It’s hardly a fair fight.” Damian grumbles, but he’s fighting a smile. Wallace West is an idiot but
there’s something infectious in his exuberance.

“Um, excuse me you’re the one who got into a video game contest with a speedster I don’t know
what you’re whining about.”

“I’m not whining.” Damian protests as Kid Flash plops back down onto the couch next to him.
“But I do demand a rematch.”

At that moment the doors to the rec room swing open and Superboy and Miss Martian glide in, arm
in arm. When Superboy spots him, he looks automatically uneasy but his girlfriend beams at
Damian like an old friend.
 “Ooh! Are you playing video games? Can I watch?”

“Nah, Miss M, that’s not fair. We’ll find something else to do.”

“No more baking.” Damian says instantly. “I doubt my intestines could take it.”

“Trivial pursuit?” Superboy suggests but he’s immediately turned down by a chorus of groans.

“That isn’t fair, Con, and you know it.” Artemis says, appearing with Aqualad in the doorway and
going over to sit beside her boyfriend, attempting to ruffle Damian’s hair on her way past. He ducks
out of the way but sends her a vicious look that makes her grin. “You’ve basically got the
collective general knowledge for the past millennia memorised.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” Superboy insists, slumping moodily onto the couch. His girlfriend
giggles which makes him lift his head up and smile at himself. “We should at least find a
compromise.”

“I think we should let our newest team member choose.” Aqualad says, placing a hand on
Damian’s shoulder. He flinches, but doesn’t automatically brush it off. “As long as it’s something
we can do together.”

Damian pauses. The scene is so comfortable, he almost wonders if it’s real. Robin is still
noticeably absent and he can’t pretend that doesn’t bother him but the group of heroes around him,
juvenile and naïve though they may be, have been so accepting and patient towards him he’s still
scrambling for some kind of ulterior motive. However, examining each of the open, friendly faces
looking at him, he genuinely can’t find one. It’s as alien as it is pleasing. He’s never been able to
fathom Grayson’s seemingly endless affection and tolerance towards his lesser allies but now he
thinks he understands it. Working in a team can be almost as amenable as working in a partnership
and he feels that now that they are, truly a team it will be that much easier to return to Batman.

And as for this Batman, let him just try and stop them.

“Temporary team member.” Damian amends, but he’s smiling despite himself. “How do you feel
about Monopoly?”

Chapter End Notes

narrator voice: and thus as soon as the team was formed, it was torn apart...
leave a comment, kudos and a smile :) again, sorry it's filler xx
 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

Damian and the team complete the 're-con' mission. Things go well and awry.

Chapter Notes

have a late christmas gift :)

as you know, writing plot is the bane of my existence so that's why this took so long
but i kept on writing until midnight because i was suddenly flooded with inspiration
and now it's an absolute monster
no proofreading we die like mne

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Damian doesn’t so much destroy them at Monopoly as provide the team with a well-intentioned re-
education in the cut-throat, dystopic nature of capitalism.

Miss Martian is bankrupt five minutes in. Superboy shortly follows. Kid Flash attempts to buy up
all the yellow squares and when Damian nabs Piccadilly out from under him, he nearly flips the
board and rage-quits. Artemis is caught robbing the bank and is thus sentenced to jail time for most
of the game. Kaldur plays it straight-laced, accumulating property and dutifully paying his rent but
eventually Damian’s domination of the board sucks him entirely dry.

“You do realise this game was not invented for fun?” He states loudly over the sound of their
groans and the rustling of his significant paper fortune. They’re counting up the final balance but
it’s a pointless exercise. The board is a testament to his new real-estate empire, embellished with so
many hotels and houses, the property colours are barely visible. “The inventor, Elizabeth Magie,
intended it to be a chilling illustration of the economic consequences of land value taxation and
other Georgist concepts.”

“You suggested it!” Artemis says accusingly, shuffling her collection of one and five dollar bills
with all the despondence of a ruined woman.

“Yes,” Damian concedes, smiling smugly. “I did. I’m merely pointing out that you should have
expected this outcome from the start. The relentless grind of our consumer society benefits only the
very 1% and if I’m suggesting the game, then you can presume that’s me.”

Kid Flash leans over to Kaldur and stage whispers: “Is it too early to kick him off the team?” This
makes the rest of them laugh and Damian is just about to offer a stunning retort when the doors of
the rec room slide open and Robin walks in.

He doesn’t look as if he’s slept again which makes Damian frown: that’s two all-nighters in a row
which can’t be beneficial to either his mental or physical state. He isn’t smiling, there’s a
noticeable agitation in the tight set of his mouth and his step is so utterly devoid of spring that Kid
Flash spontaneously bursts out with a “Dude, are you alright?”
This forces a mangled caricature of his regular thousand-watt grin onto his face and Damian has to
force down a grimace of his own at the sight of it. The Grayson he knows is far better at faking a
smile. He supposes he’s had more practice.

“It’s cool, KF. Just didn’t sleep much.” He directs the next bit to Kaldur, masked eyes glossing
entirely over Damian. “B- or rather, Batman, wants us ready to depart in ten minutes. I’ve got the
co-ordinates and a mission debrief downloaded on my wrist computer.”

“He won’t be delivering them in person?” Kaldur wonders, grip tightening slightly around his
water bearers.

“He’s avoiding me.” Damian pipes up and watches as their faces turn awkward. So far no one has
attempted to acknowledge the bat in the room, which is the paternal linkage between himself and
Batman and the ensuing verbal brawl they were all witness too. He supposes they don’t want to
make him uncomfortable but Damian himself isn’t afraid of bringing it up. He has never shied
away from declaring his lineage before and if Batman has chosen to make it public, he’s certainly
not going to avoid the subject. He had privately hoped Robin wouldn’t either. “As are you, Robin.
We are going to discuss-”

“There’s really not enough time.” Robin interrupts him, smile dropping from his face like a dead
weight and entire manner hardening. “B- I mean Batman- was very clear we should be geared up
ASAP.”

“But-” Damian begins, feeling an angry flush rise into his cheeks.

“I’ll be down in the hangar.” Robin says, already turning on his heel and waving over his shoulder.
“See you in ten!”

Damian leaps up from his seat and cries “Wait!” but the doors to the rec room have already swung
shut and Robin’s set off, practically at a sprint, down the corridor. He moves to follow him but Kid
Flash intercepts his path, looking comically unhappy against the merry red and yellow of his
costume.

“Leave it, dude.” He says, shaking his head. “If he’s not in the mood to talk, he’s not going to talk.
You’ve just gotta wait for him to come around.”

“I have waited for him to come around.” Damian insists, attempting to move past but finding the
speedster still stubbornly blocking his path. “And he doesn’t have to talk, he just has to listen to me
talk.”

“So you’re master plan is to what- shout at him until he trusts you?” Artemis says, tone half
sympathetic, half mocking. “Robin moves in mysterious ways. Literally, sometimes. Wally’s right:
wait for him to come to you.”

Damian chews on this for a moment, finding the notion tough and hard to swallow. “This isn’t like
him.” He says at last. “He’s not usually so irritable…so opaque. He tries to make me talk about
how I’m feeling all the time. It’s not fair of him to shut me out.”

He only realises how personal his description of Grayson is when it’s too late. The team furtively
glance at each other, digesting the new information and he finds himself blushing furiously at the
slip up. Worse than the insight into Robin’s future character is the fact that he sounds like a child
whining about their older sibling refusing to share a toy. It both undersells his own emotional
maturity and the depth of his partnership with Grayson. He isn’t just his big brother who won’t
play nice. They’re supposed to be the dynamic duo, the ultimate team. Right now Damian feels
more akin to this gaggle of innocuous sidekicks.

“I merely commenting on how his behaviour is uncharacteristic.” He attempts to defend himself.

“Something must be amiss.”

“Maybe he just isn’t the Robin you know.” Miss Martian suggests gently but Damian feels himself
immediately bristle.

“That’s preposterous! He’s the exact same person as the version of him from my dimension. I
would be able to tell if he was different.”

“He might be the same person,” Kaldur elaborates. “But he’s ten years younger. You can’t expect
him to react to things the same way his adult self would. Perhaps you merely do not know him as
well as you thought you did.”

The statement hangs in the air for a moment, building in pressure until Damian chooses to release
it. He does so only once he believes he has an appropriate reign on the anger which itches to lodge
a birdarang in the Atlantean freak-of-nature’s gills.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says tightly, nostrils flaring. “And as such, I
will not hold your impudent suggestion against you. However, I’d implore you not to make such
reckless assumptions about people and things you certainly do not know as well as you think you
do.”

Kaldur nods, maintaining the calm temperament Damian had hoped he would. “Understood. I hope
we can place any disagreements aside in favour of the mission.”

“Absolutely.” Damian agrees. “I can be civil.”

“Not too civil to the bad guys, I hope.” Kid Flash grins, rising to his feet and rubbing his hands
together in anticipation.

“You mean the ones who wrenched me from my universe, left me to fend against the unfounded
circumspection of a demented Justice League and now threaten the stability of the entire
dimension?” He says, drawing several flash bombs from his utility belt and tossing them absently
as he pretends to think. “No. I’m afraid that’s where my civility runs out.”

“Lucky us.” Kaldur smiles. “Team, let’s go!”

***

“Robin,” Miss Martian says aloud, one hand resting on the ship’s glowing orb as she guides it over
Siberian wasteland. “I’m going to activate the mental link. Is that ok?”

She doesn’t specify that she’s addressing Damian, but it must be obvious from the way Robin’s
eyes remain trained out of the window, passing glassily across the desolate, grey sky. They are
about to meld minds and yet Damian is painfully aware he’ll be no closer to knowing what his
younger mentor is thinking. He’s almost tempted to test Robin’s mental defences, to see if he can
glean even a whisper of his thoughts, but he’s aware they’re as closely guarded as his own: he’d be
bashing his head against a brick wall. Instead he takes a beat to quiet his own brain, centre himself
on the mission ahead, before meeting Miss Martian’s polite gaze with a curt nod.

“Can everyone hear me?” She says a moment later, her voice ringing through his mind like warm
water rippling across a cool lake. Damian suppresses a shudder at the sensation as he registers the
peripheral presences of each of his teammates, their thoughts flickering as brightly and remotely as
stars in a halo of joint consciousness.

There’s a chorus of mental assent and when Damian hesitantly adds his own “voice”, he’s relieved
to find it as decisive and controlled an action as speaking. A little of the paranoia melts away,
especially as Kid Flash begins to mentally project a cheerful reprise of his ’99 Bottles of Bored on
the Wall’, giving them all cause to groan aloud but breaking the cerebral ice.

Kid Flash and Artemis both pass out crossing the border, resting their heads on each other’s
shoulders, and Damian watches as Robin grins, produces a marker out of thin air. For a moment it
appears certain the happy couple are about to be thoroughly inked but for some reason Robin
falters, twiddling the pen between his dexterous fingers as the smile dies on his face. Finally he
glances up, happens to meet Damian’s gaze and this appears to cement his decision. The pen is
plunged back into his utility belt and he resumes his moody observation of the landscape, now
fading into the frigid peaks of the Mongolian mountains.

Kid Flash and Artemis clearly find it just as surprising as Damian does from the way they lunge
awake with simultaneous yells of distress, clawing desperately for a reflective surface.

“Wha-?” Kid Flash garbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as though the ink will miraculously
appear on his face.

“You didn’t draw on us?” Artemis says, sounding disturbed as she looks from her pocket mirror to
Robin. “Why didn’t you draw on us? What else did you do?”

“Nothing.” Robin snaps, in a way that doesn’t just sound like Batman, but Bruce Wayne’s Batman.
“Guys, we’re on a mission. I’m trying to take this seriously.”

Kid Flash and Artemis exchange chilled looks and Damian tries not to feel smug. He had told them
something was wrong and they’d insisted he wait until Robin came to him. But now he isn’t just
acting irritable, he’s acting off.

The issue is put aside when Miss Martian reports that they’re ten minutes away and it’s finally time
for the mission debrief. Robin interfaces his wrist computer with the bioship and brings up a
holographic blueprint of the outpost, separated into three sections highlighted blue, green and red.
Each one is then labelled with a dizzying number of annotations, most of which Robin dismisses
with a flick of his hand and a measured sigh.

“Are those not important?” Kaldur asks, eyebrows knitting.

“Batman being pedantic.” Robin grumbles. “All we really need to know is that the outpost is split
into three camps: what appears to be a military barracks, a lab and an information tower. We’ll split
into three teams to observe each-”

“What kind of information?” Damian interrupts.

Robin stares at him for a moment, likely blinking behind the mask, before clearing his throat.
“We’re not sure. But it appears to be the technological hub of the base, so we’re assuming-”

“And we’re simply going to observe this possibly crucial information?” Damian intercepts again,
crossing his arms. “This is an excellent opportunity to gather intelligence. The League wants
justification to invade Mongolia, correct?”

“Well, yes.” Kaldur agrees, clearly attempting to discharge the situation. “But photos of military
action should be plenty of evidence.”
“We’re also supposed to be providing some clarity on exactly what the League is up against.”

“That’s second priority.”

“For you, perhaps,” Damian cannot help himself from snapping. “For me it is priority number one.
It would be the height of stupidity to pass up such an opportunity and so far the League have
proven nothing but.”

“We need to trust in our mentors.” Kaldur insists but the other heroes don’t look so sure.

“You were only supposed to put out a fire at Cadmus,” Superboy reminds him. “But instead you
followed your guts and freed me. What if we find something like that here?”

“I doubt there are any Kryptonian clones on ice in Mongolia, Con.” Robin says scathingly.

“But what if there is my key to returning home?” Damian retorts.

“I think he’s right, Rob.” Kid Flash says reluctantly, avoiding his look of betrayal. “This isn’t a real
mission anyway: the League just want us out from under their feet. If you ask me, we should be
able to make what we want of it.”

“I haven’t got the patience to sit around debating this.” Damian says, rising to his feet. “Let’s put it
to a vote. All those in favour of being mollycoddled by the Justice League and serving no real
function, raise your hand.”

Robin and Kaldur raise their hands. The rest of the team remains motionless. After a beat, Kaldur
lowers his hand.

“Kal, what-?” Robin begins but he cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I won’t vote against the majority of my team, Robin.” He says, eyes boring into his feet.

“That’s settled, then.” Damian says, meeting Robin’s acidic look head on. “You were saying?”

“Three teams.” Robin practically hisses. “Artemis, Superboy you’re investigating the military
barracks. Take photos of weapons, an estimation of manpower and avoid detection. Miss Martian,
Kid Flash you’ll be in the lab. M’gann, see if you can spot any alien technology. Wally, you’re our
resident science buff: try and figure out exactly what experiments their conducting. Robin-” He
winces as he says the name and this is all the hesitation Damian needs to cut in.

“I’m going to the information tower.” He says, tone utterly inflexible.

“Of course you are.” Robin says through gritted teeth. “Along with myself and Kaldur. I’ll try and
hack into their system but I can’t guarantee anything.” He attempts to shrug but his shoulders are so
tightly wound, it looks more like a spasm. “If their technology is anything like the kind that
machine was made of, I doubt I’ll make much headway.”

“Stay in touch over the mental link,” Kaldur reminds them. “And be covert. This entire outpost is
effectively a military base. They can and will take us all down if we’re revealed. We’ll meet back
at the bioship in an hour at the latest.”

“Be careful.” Miss Martian says over the mental link, settling the cloaked bioship down just
outside the chain-link fence of the outpost. It’s an industrial looking settlement and from a bird’s
eye view, amongst the parched green flat lands, one could easily mistake it for any other harmless
slaughterhouse starving its workers on a tögrög a day. Up close, Damian notices the marks of more
ambitious crime: the barbed wire lining the fence, the monotonous beat of military footfall and
lurid yellow nuclear hazard signs, all screaming ‘Danger!’ in the most innate languages.

They’ve parked behind the vast military barracks meaning that for Superboy and Artemis, it’s a
simple matter of scaling the fence and entering through an open window. Kid Flash and Miss
Martian have a similarly easy matter of remaining undetected: she cloaks herself and he zips over
to the smoking laboratory at a speed too fast for the human eye to detect. The information tower
isn’t far away but this places it within shouting distance of a large population of soldiers meaning
the two guards flanking its entrance cannot be physically subdued.

“We’ll have to cause a distraction.” Robin decides. They’ve found a sheltered spot between the
barracks and the fence where they can crouch undetected. “A smoke bomb would be too
suspicious, they’d have to investigate where it came from…”

Damian re-examines the blueprint of the base on Robin’s wrist computer. His mother has always
taught him to make any battlefield his catbird seat and Grayson has always taught him to play to
the strengths of his team. He’s certain the two philosophies can be combined…

“The water works.” He says suddenly, tracking the pipelines through the barracks with his finger.
“The ones that supply the troops. Aqualad, if you cause a flood that should provide enough of a
distraction to get us in.”

“Good idea, Robin.” Aqualad says, clapping him on the shoulder. He bats the hand off. “Right…
sorry.”

Damian waits for a reaction from Robin but he only waves a hand, urging Aqualad on. Kaldur
obeys, closing his eyes and raising a hand, and a second later there’s a burst and crash of water at
the other end of the building, followed by several cries of alarm and the pounding of feet.

Damian almost has a heart attack when a second later Kid Flash’s voice reverberates in his mind.
“That was you guys, right?”

“Nothing to worry about, KF. Just raising a little hell.” Robin returns. Aloud, he says: “The guards
haven’t moved from their position.” Sure enough, the two outside the information tower are
shuffling and scratching their heads, clearly too brainless to take any kind of initiative. “Give it
some extra welly.” He suggests, and Kaldur assents. There’s an even more vicious blast of water
and the two guards finally abandon their posts leaving the door to the tower exposed.

The trio creep over and Damian breaks the lock.

“They might notice that.” Robin points out but Damian rolls his eyes.

“These troglodytes? They wouldn’t notice a broken lock on a door if someone hit them in the face
with it.” He edges the door open and they all slip through into an empty entrance passage with one
door and two sets of elevator doors. “And I’m somewhat tempted to…”

“No displays of aggression.” Kaldur chides, peering at the map again. “The placement of the aerial
suggests the technological hub of the building is up that elevator.” He points to the one on the left
then frowns. “But it does make me wonder what’s up the other…”

“We could split up.” Damian suggests, privately pleased at the opportunity to be alone with Robin.
“You can investigate the right, we’ll try and collect the information from the left.”

“It might be nothing.” Robin argues, clearly uncomfortable.

“It has to be something.”

“I’ll check it out.” Kaldur decides, cutting off the argument before it could blossom any further.
“I’ll be quick and keep you updated via mental link. You two do the same.”

“Kaldur-”

“Robin. It’ll be fine.” He promises, moving to the right. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He wrenches
open the doors with his water bearers and begins climbing up the rope.

“Come on then.” Robin grizzles, stepping forward to hack open the elevator doors.

Damian immediately begins his interrogation. “Why are you treating me so coldly? Ordinarily you
are trusting and friendly to the point of naivety and yet towards me you have been nothing but
hostile and suspicious. I demand an explanation. Even your team has begun to trust me and yet you
remain reticent.” The light above the elevator glows and the doors swing open. Robin leaps onto
the top of the box, his cloak rippling behind him, and Damian follows. “I would not normally press
the subject. I am no advocate of the touchy-feely. However, if you do have any sentimentalities
you’re keeping bottled up, I’d rather you have out with them as opposed to allowing them to
fester.”

They are now halfway up the coarse metal rope and Damian is still stoically addressing the back of
Robin’s head. “I feel as if it’s affecting our productivity.” He continues, raising the volume of his
voice on the off chance his companion has become miraculously deaf. “I know I am displeased to
be so at odds with my-” He breaks off, curses himself, and hopes Robin did not notice his slip of
the tongue. “With a fellow Gothamite hero.” This time it is Damian who opens the elevator doors,
wrenching them open with a birdarang. They both hop out into a tight corridor. Across from the
elevator is the open door to a small, buzzing room aglow with blue light. Damian can see the
silhouette of only one person on-duty and swallows a tut at the chaotic management of this outpost.
He wonders who is in charge of such a calamity in security.

“Be quiet.” Robin finally responds, and then mouths: “You knock him out, I’ll secure the area.”
He jabs at the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling and then at his wrist computer. Damian
gives him a withering look that screams ‘we-aren’t-done-with-this’ but obeys.

The man in the computer room has earbuds in making it all too easy to sneak up, clamp a hand over
his mouth and knock him unconscious with a sharp jab to the neck. One earbud falls out and, out of
curiosity, Damian holds it close to his ear. He recoils instantly: early-2000s pop. It’s either a
comforting familiarity or a curdling distress that Western musical taste remains so constant in both
this dimension and timeline. The sheer number of screens and devices in front of him is befuddling
and he’s pleased when a moment later, Robin arrives to relieve him of any technological
responsibility.

“Let’s take a look at you, lovely ladies.” He grins, his hands flying over the keyboard and Damian
takes his good mood as permission to proceed with his verbal battery.

“Earlier when we were in Gotham you told me it was important to get me back to ‘my Batman’.”
He says, leaning one hand obtrusively close to the computer Robin is tapping at.

He doesn’t move but does let out a small grunt of frustration as the screen blossoms red with
‘ACCESS DENIED’. “You remember that, huh?”

“I have a near photographic memory.” Damian informs him coolly. “I want to know what you
meant by that.”
“What do you think I meant by it? Damnit!” He tacks on at the end, switching to his wrist
computer as the device locks him out once more.

That’s a question Damian hadn’t anticipated. “It sounded to me as if you were… wistful.” He only
receives a quiet, distracted “Really?” to that and so approaches the matter anew. “As if you
were… jealous.”

This does make Robin’s head shoot up. “Jealous? I thought I was hiding it better.”

“You’re jealous of me?” Damian says, appalled. He had only been trying to rouse a reaction. He
had not anticipated he would be anywhere near the truth.

Robin’s jaw ticks and he shakes his head. “Forget I said that. It’s stupid. That isn’t what I meant.”

“Why in the world would you be jealous of me?” Damian persists anyway. The very idea is
baffling. What does Grayson have about him to be envious of? He has never been jealous of
Damian’s talents: he has a wealth of his own and besides, was never the kind to grudge someone’s
skill. The only thing he can really think of is his blood connection to his father but it has always
been clear who’s the more legitimate son.

“I can’t hack this in an hour.” Robin says, ignoring the question and drumming his fingers
anxiously against his knees. “We should let Kaldur know that-”

Speak of the devil, Kaldur’s voice materialises in their heads, somehow panicked and breathless
even across the mental plain. “Team, Klarion is managing this outpost. I repeat: Klarion is
managing this outpost.”

“What?” explode Kid Flash, Robin and Artemis in chorus with a strength that makes Damian
clutch at his head.

“This Klarion is a member of the Light? ” He queries, unaware of the gravity of the situation.

“A Lord of Chaos.” Kaldur agrees. “He has a room in the information tower. I caught him on a
video call to some other members of the Light with their faces blacked out, of course. He was
mainly just complaining about being stuck in the middle of nowhere but he did let slip that they’re
preparing for a big event in two days’ time. He called it the Assertion. He talked about not just
undermining the League but overwhelming it. He said-” Kaldur appears to lose his breath for a
second though through exertion or fear Damian cannot tell. “He said to prepare for the rule of
chaos in all parallel universes.”

“Kaldur,” Robin thinks urgently. “I’m not going to be able to download the information in time. We
have to leave without it.”

“No way!” Damian thinks viciously, yanking Robin by the shoulder to face him. “We now have a
deadline of two days. I am not leaving without all the possible resources we can access.”

“It would take too long!” Robin insists.

“And we don’t have long!” Artemis suddenly asserts, momentarily followed by a flashing of red
lights and blaring alarms. “We’ve been spotted. We need to head back to the bioship now!”

“I am not leaving without that information!” Damian thinks stubbornly. “Do not head to the
bioship, group in the computer room. I know a way to hack the computers but you’ll all have to
defend us.”
“How?” Robin asks aloud at the same time as Kid Flash wildly asks “ How will we escape?”

“Leave that to me.” Damian thinks in answer to both. “Kaldur, this is your lead. Do I have
permission?” It smarts to ask but it’s truly a formality. Damian has their hands tied.

“You do.” Kaldur thinks wearily. “But whatever you’re doing, do it fast. We’ll drag you kicking
and screaming if we have to.”

“As if you could.” Damian thinks and then remembers they're mentally linked. “I mean, loud and
clear.”

“Well?” Robin says, sweat glittering on his forehead under the red lights. “What’s your master
plan?”

“This.” Damian reaches into his utility belt and withdraws his override stick.

“Where did you get that?” Robin asks in awe.

“I doesn’t matter.” Damian says defensively. He quickly plugs in the stick, wary lest Robin
recognise his own handiwork. “What matters is that it will get us into that computer and download
its contents quicker than any hacker of flesh and bone.”

Kaldur appears in the doorway. He must have run the whole way from the gasping sounds he’s
making, like a drowning fish. “I took out two soldiers on the way up and there’s more coming. Do
you have anything to secure the lift?”

Damian reaches into his utility belt and removes one of the foam capsules. “Wait until the others
arrive and then chuck this down the elevator chute.”

“What does it do?” Kaldur says, handling it as if it’s filled with either dynamite or cyanide. This
makes Damian smirk.

“You’ll see.”

In the following minute, the rest of the team trickle in, already decorated with cuts and bruises from
various altercations. No one is shot, Damian notices with relief, which means they were all smart
enough to stay out of the way of guns. Kaldur disappears with Kid Flash to detonate the pellet and
when he returns a moment later, the speedster is grinning idiotically.

“Why does it now look like a cotton candy machine exploded down the elevator chute?”

“Hardening foam.” Damian explains. “It won’t hold them once they get out a bazooka but it should
do for now.”

“The future is amazing.” Kid Flash sighs. “Who in the hell is the genius that formulated that?”

It was Drake so the compliment makes Damian frown. “A nerd with an overinflated sense of self-
importance.” The override stick is nearing 75% but there’s an ominous boom and then a cackle
from outside the room which Damian takes to mean the foam did not hold as well as he’d
anticipated.

“Klarion.” Superboy growls.

“Don’t let him near the room.” Kaldur orders. “Robins, you stay here. We’ll hold him off.”

They rush out and moments later there’s a sounds of crashing and general warfare. “Did I make
that stick?” Robin suddenly says out of the blue. Up until this point he’d been watching the
progress of the override with an intense fascination Damian had written off as a fellow hacker’s
interest. “It looks like my code. Why did I give that to you?”

“You didn’t.” Damian lies through gritted teeth as the stick begins downloading all the files on the
computer.

“I did.” Robin says, with more confidence now. “It must have taken me forever to write.”

“You’re a better hacker in the future.” Is Damian’s half-hearted excuse.

“Not that much better. But I wanted you to have it as a failsafe, so I felt safe. Why did I do that?”
He seems genuinely perplexed, as if doubting his own actions. The implication that he couldn’t
give a damn about Damian’s safety hurts him just as much as it angers him.

“You said so yourself: it’s in case of emergency.”

“I guess this constitutes.” Robin mutters and then falls into a contemplative silence. Oddly, some
of the irritation has fallen from his face to be replaced by a pained confusion, the kind Damian
supposes is only natural when faced with the contradictory actions of your future self.

He doesn’t have time to decide the outcome he wants his younger mentor to reach because at that
moment the rest of the team stagger back into the cramped room. Artemis is supporting Miss
Martian who appears to be unconscious and they all seem even more banged up than before. They
remain, from what Damian can see, unshot and unstabbed which he supposes he must be satisfied
with. However, their entrance is followed by that of a thin, pale, malicious looking man in a
tailored black suit. His hair is gelled into spikes resembling horns and around his skinny white
neck, a raggedy ginger cat purrs with the ferocity of a hive of wasps. His features are twisted and
cruel, neither young nor old but suspended in an inhuman ambiguity. This is Klarion: the Lord of
Chaos.

“Well, well, well.” He croons, reaching up a hand to tickle his cat’s chin. Damian looks at the
progress of the override and finds it inching towards 80% download complete. Robin has one hand
resting around the stick, ready to pull it out as soon as it’s completed its task so Damian gives the
deranged villain his full attention. He can drag this out. He looks like the type that tends to
monologue.

“Well, well, well.” He repeats and Damian can’t stand people who repeat themselves for effect. “If
it isn’t the wittle Justice League and their new fwend! Robin, isn’t it?” He grins, flashing sharp
white canines. “I’ve heard all about you. Our little stowaway! You are just the darndest thing.”

“And you look like you haven’t seen sunlight in a decade and live on lemons.” Damian retorts,
crossing his arms.

Klarion cackles, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “You are sassy! I adore the change of pace
of a parallel universe. It leaves me itching to break as many little birdie wings as I can.”

“You’re a Lord of Chaos?” Damian asks. “I’m unsurprised. This base is the most shoddily
managed villainous operation I’ve seen in my life. What on earth are you doing here?”

Klarion adopts a childish pout, offset by the truly savage glint in his eyes. “I know! It’s no fun at
all in Mongolia. I just know everyone else if having a whale of a time in-” He covers his mouth
with a hand.

“Where?” Damian says instantly.

“That’s for me to know and you to NOT find out.” Klarion giggles, his raspy voice reminiscent of
a cat’s yowl. His hands begin to glow blood red. “I’m sorry, children, I’d love to play a little longer
but the Light really wouldn’t like it if the wittle League messed up our plans a second time. Better
to get you out of the way now.”

“It’s finished downloading!” Robin cries, and not a moment too soon as a red spire of electricity
flies from Klarion’s finger, aimed at Damian’s head. He ducks and it strikes the computer instead
which makes Klarion stomp his feet in frustration.

“No! That costs a lot of money!” He hollers, with the energy of a toddler throwing a temper
tantrum. “Now you’re in for it! Teekl!”

His cat leaps from his shoulders and hisses savagely at the heroes. Damian feels a genuine pang of
the heart. “Don’t hurt him!” He orders Artemis, who has immediately aimed an arrow.

“What?!” She shouts in response and a second later he understands her side of things as the cat
transforms into a hulking beast that lunges at Superboy. He falls to the ground grappling the thing
and Klarion’s fingers crackle with that same red electricity, striking Aqualad and Artemis and
causing them to writhe in pain.

“You said you had a plan!” Robin yells, ducking another burst of crimson light. “Do something!”

Ignoring his inner animal lover who protests heartily to Superboy’s mistreatment of the werecat,
Damian removes his most powerful explosive birdarang from his utility belt. “Lemon-face!” He
cries to get the Lord of Chaos' attention and then aims the weapon a little to his left. When it
misses him, the Klarion laughs in malevolent delight so he misses Damian’s next shout to “Get
down!” which sends the rest of the team dropping to the floor. The birdarang curves back and
lodges in the opposite wall. As soon as it makes contact, it explodes and Klarion is knocked off his
feet by a blast of hot air and rubble.

Superboy shakes off Teekl who mewls and pounces over to scrabble at his master. “A loyal
companion.” Damian acknowledges.

The other sidekicks look at him like he’s crazy. “So there’s a hole in the wall.” Kid Flash says.
“Now what do we do? We’re two storeys up.”

“We jump out of it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, only one of us can fly and Miss Martian is unconscious.” Artemis
says irately, still supporting the Martian with one arm.

“I know.” Damian says with a grin. “Luckily I know a way to soften the landing but we’ll have to
run as fast as we can as soon as we hit the ground. The soldiers will be after us.”

Klarion groans and Damian takes that as his cue to exit. “Just trust me!” He yells and leaps out of
the hole in the wall.

He’s met by a cloud of foam and scrambles to his feet. Above him his team’s horrified faces peer
over, clearly expecting to see his shattered form on the concrete. Perhaps a little insensitive,
Damian thinks, examining the paralysed look on Robin’s face in particular, but it worked.

“Jump!” He demands. He can already hear the military closing in. This time, the heroes do not
hesitate. Seconds later they’re all racing for the bioship, ducking bullets with the screeching of
Klarion ringing in their ears; luckily for them, he appears to have lost all control over his powers in
his rage because if he’d chosen to say, drop the ground out from under them, they’d be toast. They
scale the fence, board the bioship and with Kaldur at the helm, they’re in the air, cheering in
victory as they leave the outpost behind.

The celebrations are short lived as the adrenaline wears off and there’s a general wincing and
complaining of wounds. For a while they all form a huddle around Miss Martian, Superboy
clenching her hand until she regains consciousness over Siberia, disoriented and concussed but in
little pain and with no fear of permanent damage. This seems to reignite the victorious spirit of the
team and soon Kid Flash bursts into a verbal singalong of that noxious 2000s pop. Everyone briefly
participates, even Damian feeling involved in the energy if not the lyrics of the song and
permitting himself to tap a foot along to the beat. When the mob fervour wears off, no one even
minds Kid Flash continuing to sing drunkenly in the background, clearly burning off excess
adrenaline.

It’s to the mutilated tune of ‘Genie in a Bottle’ that Robin comes to join Damian, a first aid kit in
one hand. “Are you injured anywhere?” He says by way of introduction and when Damian shakes
his head, he points out a scratch he hadn’t even noticed on his arm.

“Can I stitch it?” Robin asks, in that apologetic tone Damian recognises so well as the hallmark of
resolution, and thus eagerly offers his permission.

He cleans the wound and Damian barely feels the sting he’s so on edge to hear what Robin has to
say. He neatly stitches the wound and then sits back, biting his lip. His fingers fly up to the edge of
his mask which he then tries to play off as itching his nose but Damian sees right through the
façade: he wants to remove it. That means he’s speaking to Dick Grayson right now, not just
Robin.

“I’m sorry for being ‘irritable’.” He starts off with a watercolour smile, quoting Damian’s own
word. “I haven’t been really mad at you. I mean, I have, but more so at Batman and… myself.”

“There’s no reason to be mad at yourself.” Damian says, and then elaborates lest that come across
as soft. “There are plenty of reasons to be mad at Batman but you haven’t done anything worth that
kind of self-punishment. I wouldn’t have let you get away with it if you had.”

“I’ve been thinking some stupid things.” Robin says and Damian figured as much: it’s the only
thing that would have his mentor acting so strangely. “Some unfair things mainly. I guess seeing
that override stick…” He pauses, chooses his next words carefully. “It was like a slap in the face
from my future self. Because…you’re a hero. You’ve proven yourself to my team, the League and
now even me from the future is telling me to trust you. I can’t deny it any longer for my own
selfishness’ sake.” He sighs, a look of pure defeat on his face. Damian doesn’t like that he looks so
bad. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted their reconciliation to go. “I didn’t want you to be better
than me because I wanted to hold on to Robin. But now I see that-”

There’s a rumble as the bioship sets down and Damian’s irritated that they’re back so soon, just as
he and Robin were finally getting somewhere. “But now you see that-” He prompts. However, the
spell seems to have broken and with everyone else disembarking, excited to regale their mentors
with the tale of their success, Robin too rises and dusts himself off.

“Let’s go give Batman our mission report.” He says, smile even feebler. Damian thinks he’d prefer
it if he went back to being emotionless. Now he’s hard to look at because Grayson should never
look so broken. “Maybe we’ll talk afterwards, ok?”

“We will talk afterwards.” He says stubbornly and he’s just about to carry on trying to convince
him when there’s a vibration in his pocket.
 He stops, feels ice freeze in his stomach, tingle through his heart and then lodge in his throat. The
vibration is followed by a persistent beep-beep-beep which sets the pace of his pulse. He shouldn’t
be hearing that sound. It’s just as familiar to him as it is foreign in this particular environment.
There is no way his communicator should be ringing right now.

Robin must recognise the noise too because his mouth his agape as Damian slowly removes the
device from his pocket. “Is that your-”

“Yes.” Damian forces through cold-numbed lips.

“Someone’s contacting you. Who could possibly be contacting you?”

Damian examines the caller ID, pulling the screen close to him with fumbling fingers. He lets out a
shaky breath as his eyes focus on the name:

“Batman.”

Chapter End Notes

lemme know what you think, sorry for the cliffhanger, hope yall had a happy
holidays!!
kudos, comment (if you like, i can't make you do anything) :D
 Chapter 13
Chapter Summary

Someone is calling across space and time.

Chapter Notes

this is short it is underwhelming and i'm SORRY but i couldn't leave y'all waiting
originally this and the next chapter were supposed to be one but it's going to take me
too long to sort out the emotional intricacies of the next one so i'm posting this to tide
you over... as a treat :)
it's plot. that's all. again, real sorry folks. we'll get into the juicy emotions as soon as i
have time and THE WRITING CAPACITY

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They nearly run into his father on their way to the briefing room.

They’re inches away from the entrance when he suddenly appears, melting out from the shadows
like some sort of gothic phantom. The sudden appearance of his indomitable black frame forces
them to screech to a halt and Damian takes the opportunity to thrust his communicator, still
glowing and beeping, into his face.

He examines it and the two of them with a look of numb surprise. “Is this you?” Damian demands
through hasty breaths.

His father’s face hardens. “No.”

“Then it’s him.” Damian says to himself, voice hushed and private. “It’s Batman.” He doesn’t
waste a second more, shouldering his way past the pillar of cloak and storming into the briefing
room, only distantly aware of his estranged family members trailing behind him. “It’s Batman!” He
repeats with more vigour and his team, who look suspiciously like their receiving a lecture from a
weary Black Canary, perk up in alarm. He raises the communicator aloft and strides over to them,
like it’s his trophy on a victory lap. “He’s finally contacted me! It’s about time, I was beginning to
suspect…” The words die out in his throat, swept away on a wavering breath and a tightly pursed
smile. “But he’s contacting me. Finally!”

“Batman from the future?” Black Canary says, glancing intensely at various faces in quick
succession. “Should we be listening to this?”

“Relax, he’s hardly likely to be tossing around details from the future willy-nilly.” Damian scoffs.
He doesn’t know whether it’s from a place of pride or a need to prove himself that he wants his
team to meet the real Batman but either way, he ushers them over as he places his communicator
reverently down. He senses the looming presence of his father behind him and Robin’s uneasy
shifting feet at his side but ignores them, mind already a parallel world away. With a steady hand,
he accepts the call.
“This is Batman calling from Gotham city, year 2020. Code words: tangled web and empty nest.”

Damian feels his heartbeat soar like a bird and can’t supress the wide grin that instinctively spreads
across his face at the sound of Batman’s voice. The past few days could have been a violent dream
for all they matter now. “Batman, this is Robin. It’s about time-”

“The time is 2:25 AM. This is a recorded message.”

And just as Damian’s heart had soared a moment before, he feels it plummet and drop, heavy and
dead to the bottom of his stomach. At the exact same moment, whispered with all the fervour of
sacrilege in a cathedral, Robin says “That’s not Batman.”

Damian can’t bring himself to look at him but Robin’s shallow breaths suggest the one admission
has swept all the air from his lungs. He too finds himself unable to speak, biting down emptily as
he searches for the pertinent thing to say. What is the procedure in a situation like this? Should he
turn off the communicator? Run whilst he has the chance?

Before he can make a decision, he’s arrested by his mentor’s voice.

“Robin, we will have no way to confirm that you have received this message.” The recording
continues. “If this communicator has fallen into the hands of the Justice League, please relay this
message to either Robin, or, if he is incapacitated, Batman. If it has not, then hand this
communicator in to the authorities. Once they are in possession, it is imperative that it finds its way
to the first line of planetary defence.”

“Now, to whoever is still listening, pay close attention. Our entire dimension is in extreme danger.”

Somehow hearing Batman say it gives the threat of the Light a whole new sense of peril. Up until
this moment, Damian’s main target has been to return home and it still is, for the most part.
However, Batman’s appeal is a reminder that returning to his world is only half the battle. The
Light will follow him there: he cannot escape its imminence merely by prioritising something else.
The dimension truly is at stake and Damian has been ignoring that risk for the sake of his own
selfish designs. If possible, his heart sinks even further. Grayson has a way of making him feel
morally culpable without even being in the room. What would Batman say if he could see his
Robin now?

“It has been approximately 48 hours since Robin travelled through what we can only describe as a
portal to a parallel universe and since then, our investigation has unveiled an even more sinister
plot. A villainous organisation functioning under the moniker of ‘The Light’ functioning from an
external parallel world have placed roots in our Gotham and are planning what they describe as an
‘Assertion’ at midnight in two days’ time. We do not know the specifics of their exact intent, but
they have technology which can access parallel worlds meaning we could be anticipating a case of
inter-dimensional invasion or even destruction. Either way, they have enlisted the aid of many of
Gotham’s most dangerous and in our world alone, appear to have enough military power to
overwhelm a small city. We know, however, that their plans are far more ambitious.”

“Two days ago, they attempted to eliminate the threat posed by Robin and I in our world and funnel
more arms into your parallel universe. Only Robin’s ingenuity prevented this plot from
succeeding.”

The compliment, intended to act as a balm, only makes the sting of Damian’s conscience worse. He
hadn’t been intending to prevent the villains’ plan from succeeding; he’d just been trying to save
himself and Batman.
 “I barely managed to escape but he was displaced and is somewhere in your universe. Despite all
his… external appearances, he is an excellent hero and can be trusted. It is imperative he receive
this message. Red Robin has found a way to repair and reverse-engineer the machine in our world
and as a result, at the same time as the Light attempt to carry out their ‘Assertion’, it will connect
with its twin in your universe and allow myself and heroes from my world to travel through it. We
will attempt to neutralise the threat of the Light and take Robin home, however we are relying on
support from either the Justice League or its alternative. The strength of the Light is simply too
strong for our forces to subdue on our own and we will be operating within a limited time frame:
Red Robin calculates that we will only be able to keep the portal open for a few hours at most.”

“Half an hour at least, and that’s a guesstimate.” Comes a slightly muffled voice from somewhere
in the background.

“Thank you, Red Robin, for that helpful addition.” Batman growls and Damian would relish his
impatience with Drake if he didn’t so badly wish to trade places with him. He’d put up with
Batman being impatient with him if he could be impatient in person. “To clarify: Robin, you must
be at the machine at midnight in approximately two days’ time in order to rendezvous. I won’t be
leaving without you, but it will make things difficult if we cannot return within that time frame. We
also appeal to your world’s first line of planetary defence to take this threat seriously and fight with
us. From what we can tell, the Light is like a weed. If we do not uproot it now, it will only
continue to spread and then no one in this dimension will be safe. Midnight. Two days’ time. Do
not let us down, or innocent lives will be lost. Batman out.”

Robin compares the silence that ensues to the kind that occurred after the reveal of his heritage.
This, he thinks, is worse. If that silence had been the kind that followed the dropping of an atomic
bomb, this was the silence that fell at a funeral. Everyone is waiting for someone to give the eulogy
for the deceased.

Everyone is looking at Robin. Robin is looking at Damian. Damian is looking at his boots.

Every word Batman had said, every cold, impersonal word, had been like a spike of ice forced
down his throat. The tinny parting words of the message still ring in his ears, and as they die the
distance between Damian and his home seems to stretch out into a freezing, lifeless infinity. The
two days ahead of him appear insurmountable with such meagre comfort: an affirmation of his
skill, a hesitation before the word hero…

What had he been hoping for? He hated when Grayson got sentimental, would have been appalled
at the thought of his sappy ramblings falling into enemy hands. Perhaps what he hoped for was
different from what he wanted. Who could blame his mentor for struggling to keep up? He had
faith that Damian would be the hero, work with the League, be Robin without a Batman and so far
he had let him down at every turn, risking the safety of the dimension, antagonising his teammates
and-

“That wasn’t Batman.” Robin says quietly, finally.

“Yes.” Damian says. “It was.”

Chapter End Notes

don't even leave a kudos i don't deserve it. i am trying very hard and this fic will
survive!!
 Chapter 14
Chapter Summary

The truth is revealed. Mostly.

Chapter Notes

did someone order some ANGST

hello friends and comrades, yes, i have been absent for a while
yes, education is difficult and time consuming and i've barely had time to work, let
alone write this emotionally complex fic
NO i will NOT give you up, let you down, run around or (heaven forbid) desert you
so it is nearly midnight (UK time) but this next chapter is up and it's short and spicy
>:)))

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“That wasn’t Batman.” Robin says, quietly, finally.

The silence feels like an overcast day in Gotham with a mizzling mist in the air. Damian had
crouched by the gravestone long after everyone else had left, gathering a dusting of moisture on the
shoulders of his grey wool coat, unsure where he was expected to go now. Grayson had an
umbrella, a blue umbrella at a funeral, had covered his head and walked him home…

“Yes,” Damian says softly, eyes still staring up into an umbrella-blue sky. “It was.”

It had been the worst day of his life because he had felt so powerless. Here he was at his father’s
funeral without a kind word to say about him that wasn’t pirated from bedtime stories. Grayson had
been a nuisance but kind, considerate. Damian had been flattered he’d thought of him, remembered
that Batman had a true son grieving him and not just his illegitimate charity brood. It had given
him the self-confidence he needed to knock his outstretched hand away with a tut, step back into
the manor as if it belonged to him even if it was Grayson’s name on the lease.

“No.” Robin says again, more insistently, his voice cutting gratingly into Damian’s memories. “It
wasn’t. It was a good imitation, but it wasn’t his voice. He used similes. He was too…”

“Charismatic?” He suggests tersely. “Modest?”

Grayson had stopped him front of the Wayne family portrait and his smile wavered as he pointed
out the little boy standing between his mother and father. Somehow the painter had managed to
capture that he was glowing with love, his normally steely blue eyes illuminated sea-blue in
glittering tints.

“You look exactly like him.” Grayson said which, for the first time out of the many times he’d
heard it, made Damian frown. He had never smiled the way that little boy is smiling.
“What is wrong with you?” Robin demands and the daydream shatters. Damian recognises with a
cold, gripping certainty, the grief in his voice. He had vainly hoped the heroes would not cotton on
so quickly, that he would be able to feed them some story of a butterfly-farm retirement. He should
have anticipated they’d realise that if Bruce Wayne wasn’t Batman anymore, he was dead.

“Perhaps the interference altered his voice.” Black Canary suggests gently when he finds he cannot
respond. “It sounded so much like him, Robin.”

“Or he might just have a cold.” Superboy offers. He winces as soon as the words are out and puts
up no resistance when Artemis claps her hand over his mouth.

“What Superboy means,” She says. “Is there’s no point jumping to conclusions. Kid, back us up.”
Artemis is looking at him, a frazzled desperation alight in her eyes. She wants to believe it as much
for her own sake as Robin’s, he realises. “Tell him that was Batman.”

Damian chances a glance at his father and immediately knows that Batman knows. He’s staring
into the middle distance, no doubt brooding over something gothic and existential, every inch the
condemned man. To think that only hours before he had been dreading facing him again: now this
man has an expiry date tattooed permanently across his forehead. Sometime in the next decade,
give or take a few parallel inconsistencies here and there, he will die. He might as well already be
dead.

Damian supposes that means he’s killed him.

Robin is certainly looking at him as if he has. Damian reflects, not for the first time, on the mercy
that is the domino mask. If he had to meet his mentor’s piercing blue eyes, even staring out from a
younger, belligerent face, he reckons he might just spontaneously combust. People who presume
that Richard Grayson has no superpower are sorely mistaken; with a look he can charm, coax or
strike the fear of God into a person.

Damian had used to consider it a shallow talent and one that he was by and large immune to. He
has long since ceased underestimating him.

“Of course it was Batman.” He says. There’s a temptation to leave it at that, to postpone the
inevitable reveal. But Robin’s resolute expression just dares him to lie, to take the coward’s way
out. He must inflict the harrowing truth to avoid the slow, painful poison of another deception. “It
was Batman.” He says again. “But it was not my father.”

Miss Martian lets out a spontaneous sob that reverberates brokenly through the mountain. Black
Canary sheds and wipes away a single tear. There’s a palpable moment of conflict where each of
them grapples with the news which, at first glance, appears impossibility. Batman gone and the
world still spinning? The Dark Knight reduced to a insensate corpse, resting like any other cadaver
beneath dirt and detritus? This man before them, as intangible as the ink that writes bedtime
stories, dead?

“Then he’s…” Kid Flash says, unable to complete the simple statement. “Batman’s actually…”

“You knew.” Robin says, and the fresh revelation seems to wrack him with even greater strength
than the first. The look that Damian is faced with is one of utter betrayal, complete rejection. “You
were going to let him die.”

“The entire dimension cannot be put at risk for the sake of one man.” He responds and is
impressed by the cool, evenness of his voice. This is a verdict he has rehearsed to perfection so that
the lines can be delivered with utter emotionlessness. He is judge, jury and executioner and knows
the sentence he must award. “The reveal of my heritage was one thing but to extend Batman’s
mortality would devastate the timeline. As a factor, he is too influential.”

“He isn’t just a factor.” Robin insists. “He’s your father.”

“Not this one.” Damian retorts. He pities Batman with another glance but finds no reward for his
pains: the whites of the cowl remain trained down, perhaps already envisioning the deep, dark
embrace of the earth closing around him. “I knew my father longer dead than alive. This one’s
yours.”

“We must be able to do something.” Artemis suggests, impotently. She worries at her lip, settling
uncomfortably on an appeasement. “Unless… is it natural? Peaceful?”

“Who cares?” Robin says, an edge of hysteria entering his voice. “Either way, it’s too soon. 10
years – that isn’t enough time. No,” He shakes his head, as if this can dislodge the prospect from
his mind. “Batman can’t die. I won’t allow it. We won’t allow it. Right guys?”

They greet him with a sombre silence, heads bowed. It is almost impressive how, in a moment,
they have gone from disbelieving to already grieving. The funeral scene flashes before Damian
again: this was how the Justice League had looked waiting in line to toss the earth on his father’s
coffin, wearing the black admiration that came with the conclusion of a spectacular magician’s act.
Batman was a man who balanced so tenuously on the line between reality and legend, life and
death that for him to one day slip and silently descend into the latter is no horror. Once the shock
has faded, the mind come to terms with that absence of shadow, it is merely a case of now you see
me, now you don’t. He has even left an indistinguishable replacement behind to start the trick
again: it is an act cleverly done. Why push it?

Damian had accepted the death with the exact same compliance: the shadow of his father had
retreated to his proper place in childhood mythology, his brief entrance and exit into Damian’s life
little more than a brush with the chimerical that left him mourning divine impossibilities. But
Robin is one of the few people for whom Batman is real: a hero, a man, a father. A world without
him is a world missing a pulsing, vital part, a central organ ripped, still oozing, from the
shuddering chest.

He is in agonising pain. Damian does not know how to soothe it.

“You’re attempting to save his life.” He says. He tries to make his voice sound comforting and
reasonable but it comes out stilted. In truth, he’s disturbed by the stubborn narrow-mindedness
displayed by his mentor and unsure how to handle it. If logic won’t convince him, he must test
other modes of appeal. “That is admirable. But pause to consider the consequences of disturbing a
time line as fragile as the one between our parallel worlds. People will undoubtedly die.”

“What about the people who’ll die because Batman isn’t there to protect them?”

“Think rationally.” Damian orders, unable to erase the beginnings of impatience from his tone.
“This is a decade into the future. Gotham now has perhaps an excess of vigilantes, in my opinion.”
The last part is grumbled, directed mentally at someone who will not be named but rhymes with
Snimothy Snake. “Take myself for instance. As his conduct so far has proven, my father would
never have allowed me to become Robin but I have saved hundreds, if not thousands of people.
You’d exchange the security of those lives for one man?”

“And that man in the recording,” Robin says bitterly and Damian had wondered when that would
come up, had been dreading the emotional minefield it presented. “I presume he never would have
become Batman if your father hadn’t died?”
“Perhaps.” Is the only stiff response. “He took up the cowl because somebody had to.”

“He stole it.” Robin hisses. “Was the body even warm before he snatched it from his head?” He
seems to appal himself by the vividness of the image and shudders, furious. “I will never allow that
to happen.”

“You will.” Damian says, almost pushed to mocking laughter by the absurdity of it all. “And if
your older self were here, he would agree with me that you cannot change his fate. The
consequences of trying to alter the future are always disastrous, you taught me that.”

“Then I taught you wrong.” Robin says sharply and then, as if reading Damian’s mind, begins to
laugh himself, an unstable parody of his usual cackle that cuts through them all. “And to think I
was willing to put my faith in my future self because of one USB drive,” His laughter cuts off
abruptly and is replaced by an enraged curled lip. “When he allowed an imposter to parade around
Gotham calling himself Batman. That man isn’t Batman which means you’re not Robin. And don’t
you dare,” His voice softens to a deadly whisper, rich with a tingling, barely controlled maelstrom
of grief and anger and fear. “Try to tell me what I should be thinking or feeling again, as if you
know me. You think you can wear a cape and my colours and claim to have some kind of sacred
understanding of me, as if we’re anything alike? You’re an assassin. You’ve probably killed
someone for every one of those people you’ve saved. I’d thought you’d changed but all you’ve
done is proven you’re willing to kill again.”

Damian’s ears are ringing. He’s aware he’s now the one who must look betrayed. When he speaks
his words sound empty, small, and distant. “You don’t mean it. You’re in shock, letting your
emotions cloud your judgement.”

Robin opens his mouth again, no doubt ready to grant him another blistering rebuttal, but his jaw
slams shut when a heavy hand drops onto his shoulder, features once more crumpling into an
expression of acute sorrow as he turns to face Batman.

“I agree.” His father says gravely, contrastingly betraying not a single emotion besides hollow
resignation. “This debate has gone on long enough and will not reach a conclusion. We can discuss
this privately, Robin, once you’ve composed yourself.”

To his obvious surprise, Robin does not shake off the hand. Instead he presses his own on top of it,
looking into Batman’s face so earnestly he’s practically on his tiptoes. “Family, B, that’s what you
said being Robin was about,” His voice cracks. “Family. If saving your life means clouding my
judgement or losing my composure, what kind of choice is that?”

Barely perceptibly, like an extra crack in a rugged tower of rock, Batman softens. “A necessary
one.”

“An unnecessary death.” Robin persists. “Your death, B, what kind of hero am I if I can’t prevent
your death? Will you make me lose my family a second time?”

“Rob.” Kid Flash gasps and Batman cracks, again, paralysed in that way he gets when forced to
confront his own feelings.

That’s something he’s inherited. It’s too much for Damian, too personal, an emotional tangle he
has found himself thrust into the middle of with no place there. It’s almost a relief when Robin
turns on him again, quivering with anger as opposed to misery.

“You can stop this.” He says firmly. “How does he die? How do we stop it?”
“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes you can!” He explodes, moving so suddenly and violently towards Damian that he’s forced
to take a step back. “Yes you can! So just tell us how.”

“You know that I cannot.”

“I don’t know anything about you anymore. How does he die?”

“Quickly. Relatively painlessly.” It’s a cruel thing for Damian to say but he feels cornered,
interrogated and it makes Robin look ill.

“You’re sadistic.” He says savagely. “You’re not Robin. Robin would never let Batman die.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“But you are! By remaining silent, by hurling excuses at us about timelines and dimensions-”

“Robin, dude, calm down-”

“Shut up, Wally, just shut up and stay out of this!” Robin snarls and he does, falling back amongst
the rest of their team who all look frozen with their faces various shades of Edvard Munch’s The
Scream.

“I would never allow my Batman to die.” Damian says, seizing the opportunity to elaborate.

“Your Batman? The one in the recording? The fake Batman?”

“He taught me everything about being Robin.” Damian hisses through gritted teeth. It no longer
computes that this can be Grayson. He has said more spiteful, callow things to him in this one
conversation than his mentor has in almost two years. “He is not fake. He is a better, clearer vision
of what Batman is supposed to be.”

Simultaneously his father and Black Canary both blanch, wide eyes flying to him with horrified
understanding. They know, Damian thinks, and swallows the hot lump of panic in his throat
threatening to corrode the smouldering remains of his reason. It already feels too late.

“Robin,” Black Canary says softly, resolutely, desperately. “Please. Stop this now.”

“Chum, let’s talk privately about this.” Batman reasserts, voice steady and rational. Unfortunately,
Robin is not in the mood for rational.

“A man who steals a dead hero’s identity, wears his clothes, copies his voice.” The intensity in his
voice rises with every word as if each one tortures him. “Who taught his Robin to trample feeling
and cut his family loose like they’re nothing? That’s the man you want to protect?”

“I want to protect you. You’ve taught me what it is to feel, the meaning of family!”

“I haven’t!” He cries. “I’ve given you nothing, don’t look at me as if I’m the one failing you, as if
I’m killing your father! For God’s sake, who is he then? Who’s worth all this… this fighting and
secrecy and death? Who is he?

Who is Batman?”

“You are!” Damian says.

 “It’s you.”

“You’re Batman.”

Chapter End Notes

cliff hanger ~
you know i had to do it to em
honestly, i've proofread this once so if it's utterly incoherent, that makes sense
i hope you enjoyed, drop a comment if you did and a kudos is always appreciated
mwah
(i'm very tired)
 Chapter 15
Chapter Summary

Damian finally gets that therapy session. Also tears.

Chapter Notes

surprise bitch. i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.
I AM BACK LADS
i am NOT DEAD OF CORONA VIRUS as one dear commenter seemed to suspect
school just drained not only all the energy but also all the creativity out of me
just a good old fashioned case of writer's block babey but i am back with a vengeance
and we are on our way to closing down this fic and i know how it's going to end and
we'll get there i promise!!
(EDIT: small warning for mentions of child abuse because ra's al-ghul is not a good
grandfather)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Damian is not doing a very good job at the whole ‘don’t reveal the future’ thing.

It’s the ludicrous, sarcastic thought that pinwheels briefly through his head in the moments after he
reveals maybe the greatest secret he had to keep:

“It’s you. You’re Batman.”

As soon as he says it, his throat closes up with the aggression of a boa constrictor and he slams his
mouth shut as if he can catch the tail end of the confession and reel it back in before it reaches
Robin’s ears. He cannot. It twists around the room like something alive, slithers up to each hero
and sinks its fangs into them so that one by one they flinch and gape, heads revolving to stare at
Robin in shock-horror.

He doesn’t acknowledge them. His face has slowly turned the colour of a grey, funerial sky as if
he’s being petrified, digits stiffening, expression rigid. When he appears to return to the world of
the living, it’s his jaw that grinds shut and then his limbs that make several jerky twitches, as if
he’s cracking through the stone.

“I’m not.” He eventually croaks, voice young and raw and unyielding. “I won’t be. I don’t want to
be.”

It takes Damian a second to find his tongue but as soon as he does, he latches onto it. “You had to
be. Gotham was descending into chaos. There was a true imposter Batman running around,
threatening to execute criminals, disgracing father’s memory. Our family-” The words make his
throat run dry and he has to take a moment to swallow them. They’re heavy, potent and he realises
they mean just as much to him as they do to Grayson. “Our family was falling apart. They didn’t
need you, they needed Batman. You were doing what you always do you predictable, intolerable,
maddening simpleton: protecting your family!”

Damian’s cheeks are flushed but he can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or impassioned. It might be a
combination of both. Robin, on the other hand, remains grey and inanimate. He might as well be
hurling fireballs at a concrete wall. He’s shocked, Damian reminds himself, and the words will
register later when he’s had time to put his prodigious brain to work. He always feels before he
thinks. Every calculated action he takes has had to battle instinct before it’s enacted.

Unfortunately, Robin’s disparaging words towards himself won’t stop ringing through his head.
He doesn’t want that to be the Batman Robin sees himself as, the fake Batman who snatched the
cowl off a cooling corpse. He doesn’t even really want it to be the Batman in the recording, the
efficient, clever mimicry.

He can’t put nearly 2 years of training and teamwork and support and care and those mutually
sleepless nights when Grayson sits at what he clearly still thinks of as his father’s desk and just
stares into the woodwork into words. He can’t bring the Grayson he knows to life, show him just
how little he’s let the burden of the cape and cowl change him. This is all he can offer.

“You will be Batman.” He says. Despite the pounding in his head and the maelstrom in his
stomach, the words emerge clear and convicted. “It may be a Batman of necessity and
compromise, a role you hoped you’d never have to fulfil. You may hate it and resent it and wish
every night and day that it could be someone, anyone else but the fact is that it can’t. And… and I
might be being presumptuous, and maybe now that you’ve met me and clearly think so little of me
we’ll never become partners in this universe, but from what I see as Robin, your Robin, you don’t
hate it. Not all the time. And for heaven’s sake, what do you think is going to happen, all 7 billion
of your friends will abandon you just because you have a costume switch? Or that there aren’t other
heroes in Gotham with whom to distribute the load, who would probably fall on their swords if you
asked them nicely? What I mean is…”

Robin’s lips have twisted white and Damian’s resolve almost threatens to crumble beneath him
because that is Grayson’s rare tell: he is barely holding it together. Any minute now tears could
begin to seep from beneath the domino mask. Damian clenches his fists and powers on, terrified
he’ll be interrupted.

“What I mean is that just because you have to be Batman, it doesn’t mean you have to be him. You
can do it better. You do do it better. And we make a good team. So don’t let your grief skew your
own perception of yourself.” It sounds insensible, laid out in a winding ramble of words like that.
Damian can only also hope it sounds sincere. “And,” he adds one last time. “I am sorry about my
father. Excuse me.”

As he removes himself from the room, the muffled sounds of recuperation and Batman seeing to
Robin blurring behind him, he reads over the speech in his head. It’s not very delicate or
sympathetic. It’s blunt and a little mean considering the situation. It is all he, Damian, could offer.

He can now only hope that it is enough.

***

He wants to meditate on top of the fridge but he’s concerned that his teammates will find him there
and then they’ll want to talk to him. He isn’t quite sure what to expect from them, whether they’ll
attempt to comfort him or be angry at how he spoke to Robin. Either way, he doesn’t think he
could stand another dose of emotion right now and so he avoids the rec room, retreating reluctantly
to his pseudo-cell.
He forces himself to listen to the recording Grayson has sent again to note down any important
details and does not think about his father. He checks himself over for injuries again and does not
think about Robin. He makes a half-hearted attempt to finally mediate and does not think of his
mother, of all people and at such an inopportune moment. Determined to find something
constructive to do lest he begin thinking of Drake or something equally ridiculous, he stands up and
reaches for the door.

It slides open before he can touch it. Black Canary stands in the doorway.

The way she is looking at him, Damian almost suspects she has somehow borrowed Superman’s
gift of x-ray vision. He instinctively straightens up and rearranges his face into what he knows is
the cool, slightly proud expression befitting the heir to the Wayne and Al-Ghul dynasties.

“What?” He asks, powering an appropriate level of disdain into the question.

She merely hums, stepping through the door frame. “You wanted to be made aware of any
developments in the case in real time. Well, Batman and other League members are combing
through the information you provided and are hoping to find some way of disabling the machines
the Light has created without causing a vortex to a parallel universe. We also need to get a lead on
where exactly this ‘Assertion’ is taking place so we can transport the League and the machine that
brought you in it over there at the correct time.”

“So you’re accepting my Batman’s aid.” Damian notes with a nod. “A wise decision on your part.”

“We would be foolish not to.” Black Canary agrees. “And I think we can all agree we’ve been
foolish enough these past few days. I’ve ordered the rest of your team to get some food and some
sleep and I’d encourage you to do the same. You’ve just come back from an eventful mission and
we’ll need you in top condition if we’re going to be facing an inter-dimensional threat in less than
two days’ time.”

Damian feels his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You mean the team will be fighting alongside the
Justice League during the Assertion?”

Black Canary smiles knowingly. “I convinced Batman that they’d find a way to be there one way
or another. At least if we invite them we can know we’ve got their backs.”

“They are not entirely incapable of having yours.” Damian reminds her and she concedes the point.

“You’re right, of course. Now, can I trust you to get some sleep?”

“Yes. Of course.” He says but Damian is too slow to cover up his distaste. It’s not that he doesn’t
understand the value of getting a good night’s sleep whilst he can, he merely doubts he’ll find it
easy to drift off into peaceful oblivion if he can’t even meditate uninterrupted. His head feels too
busy, his ordinarily impenetrable mental defences suddenly fraught with holes and perforated by
dozens of insidious mental whisperings he can barely keep at bay.

The most vocal is a vicious refrain reminding him of all the faith Grayson had held in him to be the
professional, to not allow his emotions to cloud him or make him lose focus on the wider mission.
He knows he has failed him and the feeling is unbearable. It will not let him rest.

All of this must show on his face because the damned intuitive shrink hums again, tapping her
finger against her chin in contemplation. “Ok,” She says at last. “Come with me to my office. I’m
cashing in that therapy session.”

Despite all the emotional torment that has practically overflowed from this day, no words have
struck quite as much terror into Damian’s heart as those. “Now?” He blusters. “At this moment
when we could be doing vital work to ensure my return home?”

“Now.” She agrees. “Because I now have a solid timeframe for when exactly that will be. I’ll be
losing you in less than 2 days, Robin, and I doubt things are going to slow down within that space.
Now might be the only time we have. Plus…” An intelligent light glimmers in her eyes and he
knows she’s about to reveal a trump card. “I haven’t seen hide or hair of Robin since you returned
from your mission. I’m worried about him and I know you are too, there’s no point denying it. You
two clearly have some things you need to talk about and perhaps if I can help you, you can help
him.”

It’s underhanded, using a Robin’s Batman against him. It’s duplicitous and cheating and it has
absolutely worked.

“Fine.” Damian says curtly. “But be warned, I have forced not one but two school psychiatrists out
of a job, one of whom then filed for therapy himself not long after. I have also made a grief
counsellor cry, a nurse swear and a TA threaten to stab me with a crayon.”

“I’m sure I can rise to the challenge.” Canary says, indefatigably perky and it is with a weary
resignation that Damian follows her to her office.

He has never felt more encapsulated in the habitat of a shrink. Verdant plastic potted plants squat
in the corners. The lights are dim, warm and cloying, the kind you might find in a greenhouse. It
might make a regular person feel at ease but the hairs stand up on the back of Damian’s neck: the
lack of visuals is oppressive and places him on edge. There are two plush green armchairs facing
each other, flanked on either side by small tables. On the left where Black Canary will sit there
rests a notepad and pen. On the right which Damian assumes is his allotted seat there is an
ominous box of tissues.

The first thing Damian does is knock it to the ground. It lands with a hollow clatter and he’s
frustrated when Black Canary titters lightly. He hadn’t meant to be amusing.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “I had M’gann in last.” Moving with an easy grace that comes with
ownership of the space, she settles herself into her chair, tucking the notepad and pen away under
the table.

“Congratulations.” Damian informs her dryly as he curls up on his own seat, crossing his legs and
arms in tandem. “This haunt is practically Freudian.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not a huge fan of the rugged walls.” The walls and ceiling in here, as with the rest
of the base, are made of rough mountainous rock. “It’s a little imposing.”

“Believe me,” Damian mutters into his chest. “It is the least imposing aspect of this place.”

Black Canary catches it, because of course she does, but she does not comment or heaven forbid
scribble anything down. Instead she reaches behind her and produces a plate of sandwiches from
out of thin air. “Here.” She says. “Neither of us have had anything to eat. I’ve got water too.” A jug
follows the platter and two cups, one of which Damian reluctantly accepts.

“There’d better not be any meat in these.” He says, surveying the fare with suspicion.

“I’ve catered for all types throughout my career. Of course there isn’t.”

He gives a tut of grudging satisfaction and reaches for a sandwich. For a moment they chew in
silence, Damian struggling to keep his guard up. Canary is good, enticing him with food and
comfortable silence. However, she cannot make him forget the purpose of this meeting. It is an
aggrandised interrogation and Damian does not intend to break.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of nothing, she asks him her first question. “Robin, I’d like to
ask… what’s your name?”

He instantly bristles. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“We’ve been referring to you as nothing but your superhero identity this entire time. It’s
dehumanising; I don’t want to speak to a superhero.”

“You can speak to Robin.” He insists, placing the remains of his third sandwich back onto the
platter. The first two are immediately stodge in his stomach. “I’m not here as anyone else.”

She purses her lips but clearly recognises it would be hopeless to press. “Ok. In which case, I’ll
move on to my second question-”

“How Socratic.” He quips and her lips curl into a smile.

“Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me beating
around the bush. My second question: when was the last time you cried?”

“This is nonsense-” Damian begins, rising from his chair but Black Canary holds out a hand to stop
him.

“Wait a minute, Robin. Humour me. I promise you I have a purpose for this.”

He has done a lot of ‘humouring’ of Black Canary but has yet to laugh. He lets out a slow sigh
through his nose, the breath whistling like a steam engine. He may have made a deal with this
woman but he isn’t sure if his patience can bear it. “I presume my eyes ‘stinging with frustration’
does not count?”

She shakes her head. “I mean a proper, healthy cry. An emotional catharsis.”

“Fine. In which case…” He wracks his brain, casting his mind back past the dingy streets of
Gotham and back to the arid sand and smells of the Middle East. It has been a long time, he
realises, as he strains his memory like a weary muscle, but continues to plunge deeper back into the
past, searching for tears, salt and the sting of shame: three things he associates with each other.

“I believe I was five.” He states eventually. “I had said something impudent to my grandfather;
something trivial and meaningless but disrespectful all the same. He struck me with his cane.” He
pauses for a moment, wrapped up so tightly in the memory that he can almost taste the metallic
tang of blood and see one of his pearly white baby teeth swimming in a little pool next to him.
“When he saw that I was crying, he struck me again. Tears are a show of weakness and he had no
use for a weak heir. I quickly found more productive ways of venting negative emotion.”

When he meets Black Canary’s gaze again, he is sickened but unsurprised to find her features
dripping with appalled pity. He is quickly regretting his own candour if this is all he will receive in
return: useless, vapid pity.

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He orders. “I received an exemplary upbringing with the finest
education and training. I do not regret or resent any of my mother and grandfather’s methods. They
have made me stronger.”

“It was systematic abuse.” Black Canary says softly, like a doctor breaking bad news to her patient.
“Abuse doesn’t make for happy children.”

“I am hardly a child.” Damian scoffs, but he doesn’t like that she refers to him as one. Something
about the word, so often hurled at him by villains or applied soothingly by Grayson gets under his
skin, both irritating and cowing him. He does not want to be considered a child but somehow the
suggestion that he is not an ordinary child, that he’s some sort of freakish, disturbed, demon child
upsets him even more.

He doesn’t know if Black Canary reads all of this from his countenance but she certainly reads
something as she hums, making a mental note. “Ok.” She settles the matter with that word again.
“Thank you, Robin. Now about your father-”

“Here we go.” Damian slumps slightly in his seat, unable to prevent his eyes from rolling skyward.

“A well-worn topic.” Canary guesses and if she was wearing glasses, she’d be peering over them.
“I’m sure you’ve been told you resemble him a great deal.”

“By everyone.” He agrees. “Many times.”

“That must have become slightly irksome after he’d died.” She pointed out. “Perhaps it was painful
to think of him.”

“Not at all.” He responds instinctively and then curses himself for the coldness in his voice.
Somehow this rapid question and answer method is working too well. “I don’t mean it callously. I
simply did not know my father for long at all before he died.”

“You grew up hearing all about him.” Black Canary suggests. “And he was a disappointment in the
flesh.”

He’s struck by her accuracy and pauses to consider how to answer. Should he be truthful or maybe
attempt to throw her off, say something she wouldn’t expect? Black Canary may not appear to be
playing mind games but Damian knows a battle when he sees one. He must be on guard: he is on
her home turf.

“It would be difficult for anyone to live up to the mythic my mother wove around my father.” Is all
he responds, hoping that is cryptic enough to throw her off the scent. Instead she seems to lap up
the morsel with enthusiasm, nodding her head a few times, leaving him feeling as if he’s the one
who miss-stepped.

“I’m unsurprised.” She says. “You were born for a purpose, weren’t you Robin? I can’t imagine
that’s an easy burden to bear.”

He blinks, bewildered. Where did that come from? He’s quickly losing the thread of this
interrogation.

“I’ve chosen my own purpose.” He says, more than a little defensively. “As Robin.”

“One that checks your mother for manipulating you,” She notes. “But still satisfies your desire to
follow in the footsteps of your father’s legacy. Do you still want something from him, from
Batman?”

The truth suddenly douses him from head to foot, cold and certain. Damian cannot believe he has
never seen it before. “No.” He blurts out. Black Canary looks up and meets his eye, clearly
surprised. “From my father? Yes. I will always be left wanting more than what he left me. I did not
know him, never knew what it was to be on the receiving end of his unconditional love. But from
Batman? No.”

“Robin.” She says, understanding dawning on her face. “I mean our Robin. He’s given you what
you need from Batman.”

A partner. Someone he can trust, even if he can’t always bring himself to. Someone who will
always trust him. Someone who could never replace his father but has somehow taken on an
equally irreplaceable role, who has needled and squirmed his way into his confidence. Someone
who looks at him and sees Robin.

Someone who had so much faith in him but who he has let down.

“I don’t want to talk about him.” He says automatically. That subject is too tender, too raw. His
Grayson is too far away, this Robin somehow isolated even further. “We’ve established that I can’t
have daddy issues since I don’t have a father and I’m happy with Batman and Robin the way we
are. Can I leave now?”

She sighs, features morphing into a frown of frustration. It is the first time he has seen her truly
discomfited: not sad or angry but merely dissatisfied. “What I wouldn’t give to make you a regular.
Promise me you’ll at least consider seeking me out when you return to your world and give this
another shot. You aren’t handling your emotions properly Robin, let alone taking into account your
age, and you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I will make no such promise.” He says but the threat in her words doesn’t leave him. It is similar
to something Grayson would say, that he’s eating himself from the inside out rather than
processing his feelings in a ‘healthy way’. What is so unhealthy about good maintenance, pruning
away troublesome emotions? If Damian’s body is a temple he intends to keep it in order, not allow
sentiment and fantasy to run rampant.

Still, Grayson manages to parade himself around like an open book and function with some
semblance of control. This Black Canary, meddling and patronising though she may be, is qualified
on such matters and even she is informing him to rethink how he manages his head. He won’t act
on the advice, he has too much pride in his own convictions for that, but he will reluctantly allow it
to board, let it ferment for a while in further thought. Perhaps there’s something valuable to be
extracted from all this emotional indulgence and soppiness yet.

“One final question then, Robin, before I let you go.” She says, folding her hands one on top of
each other in her lap. “Your Batman… It is clear you trust and admire him a great deal.”

“I never said that…” Damian grumbles. Not in so many words. Black Canary smiles indulgently.

“Of course not. I’m a therapist, it’s what I’ve gleaned. I suppose in which case the only question
left to ask is if- no, when, we return you to him and your own world, will you be happy?”

There’s a beat of silence. Canary looks ardent and caring, leaning forward as if his answer to this
question is the most important thing in the world.

Ah, Damian realises a little too late. This wasn’t a battle at all, or if it was he had entered the pre-
determined victor. Black Canary, in a patronising, soft-hearted and utterly maudlin way really does
just want Damian Wayne, Robin, son of Batman, retired deadly assassin and inter-dimensional
fugitive to be happy. The sheer silliness of it is both a little ridiculous and very relieving.

“I mean is he giving you a childhood, taking care of you.” Black Canary presses, a little
indelicately when she sees that he hasn’t responded, clearly worried the simply inquiry has thrust
him into some throe of angst. “I can’t imagine Robin wouldn’t make a wonderful big brother but
he took you in so soon after Batman died and-”

“You are a very intelligent woman.” Damian cuts her off and is pleased to watch her jaw drop. The
sight makes him grin, a proper wide grin with teeth. “That is what makes it so disappointing that
you insist on being so gullible. If I was still an assassin, and you have little besides my word and a
flimsy DNA link to the model of mental health Bruce Wayne to prove otherwise, I could have
killed you several times during this interview. Be glad I am a reformed man.” He rises to his feet
and rubs his hands together.

Black Canary’s mouth has shut and she appears to have recovered admirably quickly. “I think
you’ve given me the answer I need. I’m sure you’ve been told you smile just like him.”

“By everyone.” Damian agrees. “All the time.”

“It’s a little eerie, actually. Robin,” The expression on her face softens to something warm and
dangerously perceptive. “I’m sure he misses you just as much as you miss him.”

Damian meets her eyes for one level moment before tutting away the comment. “You shrinks and
your emotional frippery.” He barely suppresses a yawn, surprised and grudgingly impressed by
how mentally taxing the past half an hour has been. “Now if you don’t mind, I have no intention of
falling asleep at my post tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night, Robin!” She calls after him. “Find me when you get home. And you’re never too
grown up for a proper cry!”

He scoffs but feels his lips twitch again. When he returns to his room, he’s still smiling until he
spots his communicator perched abandoned on the bed, a lonely vessel amongst the vast pale
swathes of sheet. His fingers twitch to pick it up. For some reason he feels a strange compulsion to
listen to Grayson’s message again which means somehow one therapy session has installed in him
a strange propensity for masochism or has really made him miss his partner that much. For
whatever reason, with a sigh and a full heart, he goes to pick up the communicator.

And notices something he hadn’t before. The toolbar at the top of the screen informs him that
something else has downloaded onto the device, something within the encrypted folder only he can
access. It’s protected by five different number and letter passcodes that even Grayson doesn’t know
and can only be accessed remotely by either Damian himself or another bat-coded communicator.

His breath hitches. He desperately, desperately doesn’t want to get his hopes up but it’s as if
someone has filled his chest with helium and it’s already floating up, up, up out of his reach.

He has never before had cause to fill the folder and for a terrible moment his shaking fingers can’t
seem to figure out the passcodes he inputted a year ago. Luckily muscle memory kicks in and a few
seconds later his eyes are boring into an audio file titled with an innocuous colon and bracket
combo: a smiley face. There is only one possible person who would go to all the trouble of hacking
into his communicator a parallel universe away and leave a file labelled with a smiley face.

He swallows thickly and presses play.

“Hey, little D.”

Damian has to immediately pause the recording and take a deep, grounding breath lest he suffer the
indignity of breaking down at the sound of Grayson’s voice. The warmth and familiarity in his
tone, that stupid, stupid nickname, is such a sharp contrast from the cool, controlled voice of
 Batman. That, he supposes, had offered its own comfort but it is not what he needs to hear right
now. It is Grayson’s voice, his brother’s voice only for lack of a better, deeper word, that he needs
to hear right now.

He hits play again.

“I hope you find this. I really hope you’re okay. I’ve got so much I want to say to you but I know
you wouldn’t appreciate me getting all sappy so I’ll keep it short. Please, please stay safe. Don’t
worry about saving the world without me, I need you to keep yourself alive until I get there. I don’t
care how many rules you have to break or toes you have to step on or, heck, people you have to
stab just please protect yourself first. It’s all hands on deck back here in Gotham. Tim’s been
working non-stop on that machine and even Jason’s come home and it’s all because we want to see
you back in one piece. We need our Robin. I need my Robin. So do whatever it takes to get to that
machine at midnight and we’ll do whatever it takes to meet you there.”

“I’m not leaving without you but I really don’t want to end up trapped in a parallel universe so try
not to be late. For one thing, I am not letting Jason be Batman again. Who else could do it? Tim?
No-

“Cass.” Damian says in time with the recording and can’t suppress the wet giggle that erupts from
him. He doesn’t know when he started crying. He can’t seem to stop.

“Either way, it just wouldn’t look good would it, four Batmen in less than two years? I don’t know
what I’m saying, bud, I really miss you. I love you. I know you’re making me proud. Batman out.”

The audio comes to a halt. Damian lets out a not entirely unhappy sob and doesn’t try and reel it
back in. It’s catharsis, he insists to himself, it’s healthy.

It feels good to cry for the first time in seven years.

Chapter End Notes

as per drop a kudos and let me know if my writing has really decreased in quality
during the break because it feels like it has oof :/
thank you so much for all your lovely comments i wish i could respond to each and
every one of them but then we'd end up with a hiatus as long as the last one :((
i am genuinely so grateful with everyone who's stuck with this fic and the love you all
continue to show it; it means a lot to me and really keeps me motivated
y'all are so sweet and so incredible THANK YOU xx
 Chapter 16
Chapter Summary

Damian addresses the team and receives just a little closure.

Chapter Notes

so remote schooling has been kicking my ASS, i had remote assessments which near
killed me and the world continues to move in a direction that makes me wish i too was
in an alternate dimension
YA GOT IT EASY DAMIAN
(that was a joke, no he doesn't)
but you guys don't want my excuses, here's the chapter!! written in bits and pieces
across the span of a month!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When he awakens well-rested and with a gentle hand on his shoulder, Damian immediately knows
something is wrong.

It is only a violent, last-second spurt of rational thought that prevents him from viciously judo-
flipping the person touching him into the ground. Instead he latches onto the wrist with enough
force to elicit a yelp and sits up on his bed, blade in his free hand and eyes squinting to make out
the aggressor in the dim light.

It is only Artemis and she swears spectacularly as she wrenches away her hand, a sentiment
Damian entirely shares.

“Where’s Robin?” He opens with and then registers the non-essential nature of this question.
“What time is it? Have the League located the Light’s base?”

“It’s breakfast time.” Is all Artemis says in response. “Am I not going to get an apology?”

Her obtuseness makes him sigh and check his communicator, disturbed to find that it’s already 8
AM. “Why did no one wake me?”

“Kid, we all woke up like…10 minutes ago.” Artemis gives a prolonged yawn and rubs her eyes
blearily. She’s wearing her civilian clothes, a grey t-shirt and blue jeans with natural looking frayed
edges and holes. “Wally’s only raided half the fridge. It’s practically the early hours.”

“I normally wake up at sunrise.” Damian mutters to himself a little wonderingly. It’s a strict habit
no encouragements of a weekend lie-in from Grayson have been able to break. “Perhaps because
we’re in the mountain?”

“Or perhaps because you’ve been conked on the head half a dozen times in the space of two days?”
Artemis suggests, beginning to look impatient. “Just put the stabber away and come get some
pancakes before my idiot boyfriend makes himself sick.”

Damian complies, sliding his knife back into his boot, but can’t help his nose from wrinkling at the
word ‘boyfriend’. She begins to offer him a hand up from the bed but then seems to remember
what happened the last time she touched him and withdraws it sheepishly. They walk in step to the
rec room and as Damian’s head catches up with his body, the events of the previous day begin to
creep back into the forefront of his mind. It had been a shocking and grievous turn of events for
everyone and he wonders how the wide-eyed rambunctious sidekicks have taken the barrage of
bitter revelations.

The rec room is perversely silent. The superhero team are nothing but a huddle of hunched
shoulders and as Damian and Artemis approach, he can feel the heavy mien of grief in the air
hovering like a cloud. M’gann has only slightly burnt the pancakes but the teenagers still pick at
their food; all besides Kid Flash who is shovelling down breakfast as if he has something to fill.
Judging from the Robin-sized lacuna at his side, he does. Every few seconds, M’gann will
miserably slide another pancake onto his plate and then blow her nose weepily.

She does the same for Artemis and Damian when they pull up a chair, but when she attempts to
offer the latter a forced smile it all appears to be too much for her. She sobs and instantly tries to
smother it but when Superboy stands and wraps her in his clumsy arms, she breaks down
completely. Her other teammates awkwardly observe. Damian stabs his fork into his pancake.

It’s his father’s funeral all over again, an inescapable outpouring of grief he cannot share in.
Having to sit through it the first time had been discomfiting; now it’s annoying.

“Pull yourself together.” He says darkly and meets the appalled gazes fired his way impassively.
“You knew my father less than I did, and that’s saying something. What will you miss about him?
His disapproving glares?”

“I’m aware we may not have known Batman well,” Kaldur says disapprovingly. “But it’s common
decency to feel regret at the death of such a great man. M’gann is merely displaying compassion.”

“He isn’t even dead yet!” Damian snaps, repulsed by the holier-than-thou attitude even whilst he
doubts Kaldur’s faking it. “He’s probably watching us over the security cameras as we speak or off
somewhere plotting contingencies to cheat death. Any minute now he’ll come creeping around the
corner and give us a lecture on the sanctity of life.” To his amusement, Kid Flash turns his head
towards the doorway as if Batman is actually going to appear.

Before Kaldur can embark on his own lecture, likely on respecting ones elders or the magic of
friendship, M’gann lets out a cry of frustration so sudden that Kid Flash drops his fork. It slowly
drowns in syrup but he ignores it in favour of gaping at M’gann, slack-jawed.

“Both of you stop it.” She orders, wiping her eyes resolutely. “I don’t think I can stand it if we start
fighting now.”

The shock of her miraculous nerve renders them all speechless. Damian didn’t know she had it in
her and he’s privately, grudgingly a little impressed.

Kaldur appears appropriately cowed. “You’re right, M’gann. And Robin has a point.” He frowns
and lowers his eyes. When he next speaks, his voice is grave. “Any sorrow we might be feeling is
nothing compared to what he and our Robin must be experiencing.”

Damian opens his mouth to object, not feeling remotely sorrowful, but a sudden pang in his chest
stops him. The heroes have respectfully averted their eyes, identical expressions of quiet empathy
on each face. It isn’t pity. They aren’t feeling sorry for him; they’re just feeling for him, as if they
can somehow take on some of the burden of pain just by recognising it.

No one except Grayson or Alfred has thought to feel for him in a long time and even though he
isn’t grieving, it amplifies a stronger bone-weariness that pulses through his ribs. A little bit of
therapy and a good night’s sleep have not erased the physical and emotional pain and weariness of
the past few days. If anything, they have left him feeling more vulnerable and raw. He has been
practically flayed in front of these people and every time they’ve been faced by his fury or grief or
pain, they’ve simply taken a bit of it on themselves.

“We shouldn’t be crying or fighting.” He forces out eventually, with an air of compromise to cover
up how deeply he has been touched by their naïve adoption. “We should be discussing how to
prevent the Light’s dimensional domination.”

“The League has practically scoured Europe for this base.” Kid Flash says, digging his fork out of
the syrup and licking it clean. Damian tuts in disgust. “No luck, but they think they’ve found a way
to disable the machines.”

That makes Damian perk up: a development. “Is that so? How?”

“Goes straight over my head.” Superboy grunts and Kid Flash grants him a condescending smile.

“As do most things, my brawny friend.” He claps him on the shoulder. “But I’ll keep it simple.
Batman thinks they can lay a series of cables to siphon off the nuclear power of the devices long
enough to neutralise them. If we can decrease the energy output, physically disabling them and
isolating the nuclear core should be a piece of cake. Of course, we don’t know how many there are
or where they are… but yeah, aside from that, piece of cake.”

“In theory it should work.” Damian says. “But it’ll likely require the speedsters and Martians’ full
attention to lay the cables and redirect the power and countless other heroes to secure the cores and
disable the machines.”

“No one’s saying it’s a flawless plan.” Artemis agrees, kicking her legs onto the table. “But it’s the
best we’ve got on short notice. Plus, everyone’s calling in a bunch of super-powered favours. We
should have a small army of heroes on our side. Last time it was just us up against the Light and
we kicked their butts.”

This elicits a few hopeful chuckles and smiles. The miserable cloud above them is beginning to
disperse and Damian feels guilty that he has to re-invoke it.

“And Robin?” He says hesitantly and sure enough the cheerful mood evaporates.

“He disappeared with Batman last night.” Kid Flash says, swirling the syrup on his plate
unhappily. “No one’s heard from him since. He…well, he still seemed pretty upset last I saw of
him.”

Damian nods and impetuously spears a piece of pancake, chews and swallows. It tastes like
nothing and seems to thicken into glue in his mouth. He can’t tell if that’s the result of M’gann’s
cooking or if even his taste buds recognise the food as foreign, know he’s out of place.

“Robin as Batman.” Superboy says a little awkwardly and Damian feels a sharp defensiveness rear
its head. Luckily, he follows it up with a sheepish smile. “Anyone else can’t picture it?” The rest of
the sidekicks chuckle appreciatively.

“I certainly can’t.” Artemis admits. “I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s a genius. Definite runner-up
for world’s greatest detective. I just can’t picture him punching a bad guy without making a joke
about it, let alone running around in the goth-ensemble.”

This particularly tickles Kaldur who chokes on a piece of pancake and spends the next minute
coughing up syrup, much to his teammates’ amusement.

“I knew it was him as soon as I knew it wasn’t our Bats though.” Kid Flash insists, once Kaldur has
been appropriately resuscitated. “No one can do a Batman impression like Rob. He used to have
me in stitches when we’d patrol alone.” He puts on his own gravelly voice and mimes wrapping
himself in a cloak. “Kid Flash, your footwork is sloppy, you’re a disgrace to the Justice League.
Drop and give me twenty and then buy me twenty jam donuts.”

Now the rest of them are in stitches too and even Damian can’t supress a smile, albeit at the
poorness of the mimicry.

“When he first adopted the cowl,” He shares, a little haltingly but with more confidence when the
others urge him on. “Half the off-world Leaguers didn’t find out about it until a year later when he
pulled out a bowl of cereal on a video call. Their expressions were priceless. They thought he was
possessed.”

This inspires the biggest round of hilarity yet. Damian somehow finds it funnier than he did at the
time when he’d accused his partner of being unprofessional. “That’s so Robin!” M’gann wheezes,
doubled over in mid-air. “He’s always doing things like that on tense stakeouts. Some things don’t
change!”

It’s a comforting sentiment and for a moment they just wrap themselves in it, don’t think of
anything else as they finally tuck into the mediocre pancakes with the gusto they deserve. Once
Damian’s plate is emptied, however, he finds himself faced by a far more daunting task.

“Where’s Batman?” he asks to a resounding silence and several awkward, hesitant looks. Damian
rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fight him or even start an argument, if I can help it. I want access to
the files we took from the Mongolian base. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes can help find this base.”

“I believe he’s monitoring the League’s progress from the computer.” Kaldur says reluctantly. “But
Robin, are you sure-”

“I said I won’t pick a fight.” Damian reminds him, swinging out of his chair. “We’re supposed to
be defeating the Light in less than two days’ time, I can’t avoid him forever.”

Besides, he thinks privately, what do I have to be afraid of? He has already stated that as long as his
father acknowledges him as Robin, they need not muddy their working relationship by attempting
to view each other as father and son. Batman himself has also stated he will not attempt to interfere
with his upcoming death. As long as Batman has not undergone some miraculous transformation
overnight and suddenly wants to talk about feelings, there is nothing to prevent them from
interacting civilly and efficiently.

***

Batman wants to talk about feelings.

Damian finds him where Kaldur promised he would be: a cloaked, black silhouette against the
glowing computer screen. Every now and again he’ll raise a finger and swipe away a tab, enlarge a
document, send a coded message. Although he doesn’t show it, Damian knows he knows he’s there
the second he sets foot in the door. Neither of them acknowledge each other’s presence until
Damian is standing by his father’s side, watching the operation of his indefatigable genius with a
weary familiarity.

A flashing pop-up from the Flash states that eastern Latvia was a bust and Batman grumbles,
shooting back a scalding imperative to start scanning the south.

“That was harsh.” Damian observes coolly.

Batman opens his mouth as if about to scald him too but then elects to close it with another
grumble. That’s new.

“You shouldn’t be so impatient. The entire globe is a lot of ground to cover.” Damian continues
and though he can see Batman’s jaw clenching with irritation, he doesn’t respond to that obvious
bait either. “You should stop grinding your teeth too. You’ll need dentures by 40-”

“The files.” Batman grunts, interrupting him.

Damian looks at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The ones you took from Mongolia.” Batman says again, slowly and grindingly as if every word
pains him. It’s certainly painfully awkward. “Would you… Look at them. They could use a fresh
pair of eyes.”

“I’m sure.” Damian says suspiciously. What exact game is his father playing? “That’s why I came
looking for you.”

“Here.” His father grunts again. He passes Damian a USB which he plugs into his own device.
He’s so engrossed with the information it takes him a moment to register that Batman is still
staring at him.

“Do I have some syrup on my face?” He asks sharply, a little impatient that Batman is not acting
like an unemotional, efficient robot the one time Damian needs him to.

“No.” His father responds and then actually sighs before saying something Damian had thought he
would never hear: “I’m sorry.”

All the blood rushes from his face and he immediately feels queasy. “No.”

Perhaps Batman thinks he’s misheard him, because he frowns and repeats himself. “I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Damian demands, backing away.

Batman frowns again, even more stonily. “I’m apologising.”

“I know that.” Damian says, aware that his voice is now shaking and he’s probably gone green.
“Stop it.”

“I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” He snaps. He’s tempted to throw up a cross with his fingers because Batman
must be possessed. “I don’t know what you want from me, but if you don’t stop playing twisted
mind-games, I’ll leave the mountain and find the Light’s base on my own. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I’m sure you would.” Batman says. “I have been…overzealous in my suspicion towards you. That
has given you little motivation to work with us. Hence why I’m apologising.”
Slowly, Damian lowers his guard. There’s something about the guiltiness of his pauses, the
diffidence of his frowns, that makes him begin to understand what’s going on. “You spoke to
Alfred, didn’t you?”

A little of Batman’s familiar steeliness returns. “Agent A.”

“Yes, yes, Lord Paranoia.” Damian dismisses. He squints at his father. There’s no doubt. It’s the
cowed, almost childlike behaviour that tips him off. There’s only one person who can hold Batman
truly morally culpable like this. “Agent A told you to apologise.”

There’s a grumpy, stubborn face-down, Wayne-glare on Wayne-glare. Luckily, Damian is one part
12 year-old boy and another 80 year-old man: no one does stubborn grumpiness like him. Batman
is forced to relent.

“He may have advised it.” He concedes and Damian would mock him if he weren’t himself so
uncomfortable.

“I’d really rather you didn’t.” Is all he says. “For one thing, I’m not going to forgive you. For
another, it’s just disturbing.”

Batman nods and the uncomfortable silence resumes. Damian can’t help glancing at his father’s
profile every now and again, a habit of eager observation he’s yet to break. Batman looks focused
and harsh but also tired like Damian: neither of them are made for complicated emotional
minefields. He’s still grinding his teeth, a mannerism that generally denotes frustration and anxiety:
one motive for each Robin, Damian sardonically supposes. Only that makes him think of Robin
and it takes all his willpower not to demand to know where he is, how he can contact him.

Again, he finds himself distracted enough by his thoughts that he’s neglecting his research.
Mentally hitting himself, he buries himself back into the maniacal ravings on the screen in front of
him. The chaotic, rambling prose was clearly written by Klarion and his strange and abrupt
changes of topic and inadequate footnotes are enough to induce a headache. No wonder Batman
wanted a fresh pair of eyes.

It appears the base they invaded in Mongolia was mainly focused on research, combining alien and
human technology. Klarion is perhaps deliberately vague about which exact alien it was that
supplied the technology; or at least Damian hopes it’s deliberate because if not, it is humiliating
that a villain so inept is such a major threat to the Justice League. The size of arsenal in this one
base, however, is worrying, since there could be dozens more all converging on one headquarters.
Might the League be overwhelmed by sheer number?

Batman clears his throat and Damian lets a long sigh out through his nostrils. Clearly the years
have had some hardening effect on the father Damian knew because this one is displaying an
persistence and naivety that discomforts him. Just because my father appears to have a change of
heart about abusing my privacy and trust, it doesn’t make him a different man, he reminds himself.

Still, he grants him a terse “What?” and waits for the next clumsy, belated attempt at connection.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at Robin.”

Damian feels his shoulders coil. “On that we agree.”

“He has been… rebellious recently. Claiming maturity whilst he continues to take risks and act like
a child.”

Damian resists the urge to snort derisively. “He is a child. He’s fourteen. He’s going to be stupid
and irresponsible and secretive. It’s called puberty.” It doesn’t escape him, the irony of him
explaining the effects of adolescence to his own father. When he’s being so awkward and obtuse,
however, he cannot help himself.

When Batman doesn’t respond to that, Damian plunges onward. “From what I can tell, he’s at the
beginning of his ‘angst’ phase. He’ll return to the nest eventually, agreeable and chirpy as ever.”
This is something he does resent about Grayson, the way his Teen Titans years immediately gave
way to his 8-year-old unflinching obedience to Batman again after Jason’s death. He claims he had
pushed his pride aside in favour of supporting the man to whom he owed everything but Damian
doesn’t like that description. He’d pushed aside more than his pride: his own team, achievements
and reputation had all been foregone in favour of bending over backwards to once more be the
perfect son to the man who’d given away his first hero identity. It is not an insult Damian would
have been able to stand.

His discontented brooding must have shown on his face because Batman doesn’t say any more
until he’s emerged from his thoughts. Only then does he say, a little wonderingly, a little
grumblingly, “You’re twelve, is that correct?”

Damian tries so hard not to preen at the slim admiration in his tone and nearly succeeds. “You
grow up fast in the League of Assassins.”

“I appreciate your reassurances about Robin.” Batman continues. “They have not been entirely
without effect. I believe… you appear to think a lot of him. He might benefit from talking to you.”

“Where is he?” Damian asks, swallowing the urgency in his chest.

“There’s a gym on the second floor with acrobatics equipment.” Batman says and that’s all
Damian needs to hear. He wants to go right now but something tells him that instinct is wrong. If
he confronts Robin whilst wound up, they’ll probably only fight again. Instead, he resigns himself
to ploughing through the remains of this report first. Hopefully the focus needed to sort through
Klarion’s nonsensical muck will benefit him.

Batman, however, doesn’t appear to be finished. “I’m glad you have Robin.”

Damian hums noncommittally, the sincerity in his father’s tone making his stomach squirm. He’s
read the word ‘charitable donation’ five times over but the words don’t seem to sink in.

“I’m glad Robin has you.”

Damian’s mouth is dry and he has to swallow several times before he gets the next words out. “He
does.” His voice is raspy and he tries again. “We’re partners.”

“I’m glad.” Batman repeats, voice solemn and grave. That resignation is back, that same
resignation with which he’d spoken to Robin, but this time it sounds less regretful and more at
peace. He pauses. “And I am sorry.”

Three words aren’t enough to fix the past few days of suspicion and humiliation. Three words
aren’t enough to fix months of coldness and mistrust. Three words aren’t enough to make up for a
death that had left his son bitter and adrift, without enough kindness to even grieve.

They are enough to fill Damian with a sense of loss he’d hoped never to feel again: he has lost
another opportunity to salvage something, anything from his relationship with his father. He had
died and Damian had given up on him and now that they’ve met again, in another dimension, he
has been forced to give up on him a second time. It’s so disappointing that they continue to
 disappoint each other.

“I am sorry too.” He says, and means it. Perhaps all they can be now is glad it isn’t worse. Glad
they haven’t destroyed each other. Glad that Batman still has Robin, and Damian still has Grayson.
They’ll never have anything more.

It’d be an act of charity to just leave now, Damian thinks, and then wonders where that particular
phrasing came from. He stares down into the text in front of him, eyes scanning over dreary
complaints about the weather and focusing on the line that’s niggling at his subconscious,
awakening his deductive instincts.

“And thanks to our many charitable donations, it’ll be a piece of cake to slice into the multiverse.
The League won’t be expecting us to kill them with kindness!”

To anyone else it would read like the writing of a madman but Damian recognises the method in
the madness, the order in the chaos.

“Nightlight.” He says aloud.

Batman frowns at him. “What was that?”

“The charity the Light have been using to pickpocket Metropolis billionaires.” Damian explains,
opening his browser and searching for the website. “They’ve got a list of a dozen countries where
they operate. And their centre of operations is… here.”

“The Australian outback.” Batman says, realisation dawning in his voice.

“The Light were so confident in their ability to hide in plain sight that they’ve given away their
headquarters.” Damian cackles, triumphant and devoid of mercy. The Light knows the cold logic
of Batman but they couldn’t have accounted for him and his ruthless, business-like attitude; his
single-minded focus on returning home. Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is an anal hardass who doesn’t
miss a trick and as sentimental as it may be, he fully intends to desecrate some corpses.

“That is some excellent detective work.” Batman says and his lips twitch into an almost smile. As
soon as the expression appears, it’s gone and he’s contacting League members, inputting co-
ordinates to the satellite, maybe ordering some extra anti-kangaroo spray for the utility belts.
Damian has stopped paying attention.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like Robin again. Now it’s time to find his Batman.

Chapter End Notes

i'd rather you signed the following petitions than left a kudos:
https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd
https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor
https://www.change.org/p/district-attorney-tom-durden-justice-for-ahmaud-arbery-i-
run-with-maud
https://www.runwithmaud.com/
https://www.change.org/p/govia-thameslink-justice-for-belly-mujinga-
justiceforbellymujinga
https://www.change.org/p/us-senate-hands-up-act
https://blacklivesmatter.com/defundthepolice/
there are too many to list but please seek out more
all cops are bastards and black lives matter
 Chapter 17
Chapter Summary

Damian seeks out Robin and some things are resolved.

Chapter Notes

is this good? i literally cannot even tell if this is good anymore

i hope this is okayyy guys seriously LET ME KNOW quarantine has done a number
on me i can't even remember the last time i had a Creative Thought TM
we're nearly there!! might have been ambitious when i said one more chapter, might
have to split that in two :o

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The mountain has descended entirely into chaos and Damian has been swept up into it.

As soon as Batman has a location, it’s as if their whole discussion has been forgotten. The only
change, barely palpable, is that all of a sudden they are indisputably on the same side. Damian
suggests Martian Manhunter take the cloaked bioship to scout. His father thanks him for the
suggestion and tells him to inform the team. He agrees, and when they split ways it’s with a feeling
of mutual progress and almost comradery.

It’s a good feeling.

The sidekicks are delighted and relieved to hear that he’s solved the mystery of the base’s location
and he suffers through several hearty slaps on the back before he can convince them to begin
preparing. Miss Martian is being shipped off to the nearest nuclear power station to work on her
energy telekinesis and seems very eager about it, her face periodically scrunching up as she goes
through the mental motions. Kid Flash is going to be working with Batman sourcing the cables to
transfer this power and seems split between pride that his skills are being recognised and abject
terror about spending prolonged alone time with the Dark Knight. The nearest city willing to
absorb the excess power is coastal and so Kaldur is expected to work with Aquaman to clear the
way underwater. It’s evident he doesn’t want to leave his team but his duty wins out and he
reluctantly parts with them.

There is still no Robin.

Artemis and Superboy invite him to come and train with them but he decides to apply himself to
the machine’s blueprint once again; he’d barely skimmed it last time. Sure enough, he soon finds a
mechanical weak point that should make the isolation of the nuclear cores a lot quicker: a vent that
siphons cool air throughout the arteries of the machine, providing a manual route to its heart.
Thank God for Mr Freeze and his efficient cooling system, Damian thinks with a grin and shoots
the annotated blueprint over to Batman.

Then he does join Superboy and Artemis, taking the opportunity to restock his utility belt’s arsenal.
As much as he’s loathe to admit it, Drake’s tech is vastly superior to the resources available in this
time. He’s glad he still has some of his own world’s weapons left but doesn’t spurn the extra
birdarangs and smoke pellets. After a brief deliberation, he also removes his knife from his shoe
and attaches it to his calf instead. Maybe it’s an admission of weakness or simply a precaution that
he wants his last resort weapon easier to access. Either way, the press of it against his skin is
reassuring.

He spars with Superboy and Artemis until lunchtime and soundly beats them both several times.
Close combat is a Robin’s speciality. Artemis does surprise him once when he has her in a
chokehold by manipulating an arrow into her hand and holding it against his neck and he respects
her versatility, her grittiness. You aren’t born with that kind of thinking; it’s learnt.

He wonders if she’d want to be found in his world. He might just have to look.

Kid Flash emerges, typically, for lunch, groaning about nuclear equations and clutching his head.
When Damian asks him if they’re making progress, he shoots him a look that could curdle milk.

“Oh, it’s going swimmingly. I don’t know how you and Rob stand it, that man’s a slave driver.”
He slams his face into the table and begins teasing his sandwich into his mouth with his teeth. “He
had the nerve to tell me I’d never make it through medical school with my work ethic. I didn’t
even want to go to medical school, but now it feels like all my future dreams are crushed!”

Damian frowns and bites into his cucumber sandwich (it’s vegan and Alfred’s made him partial to
them). “Well, he didn’t make it through medical school either.”

Just like that, Kid Flash is bolt upright and staring at him attentively. “What did you say?”

“He dropped out of medical school.” Damian says and it occurs to him that this likely isn’t
common knowledge. Oh well.

Kid Flash looks totally gormless for a moment, mouth ajar. Eventually he swallows, places both
hands on the table and leans in. “I have,” He says, “So many questions.”

“He decided saving lives as a surgeon was too hard and he’d better start punching people instead.”
Damian explains succinctly.

Kid Flash’s mouth falls open again, before snapping shut. “I no longer have any questions.”

“Does he even have a college education?” Artemis asks. “Who’s letting this man run the justice
league?”

Superboy looks as if his world is falling apart. “Am I more qualified than Batman?”

Damian finishes his sandwich and brushes the crumbs off his hands. He rises to his feet and before
he can second guess himself, jerkily pats Superboy a few times on the back.

“No, you’re not more qualified than Batman.” He answers. “Batman has trained with ninjas. But
maybe you’ll get there someday.”

“You going to find Rob?” Kid Flash asks, immediately concerned enough to lower his sandwich.
“Because I don’t know if he wants to be found, my dude.”

“We need everyone in the Justice League fighting at full capacity tomorrow.” Damian says. “That
includes Robin.”
“We know.” Artemis says, brow furrowed. “Just… be gentle with him, ok?”

No one has ever called on Damian to be ‘gentle’ before. Artemis should know by now that even
his ‘soft side’ is merely less blunt and abrasive. But he nods regardless and tries to put himself into
a gentle frame of mind as he approaches the gymnastics studio.

He thinks about lizards, in the end. He has a lot of respect for lizards, especially ones like geckos
that can detach their own extremities to escape danger. It’s ingenious. By the time he approaches
the large sliding doors, he doesn’t feel gentle per se, but he does want a bat-lizard and maybe a
detachable limb. This will have to do.

He considers knocking (gently) but as soon as he raises his fist, he feels stupid. What does he have
to be hesitant about? This is just Grayson. This is just talking to Grayson, which is one of the
easiest things in the world. Attempting to bottle that confidence, he swipes his hand across the
entry pad and strides into the room.

Like the rest of the mountain, the room is huge and cavernous and carved from rough grey rock.
Unlike the rest of the mountain, there doesn’t seem to be a lick of technology in sight. The sparring
area is delegated to a few worn mats and the weapons hanging nearby look equally battered.
Damian can’t help but wonder, with a little awe, how many superheroes’ hands have closed around
each hilt: this room is clearly a relic from Mount Justice’s past. There’s a shooting range, several
punching bags spewing stuffing and in the centre of the room, a familiar structure that makes
Damian’s heart skip a beat: a pair of trapezes.

There are several other of Grayson’s favourites scattered around: a vault, a pommel horse, even a
set of monkey bars but the slight figure swinging through in mid-air has rejected them all. He
propels himself furiously from one trapeze to another, cycling through movements so quickly and
so smoothly, there are moments Damian swears he’s disconnected from the rungs. He can’t help
but watch, spell-bound, as Robin executes what is clearly supposed to be a show but which is
missing two extra pairs of hands.

He doesn’t presume to announce himself because he assumes Robin knows he’s there but the
second their eyes meet, domino mask to domino mask, and his mentor’s mouth falls open in
surprise, he realises they’d been equally caught up in the performance. Robin’s limbs go slack,
before he eventually lifts himself into an upright sitting position, like a child on a swing. With no
momentum to propel it, the trapeze slowly swings to a halt and Robin coils down, releasing the
rung with latent reluctance. The second his feet hit the ground, it occurs to Damian that there was
no safety net.

He waits for Robin to approach him, which he does, beating powder off of his hands. He’s
drenched from head-to-toe in sweat and has a distinctly sleepless pallor beneath the flush of
exercise. He’s also still dressed in his Robin costume, sans-cloak, which reminds Damian of
something which has been bothering him.

“You said you asked my father for a hood.” He says. Robin tilts his head, puzzled, but nods. “You
hate the cape. Why would you ask for a hood which only offers more obstruction?”

Robin scoffs and works at a few muscles in his shoulder with his hand. He’s clearly reluctant to
speak, and when he does Damian understands why. His voice is rough from disuse, quiet, and
empty. “You’ve patrolled in a Gotham winter. My ears got cold. Batman wasn’t having any of it.
Claimed he felt fine, but his whole head’s practically covered by the cowl so…” He trails off, and
clears his throat.

“I bet he wouldn’t have let me have one either.” Damian says. There’s a pause, and when he
speaks again, it’s testing. “You let me have a hood…”

“Don’t.” Robin says abruptly, his whole face screwing up. “Just don’t. I… I can’t hear you talk
about me like that.”

“Like what?” Damian probes, even though he knows the answer. Robin simply winces again. “Like
Batman.” He guesses but finally, decidedly.

“Yeah.” Robin says, giving a little bitter exhale of a laugh. “Like…like Batman.” The sound of his
foot scuffing against the linoleum floor is the only sound in the entire cavern. The mountain could
be empty except for the two of them.

“I can’t.” Damian bursts out finally. His frustration is targeted at about a thousand different things,
but mostly at the fact that Robin can’t even meet his eyes. That they’re both still wearing these
damned masks. “I can’t pretend like I don’t know you. I do.”

“You know a version of me.” Robin attempts but Damian cuts him off.

“It’s you.” He insists. “I know it is. From the second I saw you, I knew it was you the same way I
knew it was my father beneath the cowl.” He’s given Robin another opportunity to cut to the core
of what they’re both verbally dancing around but when he doesn’t take it, Damian ploughs on.
“And I was telling the truth when I said everything I know about being Robin, everything you said
made me a hero, I got from you.”

“I also called you a murderer and assassin.” Robin suddenly snaps and Damian recoils, the words
burning like an old brand. At his reaction, Robin sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “All I’m
saying is my judgement on this issue clearly isn’t infallible, in the future or the present. It was
wrong of me to call you those things. I’m sorry for that.”

Damian shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but the progress pleases him. That had just been
Robin’s emotions clouding him after all. “You’re not entirely incorrect. I have killed people, but
not since I began working with you. I would never muddy the name of Robin in that way.” He says
this last part pointedly and when Robin ducks his head, he feels as if it might be in shame. “I’m
aware that allowing my father’s death might appear callous, but it’s for all the heroic reasons. I
refuse to consider myself in the moral wrong and certainly won’t stand the accusation that I’m in
some way responsible for his death.”

Robin’s lips are twisting and he releases another breathless, bitter laugh. “If it were anyone else in
the world, I’d agree with you. Your logic, as always, is flawless. It’s just… I can’t-”

“Family.” Damian supplies for him, feeling something definitely-not-gentle-or-fond. “It’s always
family with you, Grayson. You lose your head when they’re involved.”

The look Robin gives him then is a little more appraising, a little more interested. “I don’t exactly
have a good track record.”

“Neither do I.” Damian says, before he can think about it, but luckily his embarrassment at the
confession is soothed by the tiny quirk of the lip it elicits from Robin.

“That’s one thing I don’t get.” He admits. “Bruce… he’s as emotionally constipated as a
downtown Gotham sewage pipe,” The imagery of that makes Damian’s stomach roil but the
expression on Robin’s face is so tender and sad that he doesn’t call him out on it. “But he tries hard
and he’s not too bad at the whole dad thing. And you, I mean you’re so like him-”

Damian can’t help but snort at that stunning observation and it makes Robin halt. “Well, you are.
That’s the main reason I was jealous of you to begin with.”

There’s that entirely impossible concept again, Grayson jealous of him. It’s enough to irritate him,
a little. “Don’t you see how that’s the problem? It’s why he can’t stand me. He looks at me and all
he sees is a reflection of himself: an assassin, murderer version of himself.”

Robin cringes again. “I’m sorry.” He says, and it’s gentle enough for both of them. “But recently
he’s always going on about how I’m too childish, how I have to grow up and stop taking risks like
patrolling alone or leading my team on this mission. And you…I mean you’re so focused and your
hand-to-hand is,” He splutters a little, frantic energy slowly returning to his subdued frame.
“Incredible, you get hit and it’s like you don’t even feel it.”

None of this barrage of compliments is new to Damian but somehow it takes his breath away like it
never has before. This was why Robin was so uneasy around him? He found him impressive?

“When I learnt you were his son, his actual flesh and blood son I thought well that’s it, isn’t it?” He
huffs out one final breathless laugh, but this one comes from deep within an aching chest. His
expression turns contemplative and even without seeing his eyes, Damian knows his gaze has
disconnected. “I just thought, Robin. Robin is who I am, Robin can’t be taken away from me. The
manor, the money, Bruce’s love… I’ve always known those things could disappear at any
moment, but I thought Robin was mine.”

Damian had always known this was the juvenile, incomplete version of his confident,
accomplished extrovert mentor but it has never struck him so thoroughly up until now how young
and insecure this boy is, how young and insecure Grayson once was. It’s humbling, in a way. He
likes it. It’s just another of those things that makes Grayson, makes Batman, so human.

It’s also very, very stupid and very, very wrong.

“You foolish simpleton.” He barks and the sudden exuberance of tone makes Robin actually jump
several inches off the ground. “Of course Robin’s yours. He will be for many more years until you
outgrow him. That title’s never taken away from you and neither are any of those other things, for
that matter.”

Robin does produce a small smile now, and it’s a wonderful sight to see. “So I still wear designer
ten years in the future?”

“Exclusively.” Damian scoffs, smiling too. “Do either of us look department store to you?”

“No.” Robin chuckles. “I guess you do know me a little better than I thought.”

“I do.” Damian says, earnestly. He hates to steer the conversation back to darker waters but there’s
too much to say to begin discussing the merits of Chanel vs Prada. “You’re Batman. And you made
me your Robin, even after I tried to maim you and called you a charity case and claimed I was
Batman’s only true heir and-”

“I get the picture, we had a rocky start.” Robin cuts him off, looking mildly disturbed. His tone and
expression quickly become more sombre. “I can’t imagine training anyone to be Robin let alone
becoming… becoming Batman when Bruce is…”

“You don’t want to be Batman.” Damian states simply, recalling Robin’s own terrified words and
sheepishly, his younger mentor shakes his head.

“It terrifies me.” He admits quietly. “That drive, that thing that means he can push everything and
everyone in his life aside in favour of the mission, I don’t have that. I don’t want to have it. The
fact that Bruce dies and I can just put on the cowl like it’s nothing…that sounds a lot like that
drive. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

“You didn’t push your grief aside for the mission.” Damian says. It feels so strange, so upside
down for him to be the one advising and comforting a disconsolate Grayson but the words just
come, the same way they came when he said them before. “You pushed it aside for Gotham. For
your family. For…” He clears his throat and it sounds a lot like “For me.”

“Things were bad without Batman?” Robin hazards, frowning at the mere thought. Damian nods
gravely.

“Worse than you can imagine.” He thinks of Todd and Cain and Drake and the screaming at night,
the criminals running rampant without fear of the shadows for the first time. It had been manic and
orderless, an introduction to Gotham that he’ll never forget. “Not just for the people, but for us in
the mansion. There’s more of us in the future, more people relying on you. You did it for them.”

“Batcave’s crowded enough.” Robin whispers, and chuckles as if this is a secret joke. “I… I guess
that’s something I could see myself doing.” He sounds hesitant but slightly comforted. “But being
Batman.”

“It is an astronomical task.” Damian admits. “But you don’t do it alone.”

Robin turns and looks at him with a new intensity that makes him want to squirm. Instead, Damian
meets his gaze. “You’re a good Batman.” He says. “And an okay partner.”

Slowly, Robin nods and slowly he smiles, a real smile. “Okay.” He mouths and Damian thinks his
voice has failed him because it’s a few seconds before he says “You mean a lot to me, don’t you?”

Damian splutters violently and indignantly and Robin’s smile becomes mischievous, that devilish
grin they share. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He presses and Damian’s cheeks are so red he thinks they
must be glowing. He’s never been more grateful for his Middle Eastern complexion. “That’s good.
You won’t hold any of this against me, will you? Me being jealous or the way I yelled at you?”

Damian rolls his eyes, as if they can be seen, and nods his head as if this is some sort of huge
demand but the relief he feels is so potent, it takes a lot to mask it. “I suppose not.” He sniffs.

“And I’m sure you and Bruce would have got along, once he’d got to know you.” Robin’s smile
turns a little sad again but Damian has less patience for this observation.

“He had the opportunity to ‘get to know me’ for months.” He says edgily, beginning to genuinely
frown. “He could barely look at me. You’ve seen how he is.”

“You’d have worked well together.” Robin says with a confidence so strong, Damian almost
doubts himself. “Bruce takes time. You’re probably right that it scared him how similar the two of
you were, but he’d have got over it eventually. And if he saw you now as Robin, he’d have to be
proud of you. He’s your dad. And… and I know he isn’t a bad one.”

Damian’s heart pangs again and he both wishes Robin hadn’t said anything and that he’d never
stop saying it, that with time his father would have accepted him and worked with him just like
he’d planned and dreamed all his life. “We’ll never know.” He says in the end, voice cold.

Robin bites his lip, shifts his feet and Damian instantly knows what he’s going to suggest. “We
could know…” He says, voice trailing off tantalisingly.

“No.” Damian says, and it comes out crushing. This is one area where there’s no room for
argument. “His death is a fixed inevitability. If I could change it, perhaps I would too.” This
admission surprises him, uncertain though it is. “But no good can come from meddling with the
future.”

“I know.” Robin says, head hanging. “I’ve had some time to think, and I know. I just feel as if
there should be something I can do to save him.” That hopelessness, that pervasive sense of failure
has returned to his voice alongside the grief, a hollow grief devoid of the earlier anger.

“There is nothing you can do.” Damian says, forcing as much assertive power as he can into his
voice. If Robin can just understand this, maybe he’ll be ok. “When it happens, you do everything
you can. But right now, there is nothing you can do.”

For a few moments, Robin doesn’t say anything. Then, very softly, Damian hears a sniff and then a
hiccup and a feeling of dread slides down him like egg yolk.

“Please don’t be crying.” He means for it to come out cross, but there are undeniable notes of panic
in his voice. When Robin’s sobs only grow in strength, he finds himself floundering. “Grayson.
Grayson, pull yourself together. Now isn’t the time to be crying.”

“Can we just take these stupid masks off?” Robin suddenly exclaims, voice thick with tears but
infuriated all the same. He’s pawing at the tears that have escaped the harsh lines of the domino
mask but crying seems difficult. “I’ve disabled all the cameras. I feel so foolish standing here
having a serious discussion in masks and spandex. You know who I am, I know the important bits
about who you are…”

He looks at Damian, searching him for a reaction. Damian gives him one by reaching up and
slowly and deliberately peeling the mask off his face. He blinks against the air on his eyelids and
the adjustment to natural light. Robin stares at him with unabashed awe.

“You really are that young.” He says wonderingly. “And you look…”

“Just like him.” Damian says. “You’ve told me, don’t repeat yourself.”

Through the tears, still flowing, Robin grins again. He reaches up and removes his own mask and
even though his eyes are rimmed red and dark-circled, that clear, cool blue is so familiar. His eyes
transform his entire face into that of a boy only a few years older than Damian, one who
inexplicably but undeniably resembles him. Is it possible for someone to have such an impression
on you that you begin to look, as well as think the same? And if so, has Bruce Wayne had that
impression on Dick Grayson or has Dick Grayson had that impression on Damian Wayne?

“You look exactly the same.” Damian says. “Dullard. Didn’t I tell you to stop crying?”

“You’re insulting me again.” Dick says blissfully. “Good. You were being eerily polite; I was
ready to check for a fever.”

Grayson did actually do that once, when Damian had the flu and was so ill he didn’t even protest
staying off patrol. He’d placed his palm against Damian’s forehead, his skin cool against the
feverish heat, and then swiped it up through his hair and Damian hadn’t squirmed away because he
was too addled by the sickness to register it. Later, he’d pretended he’d forgotten but that nurturing
affection, the instinctive desire to seek out the source of his suffering and will it away, is
something he thinks about often.

“Very funny, Grayson.” He responds belatedly, already regretting the new access he’s given him to
read his expressions.
“It was weirding me out hearing you call me that name whilst still wearing the mask.” Is all Dick
says in response, rubbing away the last of his tears. “Like it ignited a flight or fight instinct.”

“Do you want to?” Damian says suddenly, eyes roving upward.

Dick frowns. “Fight?”

“No.” Damian points and he follows his gaze. “Fly.”

When Dick looks back around to face him, his eyes are glimmering with something other than
tears. “You know how?”

“Of course I know how. You can do it, for me it wasn’t even a challenge to master.” This is a
small white lie: it took Damian quite a while to emulate the effortless grace Grayson displays on
the trapeze. Even now, he knows it’s not the same. This doesn’t bother him, because trapeze is an
overall useless skill. The hours training were to build stamina and strength, nothing more.

“And have you done it with me before?” Dick says, excitement clearly building as he jogs over to
one side of the apparatus.

“A few times.” Damian says. Each one had been more exhilarating than the last, an aerial test of
their ability to read each other’s minds. “You performed adequately.”

“Adequately?” Dick laughs, swinging himself up the ladder like a monkey. “I’ll perform so
equately, you’ll wish you had popcorn!”

At the top of the platform, Damian covers his hands in powder and reaches for the trapeze. He
feels oddly nervous as he closes his hands around the rung, as if this is some sort of test of his
prototype dynamic duo. Luckily, Dick waves his hand to get his attention before either of them
dive into mid-air.

“It’s Tim!” He yells and Damian can’t help but feel his heart leap in his chest. For a few moments
he blindly scours the room, groping for a flash of red and gold. When none materialises, he scowls
at Robin, disappointed.

“What are you talking about?” He demands.

“You’re name’s Timmy, isn’t it? I’m guessing. Don’t tell me I’m far off.”

Damian’s disappointment gives way to considerable insult. “No, my name is not Timmy. That was
the name of the Robin I replaced, and I promise you I am superior to him in every way.”

Dick laughs, like this is a joke. “Alright, sorry. What is it then? Your name?”

Damian hesitates for a few seconds before deciding he cannot do any more harm than he already
has. “Damian.” He calls. Instinctively, his back straightens and he lifts his chin as he makes the
introduction, the old formalities kicking in. “Damian Wayne.”

“Damian.” Dick shakes his head, perhaps fondly. “I should have known. I’m Dick Grayson.”

“I know.”

“Are you ready, Damian?”

“Absolutely.”
 Together, their feet leave the platforms and soar through empty space. They cross by each other so
close that the R’s on their chests glint in parallel. Dick gives a loud whoop of excitement as they
swing apart and Damian absolutely concurs. He can’t feel a thing but a secure ache in his hands
and the exhilarated beating of his heart.

“The next time I come around,” Dick says, propelling himself back up onto the platform. “Catch
me!”

“I beg your pardon!?” Is all Damian can think to yell in response, his own feet scrambling back
onto solid ground.

“Catch me!” Dick cries again, leaping back out into weightlessness as Damian desperately hooks
his legs over the rungs.

“You imbecile!” He announces as he too launches himself off the platform, hands outstretched.

At the exact moment Damian predicts, Dick releases the rung and reaches for his hands. It’s a
breathless moment when their fingertips first brush, linking in a fragile grip that they both have to
strain to establish into something stronger, securer. When their hands finally do clasp together and
Damian knows the contact won’t break, he lets out a truly magnificent string of curses in Arabic
and Dick only crows in triumph, flushed and grinning in the face of his near-death experience.

“What were you thinking?” Damian insists, giving his mentor a little shake to further express his
displeasure.

“I wasn’t!” Dick chirps and what a surprise that is. “I knew you’d catch me!”

The red hue that appears on Damian’s face is from hanging upside down for too long. He assumes
the dizzy, elated feeling he’s experiencing is from the blood rushing to his head as well. “Idiot.” Is
all he can think to mumble. “Incomparable idiot.”

Dick transfers easily back onto his own trapeze and just as easily fires a “Nice job, Robin!” over his
shoulder. Damian manoeuvres his hands back onto the rung and makes his own running leap into a
sensation of weightlessness. As if he really is flying.

As if he really has wings.

Chapter End Notes

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thanks for reading!! sorry, as per, that it's been so long :((((
 Chapter 18
Chapter Summary

Fluff. Filler, even.

Chapter Notes

I walk onstage in silence. The crowd watches me with judgemental eyes. I lean into the
microphone:
"Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you saw the last of me."
yeah so it's been almost a year since i last updated and i could say sorry a million times
and it wouldn't make up for neglecting this fic :(((
for one thing i drafted half of this chapter and then lost it which was a REAL setback
most significantly though i've been insanely busy academically and i've had to direct
my creative juices elsewhere: good news is both academics and other creative
endeavours have gone really well!! bad news is i have only today been seized with
guilt and motivation to push through and finish this fic
unfortunately i need a fluffy filler chapter if i'm going to update today and give y'all
hope :)) so here's this, i hope you don't hate it too much and i will finish this now if it
kills me i swear i swear

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You stink.” Is the first thing Damian says when they’ve both landed. “And you look like you’ve
been caught in a snowstorm.”

Grayson’s reaction, naturally, is to ruffle more of the powder into his hair. “Do I look like Alfred?”
He asks, wearing a grin. Suddenly it morphs into an expression of terror. “Oh God.” He says. “I’m
not greying in the future, am I?”

Damian smirks. “You know I can’t threaten the time-space continuum anymore than I already
have. Besides, I’d be more worried about balding.”

Grayson’s mouth falls open, horrified. “Damian. Don’t walk away from me. Damian!”

Damian sits outside whilst Grayson showers, not because he has ‘separation anxiety’ or whatever
mumbo jumbo nonsense Canary would probably come up with but because he knows his partner.
Having displayed an enviable grace on the trapeze moments ago, he’s just as likely to slip and
crack his head open on a shower tile.

When Grayson does emerge, mask back in place, he looks more like himself. By this Damian
means there are still prominent circles under his eyes, still a quivering around his mouth that
betrays grief, but there’s a smile too. Weak and small, but there. This is Grayson pushing aside his
own emotions for his friends and Damian knows now that he is included in that number. It’s not a
perfect feeling to look at him and see the familiar coping mechanism but it doesn’t feel bad either.
What does feel bad is the sopping wet hand that ruffles his hair. “Gross.” He mutters darkly,
grasping the offending appendage in such a grip that Grayson knows he could break a finger if he
wanted to.

Strangely, the half-smile widens. “I’m tired. Wanna get some cereal before bed?”

“Reverse breakfast.” Damian nods. He is familiar with the concept. “Sure.”

Whilst Grayson pours them both bowls of his insufferably sweet cereal, Damian reclaims his perch
atop the fridge. Grayson doesn’t even bat an eye when he turns to see him there, simply standing
on his tiptoes to pass him his ‘food’ and swinging up to sit on the counter just below. It’s a weird
feeling to look down and see Grayson whom Damian has been looking up to for practically years
now.

It’s even weirder when Grayson tugs gently on his cloak, a strangely childlike gesture, attention
fixed on him unwaveringly. “Fill me in.” He demands shovelling a spoonful of cereal into his
mouth. “What did I miss whilst I was sulking?”

“I saved the day, of course.” Damian says without missing a beat.

The indulgent smile he receives for that is not weird. He watches for it hungrily, accepts it with a
satisfaction akin to a refreshing drink or a long rest. “I’m sure you did.” Grayson chuckles. “But
pretend I’m stupid like everyone else and explain to me your deduction, oh genius one.”

“There’s no need to be patronising.” Damian sniffs but oddly he feels the opposite. Grayson, in this
small way, is looking to him for guidance. He had said ‘everyone else’ suggesting he and Damian
were somehow apart. Above, in Damian’s interpretation, although he knows Grayson would dislike
the arrogance of that. Is he aware of how even just these little quirks in speech are comforting?

Damian has missed and still misses him so badly.

The immaculate garden of his mind feels more like an overgrown wood but he doesn’t feel the
need to dwell and cut back every thought anymore, not when Grayson is being indulgent with him.
He explains his brainwave, Nightlight and the plan to defeat the Light. Grayson listens attentively,
munching on his cereal and swinging his legs but nodding along and smiling that same smile.
When Damian’s finished, it transforms into a grin.

“I feel like I should give a standing ovation or something. Nice job, dude.”

Belatedly Damian eats a little of his own cereal in an attempt to mask how thoroughly the praise
pleases him. Instantly he recoils. “Tt-. I forgot how unappetising this drivel is. It’s like consuming
packing peanuts.”

Grayson snorts, milk spraying and spoon clattering into his bowl. “How do you know what packing
peanuts taste like?” He gasps, giggling and wiping his mouth.

Damian flushes. “It was one occasion.”

“You ate packing peanuts?”

“I was trapped in a cargo ship and did not know how long I would be detained! They’re made of
starch, they’re perfectly edible.”

“You ate packing peanuts!”

“It was a matter of life or death!” He objects. Or at least it would have been had Batman not arrived
and freed him minutes later. He fails to add this. “You cannot claim not to have eaten worse.”

“Oh duh, obviously not.” Grayson agrees and as if to prove his point, he guzzles the last remnants
of milk. “I just thought you had some dignity, man, that’s all.”

Damian shoots him a withering glare. Grayson meets it smugly. Eventually, he begins to laugh
again and despite his best efforts to smother it, Damian joins in. They’re both tired but neither of
them feel like sleeping, retreating to empty rooms with their own heads. They stay up for hours
longer in each other’s company, avoiding facing painful topics head-on but soothing their edges.
Grayson tells him stories of his team and Damian tries his hardest to remain supercilious to the joy
of their hijinks. Carefully, in turn, he tells Grayson stories of his life in Gotham. Nothing to do with
Batman, just the manor and the people who frequent it, domestic glimpses of normality that make
him laugh and blink back tears in equal measure.

“I’ve missed having a big family.” He confesses, quietly, as they finally settle down to sleep across
the huge sofas.

Damian doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything. He hopes his silence alone
serves as the confirmation he still can’t quite voice. When he closes his eyes, deep and dreamless
sleep embraces him with both arms and doesn’t relinquish him until well into the morning.

When he does awake, it’s to a finger jabbing his cheek. Don’t! He thinks to himself sharply, even
as his hand flies out to wrench it out of its socket. At the last minute he restrains it, aborting the
movement so that his arm twitches in mid-air. He opens his eyes to meet the grinning face of Kid
Flash and a phone screen thrust into his face.

“You are lucky you did not just lose a finger.” He informs him before focusing in on the screen
and blanching. “Delete that!”

It’s a picture of himself and Robin curled in identical postures of sleep, heads pillowed under their
arms and legs curled. They each stretch across one side of the sofa like a symmetrical set of wings.

“But it’s so cute!” Kid Flash coos, caressing the image with his index. Damian wishes he actually
had dislocated it. “Little Robin and Littler Robin.”

“I won’t look very cute in a minute.” Damian promises but just as he lunges for the phone, Kid
Flash speeds away, clearly anticipating the move.

“Nuh uh! Do you know how much blackmail Rob has on me? I need this, bro.”

“Get back here you insufferable carrot-top!” Damian roars, launching himself over the back of the
sofa. What follows is a high-speed, high-stakes chase around the rec room only interrupted by
Robin yawning and propping himself up. He clutches his ears against the commotion.

“Ow!” He complains. “What’s going on? Why all the discord, emphasis on the dis.”

Kid Flash and Damian both wince and sheepishly pull up short. “Sorry, dude.” Kid Flash says,
considerably softer. “You sleep well?”

“Better, yeah.” Robin agrees. “What do you have there?”

Remembering himself, Kid Flash snorts. “Check out you and lil R.” He fends off Damian’s fresh
attempts at grabbing the phone and brings it over to the sofa, proffering it proudly.
Still rubbing away sleep, Robin makes a show off leaning into examine the image. Then, quick as
a woodpecker, he darts forward and deletes it.

“No!” Kid Flash’s cries of defeat mingle with Damian’s cries of victory.

“I’m not deaf.” Robin cackles. “I was awake as soon as you woke up Damian.”

“Who?” Kid Flash echoes dully before gasping and turning to point at Damian. “You!”

“Robin!” Damian hisses.

“It’s Wally!” He insists, lifting his hands up defensively. “He’s my best friend, he knows my secret
id.”

“He’s not my best friend, don’t saddle me with him.”

“We are pals though, admit it.” Kid Flash grins, jostling Damian’s side. He rolls his eyes behind
the mask.

“I don’t think there is a single universe in which we’re pals.” He emphasises the final word with
disdain.

At that moment, Kaldur, Artemis and M’gann all appear in the doorway. “Who’s not pals?” The
Martian asks, face creased in concern. “I think we’re all pals here- oh! Hello, Robin! I mean, Robin
number 1 obviously you’re both Robin.” She giggles a slightly hysterical nervous giggle. “I just
mean we’ve been seeing Robin 2 all around, Robin 1 has been AWOL that’s the only reason I
specified-”

“M’gann,” Robin 1 interrupts, smiling gently. “It’s ok. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“And technically I’m Robin 4, or 5 depending on who you’re asking and if they’re wrong.”
Damian adds. Everyone stares at him.

“You weren’t kidding about that?” Robin asks, aghast.

“About me being the fourth Robin? Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Did you expect to still be
Robin until you’re a shrivelled, decrepit, twenty-year old man? No, you move on long before that.”

“Who was before you?” Artemis questions eagerly.

“I’ve mentioned them to Robin and you’ll probably meet at least a few of them tonight. I don’t
intend to give them any further air-time, you’ve met the important Robins as far as I’m concerned.”

“Four Robins.” Kaldur says and then shudders at the thought. “How will the League cope?”

“Five if you count Fatgirl, but I don’t.” Damian says dismissively.

“Girl Robin?” Kid Flash exclaims just as Superboy finally joins them, blearily rubbing his eyes. He
perks up in alarm.

“What on earth did I miss?” He says, looking frantically between both Robins.

The room erupts into laughter, laughter so loud and unified Damian can join in with no shame.
Laughter so buoyant that it carries him through M’gann’s charred attempt at waffles. Laughter
almost reignited when Robin teasingly shakes the cereal box at him.
“Put that sorry excuse for sustenance away. There are chefs in the League of Assassins who would
run you through before you could come within ten feet of a kitchen carrying that.”

“Remind me to decline breakfast in bed if I ever stay with the League of Assassins.” Kid Flash
jokes.

“Pray you never find yourself in such a predicament.” Damian says, suddenly sober and grim. “It is
akin to a stay in Hades and to dine there would be to dine with the judges of paradise and hell.” A
ringing silence follows until he dons a wicked smirk. “They do make a very nice ful medames,
however.”

“That was terrifying.” Kid Flash informs him honestly as the others chuckle nervously.

“We’ll miss your morbid humour, Robin.” M’gann says, giggling, and then pausing as if the
implications of the words have suddenly set in. The lightness at the table sinks like a balloon
deflating.

“You must be relieved to be going home.” Kaldur says weakly. “I know that I missed Atlantis
terribly when I first became Aquaman’s partner.”

“It is a relief.” Damian says shortly. He’s ceased attempting to extricate the cooked waffle from
charcoal. It’s true, he’s desperate to be home and feels an anxious anticipation for that evening but
it does strike him that he’ll never sit at this table with these people again. These people who have
been kind and welcoming to him and thus these people whom he owes a debt he’ll never be able to
repay.

“I could have done all of this myself.” He decides to say eventually. “Investigated the Light, found
their base, defeated their diabolical plot.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Artemis agrees. “Wouldn’t have been as much fun alone though, would it?”

Damian grapples with this for a moment. “Perhaps not. Thank you for that, I suppose.” His entire
team is looking at him too kindly. Unless he’s mistaken, he thinks M’gann’s eyes are filling with
tears. It makes his face feel itchy. “But only that! I did not need any other help, let the record
show.” He hastily adds.

“I mean…” Superboy says awkwardly, when nobody else seems to know what to say. “You did
beat me and Artemis up like, five times in a row. I reckon the Light doesn’t stand a chance.”

“As soon as a second Robin was added to the equation, the scales were way in our favour.” Kid
Flash agrees which generates general agreement. “You lot are the most abnormal normal people in
any universe.”

Artemis clears her throat indignantly and Kid Flash looks at her, bewildered, with his mouth
stuffed full of burnt waffle. When he speaks, he’s muffled. “What do you want me to say? That
you’re abnormal?” He swallows with a painful gulp. “’Cause if so, you’re the biggest freak I know,
babe.”

Damian wrinkles his nose in intense disgust. Kid Flash has a crooked smile on his face that is
clearly meant to be charming but is less of a smoulder and more of a damp pile of ash. Artemis
punches him and he feels like thanking her.

“What?” Kid Flash says, rubbing his wounded arm. “What exactly did I do wrong that time?”

“I think stick to calling your girlfriend a freak in more private circumstances.” Robin says dryly,
 taking a long sip of orange juice. Only then do the implications seem to set in for his friend who
turns red to his ears.

“Oh GOD!” He exclaims and Damian cheerfully cackles at his mortification. He really, sincerely,
will miss this in all it’s inane silliness.

It’s thought that scarce forbears mentally repeating, let alone voicing aloud. Instead he enjoys
breakfast with his temporary team, both relishing and mourning that it’s the last.

Chapter End Notes

i can't thank those of you who have reread this fic and commented and kept checking
up on it enough it seriously means so much and it was finally allowing myself to catch
up on reading comments that compelled me to write this chapter
thank you thank you a million times thank you and i'm sorry i couldn't reply to ever
comment, i've read them ALL xx
have a lovely, lovely day and try and do something positive for others, it's a sad, scary
world out there sometimes

ALSO SORRY IF I'VE LOST MY TOUCH LOL I HAVEN'T PROOF-READ THIS

 Chapter 19
Chapter Summary

The Assertion and everything else.

Chapter Notes

i got my second jab of the vaccine!! get your vaccines if you can, kids!!
so i was out of commission for a few days due to that which is why this took a little
while
but you know what, it is an absolute beast of a chapter. i hope it'll soothe the sting of
this fic ending that this chapter is so long and i really enjoyed writing it
i haven't proofread it in full since finishing it but i'm so eager to post it i'm just going
to do it now and make any minor edits as needed :)))

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Damian’s final day with the Young Justice League passes in a blur.

They gather supplies, Damian reluctantly accepting a restock of his utility belt with foreign
birdarangs and smoke pellets. The blades don’t fit as comfortably in his hands and the smoke isn’t
nearly as opaque or fast-acting as he’s used to but when he grasps his escrima sticks, he knows
these will be minimal setbacks. Their solid strength in his hands makes him itch to cut to the root
of this nightmare, to watch his enemy fall at his feet and grovel. It’s a bloodthirstiness he has never
been able to shake but one that, on this occasion, he doubts Batman will hold against him.

He is going to see Batman again in a matter of hours. That thought alone is enough to make his
blood pump.

He’s itching to spar with someone but he knows he pushed himself yesterday when he and Robin
were at-odds and he wants to save all his energy and rest his wounds. Instead he helps his father
and Robin coordinate the final preparations for their plan.

At the last minute, he has an audacious amendment to make.

Batman is concerned they won’t have enough time to disable all the machines before they’re
located by the Light. They have the advantage that the Light isn’t expecting an ambush but the
hefty disadvantage that they don’t know the Light’s manpower or just how many machines they
have.

“Best case scenario, we have enough Leaguers to overwhelm the Light,” Batman says, hand
resting contemplatively on his chin. “But then the Assertion begins-”

“And we’re overwhelmed again,” Robin finishes. “But this time, there are villains from parallel
universes we might not even recognise.”
“Quite the dilemma.” Damian muses. He already has the beginnings of a proposal but it’s one he
doubts either his father or Robin will accept for extremely different reasons. Eventually, his
confidence overrides his pessimism. “What if I provide a distraction?”

The uneasy silence that follows speaks a thousand words.

“Uh oh.” Robin says, eventually, with a nervous chuckle. “What exactly does that mean?”

Damian explains his plan, watching his father closely for objection. It places a lot of responsibility
on Damian’s shoulders and if the Light sees through him, it could end in disaster. In the end, it
comes down to a simple question of whether or not his father believes in his abilities.

“That’s insanely risky.” Robin says once he’s done. He gives a thumbs up. “I’m onboard.”

His father says nothing for a moment, clearly mulling it over. Finally, he looks at Damian.

“You can pull this off with no harm coming to either you or Robin?”

Damian doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Batman nods. “Then it’s a possibility. The best possibility we have right now.”

Instinctively Damian turns to look at Robin and finds him grinning back at him. “This had better
not end in disaster. It’d be a pretty pathetic way to die.”

“It’s you and me.” Damian says, rolling his eyes. “We aren’t going to die.”

“I should hope not.” Batman says sternly. It’s that iron protectiveness again shining through. Either
Damian is hallucinating or there’s a glimmer spared for him. “Go and inform your team of the
change of plan, I’ll tell the rest of the League. I’m trusting you both.”

“We won’t let you down.” Damian says before Robin grabs his hand and they both run back to
their team.

***

Their team don’t like the plan either but there’s not time to argue. In the space of an hour, it’s set in
motion. Damian finds himself sitting alone in a jet bound for the deep Australian outback trying to
remind himself he’s flying home and not to his death.

He goes over his lines in his head. He doublechecks his last-resort blade is secured on his utility
belt. He dredges up all the arrogance in his body and feels it ball up on the tip of his tongue. The
Light are the very pinnacle of hubris and if he’s going to meet them on an even playing field, he
must be too.

When his map alerts him, he cloaks his jet knowing that it will do nothing against the Light’s
sensors. He wants them to know he’s coming. There’s certainly no missing them.

If anyone had actually decided to seek out Nightlight’s charity headquarters, they would have
immediately had questions about where exactly their money was going. The facility is flat and
huge, like a ginormous cockroach down to its satellite antennae. Damian expects it to twitch to life
any second but it doesn’t and instead is oddly silent and still in the rapidly setting light of the dusty
outback. Tellingly, however, it is surrounded by a sea of vehicles: planes, jeeps, even tanks.

The base is empty but it doesn’t expect to be empty for long.

Someone is already waiting for Damian as he goes to land his jet. Pettily he considers parking on
the opposite end of the building and making them walk to meet him but decides not to push his
luck: it’s a blessing he wasn’t shot out of the sky. Instead, he controls his breathing and brings the
vehicle steadily down, not even bothering to cloak anymore or disguise the noise of the plane’s
engines.

Once he’s on solid land again, slowly he opens the door, keeping his hands up. His appearance
elicits a pleased crow of laughter.

“Little Robin!” Klarion coos and Damian allows his face to fall into a discontented scowl. Just his
luck that his first hurdle is the most unstable. “Fancy seeing you here? I haven’t seen you since you
blew up my lovely base and knocked me in the noggin.”

Ignoring the vaguely murderous expression on the Lord of Chaos’ face, Damian speaks. “I come
alone.”

Klarion snorts. “I’m sure you do. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pierce you right
through your little birdy heart?”

Damian’s scowl metamorphoses into a smirk. “Did I say I came alone? I meant I come bearing
gifts.”

Klarion watches him closely, hands crackling with warning energy, as he crouches and reaches a
hand behind him into the jet. When he sees what Damian has produced, however, all the animosity
is shocked from him and he claps his hands gleefully.

“What a twist!” He cackles. “Come in, come in Robin! I’m sure Mr Savage will be delighted to see
you and your gift.”

“It’s two of a kind.” Damian agrees and, dragging Robin’s body behind him, he follows Klarion
into the heart of the Light.

Vandal Savage looks exactly as Damian had expected him to: tall, dumb and ugly. Behind him
stand a collection of villains, some of whom Damian knows from experience, some of whom he’s
only read about. None particularly impress him individually but together he knows they make a
powerful collective. Swallowing his pride for what he hopes will be the last time in his life after so
many days of humiliation he executes a swift bow.

Savage acknowledges it with a nod of his head and Damian takes the chance to scan the vast room
he’s been welcomed into. The left wall is absorbed by a large monitor displaying all kinds of data,
cycling through it so quickly Damian can’t keep up; he thinks he sees geographical reports, state
secrets, and astrological diagrams in one glance. What is unmistakeable is the counter in the corner
counting indefatigably down to midnight. A large circular table with seven seats is placed at the
centre of the room and Damian is pleased the chairs are empty: the members have stood to greet
him.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a sign of respect or an attempt to intimidate.

The right wall is split with a thin seam down the middle and Damian wonders apprehensively what
is behind it. Deep down, he thinks he knows.

“Do you find our new headquarters impressive?” Vandal Savage says. His voice is low and
rumbling, ancient like a long-anticipated avalanche.

“No.” Damian says, drawing his eyes idly back to his audience. “Then again, there has been little
to impress me in this universe. Let alone this.” He tosses Robin to the ground.

Savage doesn’t seem offended. Instead he makes a pleased hum that might be as close as he comes
to laughter. “A pale imitation if what Mr Freeze has reported is anything to go by. You nearly
killed the man.”

“I would have if I hadn’t been burdened by the Kindergarten Justice League.” Damian says,
powering as much old disdain into his voice as he can. “A ball and chain I have now relinquished
myself of alongside the meddling League.”

A woman Damian recognises as Queen Bee makes an incredulous noise. She’s tall and regal and
Damian would be lying if he said the poise and elegance with which she carries herself didn’t
remind him slightly of his mother. “An easy task, I’m sure. Tell me how exactly you managed such
a feat, child?”

Damian meets her gaze head on. “It was an easy task for myself. I understand why, having been
bested by their sidekicks alone, you might be intimidated.” Bee’s expression curdles like milk
whilst contrastingly her colleagues seem pleased at the undermining. What a surprise that so many
egotistical maniacs don’t make for a happy marriage.

“I’m a child dressed as Robin and the League are comedically trusting.” Damian continues with a
shrug. “The speed with which I gained their confidence was enough to make me sympathise with
your ideology.” He maintains an expression and tone of cool detachment as he rests a foot above
on Robin’s chest, right above the R. “That this world runs on survival of the fittest and such
weakness requires correction.”

“What a convenient change of heart.” Lex Luthor remarks but he, like the rest of the Light, looks
intrigued. So far, so good.

“There has been no change of heart.” Damian says. He removes his hood, rests a hand on the hilt of
the blade at his belt. He imagines his spine is a rod of iron and straightens his back, tilting his chin
up and widening his stance. He wrinkles the nose he knows is his mother’s into an expression of
supercilious disgust. Most importantly, he hardens his heart and digs his foot down into Robin’s
chest, praying he doesn’t react.

He doesn’t so much as twitch and Damian fills his voice with the smug pride of that: “You’ve
mistaken me for this weakling’s counterpart when I am an entirely different breed.” Minutely, the
villains shift uneasily. Damian bets they don’t even know why his appearance so suddenly
discomfits them but he knows exactly what to picture, exactly the manner with which to conduct
himself, to set them on edge. “I was raised in the League of Assassins where weakness goes to die.
Do you recognise me now?”

An agitated flurry of recognition breaks out in front of him. “You’re Robin.” Deathstroke insists,
his voice little more than a hiss. “There’s no way.”

“My pedigree is Al-Ghul.” Damian confirms. “Tell me why I would ally with the Justice League
when my own flesh and blood allied himself with you, the Light?”

Savage looks disturbed like the rest of them but his eyes still narrow suspiciously. “How does an
Al-Ghul find themselves dressed as Robin? And what exactly could you want with confronting us
on this, the eve of multiverse revolution?”

Here comes the second bombshell. Damian is having a lot more fun revealing them to this baffled
collection of villains than he did to the League. “Batman is my father.” He says simply and relishes
the vocal confusion and distress that explodes in the wake of the confession. Klarion gives a
particularly delighted giggle at the chaos, stroking his cat the way one might eat popcorn whilst
watching a particularly thrilling film.

“You’re lying!” Ultra-Humanite barks, clearly hoping Damian will be phased by the display of
animal aggression. He is not and instead waits patiently for the uproar to die down. This is going
even better than anticipated, he thinks, sparing a glance at the timer. Already nearly an hour has
been burnt since his arrival.

“I am not lying.” Damian says calmly. “My mother, Talia Al-Ghul, sent me to Gotham to infiltrate
my father’s household and feed information back to my grandfather. An assassin thrives
undercover and I had successfully infiltrated Batman’s inner circle for nearly two years, receiving
the title Robin and being named his sole heir, before the cretinous scum you hired in my universe
threw quite the spanner in the works of my plot.”

“This is fantastical.” Savage states but it’s less of an accusation, more of an observation.

“Wasn’t travelling to a parallel universe considered fantastical until your organisation achieved it?
That is the reason I have reached out to you,” Damian takes a step forwards, kicking Robin to the
left where he slumps against the wall. “You and I, we are made of the same mettle. What first
appeared to me an interruption I am eager to transform into an opportunity. Playing the hero is
exhausting: I’m sick of tripping on Batman’s cape like a puppy. If you intend to take over the
multiverse, I intend to firmly situate myself on the winning team.”

There’s a long pause. Queen Bee leans over and whispers something into Savage’s ear and Damian
holds his breath. Eventually, he speaks.

“What about this universe’s Robin? What do you propose we do with him?”

Damian doesn’t even glance in Robin’s direction and hopes everyone else does the same. “I felt
compelled to defeat him, just to prove I was superior. And I was, as you can see. Though I can’t
imagine what use you could have for such an obsolete model, have him as a sign of good faith. I
couldn’t care less.”

His heart beats hard in his chest at the callous words but his voice is as steady as ever. Savage
nods, seemingly satisfied with something. Furtively he shoots a glance at the timer and his heart
beats faster: half an hour until midnight.

“You couldn’t care less?” Savage echoes calmly. A creeping sense of unease begins to come over
Damian.

Still, he shakes his head. “Do I look like someone who suffers poor imitation?” He taps his foot
impatiently, a real irritation in his tone. “I don’t see why you are so determined to dwell on him
when I’m offering you valuable aid.”

“Very true.” Savage concedes. “Fine. Kill him, and you have our partnership.”

It is with a monumental force of will that Damian does not allow his shock to physically manifest.
“I beg your pardon?” Is all he manages.

“Kill him.” Queen Bee repeats and Klarion adds his voice to the refrain with a gleeful assiduity.

“Kill him, kill him! Two birds, one blade!”

“This Robin may be your inferior but he has been a thorn in our side nonetheless.” Deathstroke
elaborates. “Heaven forbid he get lucky again and pose some risk to our plan.”

“Solidify your loyalty.” Savage finishes. “Kill him and prove you are the one true Robin. Only
then can you join our ranks, the ranks of your Grandfather.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Queen Bee prompts, softly.

Damian swallows and nods. He feels suddenly 10 years old again as his feet drag slowly towards
Robin’s still form. He prays that Robin will keep up the ruse and stay still: the League have to be
here by now, hopefully they’ve made progress. Any second now the door will swing open and
Batman, any Batman will rescue them both.

Simultaneously, he wants Robin to leap up and they can fight shoulder to shoulder and inevitably
die together. He’d prefer that, he thinks, to having to stand over Robin’s still body and draw his
knife like he’s doing right now. He’d prefer it to kneeling down and looking him in the face as he
holds the blade aloft. He stops with the knife above his heart and slowly lays it down on the
ground.

“Getting cold feet?” Luthor says, mocking.

Damian meets his gaze and thinks viciously across the mental link ‘Robin and I need backup right
now.’ If M’gann is here, her mind should be occupied with siphoning nuclear power but if there’s
any chance at all she can hear him he has to try and reach out. Aloud, he says: “This will be slower,
and more symbolic don’t you think?”

He reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a birdarang. Still, Robin does not move. Damian’s
palms are slick with sweat, his heart feels like a caged animal squirming in his chest. Is this how it
feels for other people to kill? He’s done this so many times, he’s imagined killing Grayson before,
he’s enjoyed the imagining. The reality is torturous.

He holds the birdarang against Robin’s neck. When the sharp edge makes contact, Robin’s mouth
twitches almost as if he’s about to smile.

Damian knows he’s taking too long but he doesn’t know what to do. Underneath his breath, quietly
so that he hopes the villains mistake it for some kind of assassin’s ritual, he whispers: “Grayson.
What do I do?”

For a breathless moment Robin is so still Damian is irrationally scared he’s already killed him.
Finally, he mutters one word: “Duck.”

Tossing the birdarang aside, Damian flings himself over Robin. At that exact moment, the
cockroach-shell of the roof opens up. A roar of night air rushes in only rivalled in volume by the
roar of the bioship materialising and the war-cries of the heroes who drop down like avenging
angels from above.

There’s Artemis, Damian glimpses, firing an arrow at Deathstroke. It catches him by surprise and
blasts him back into the roundtable. Superman’s heat vision forces Queen Bee to duck, elegance
gone, and when she stumbles back to her feet, Superboy punches her so hard she crumples again.
Savage lets out an audible cry of alarm as both Wonder Woman and Batman, Damian’s father, bear
down on him. The base continues to fill with heroes, those Damian recognises and a handful he
doesn’t, each of whom he feels a rushing delight towards, a warm, communal kinship he didn’t
think could be elicited from him.

Robin whoops and Damian is reminded of him. Hastily he gets up off of him and helps him to his
feet. They examine each other for just a moment, sickening tension draining away into relief.

“That was a close one.” Robin admits. “And you are wracking up quite the bill for my
chiropractor.”

“You’ve already walked it off.” Damian says, head still reeling to connect this grinning, alive
Robin with the still, silent body he held a knife over on the floor. “You didn’t think I’d do it?” He
blurts out before he can stop himself.

“I mean, you were very convincing. The phrases ‘weakling’ and ‘obsolete model’ were my
favourite.” Damian punches him in the arm and Robin laughs, the bubbling, cackling noise
Damian recognises and is so comforted by. “Of course not! Not for a second. I’m just glad you
were so good at stalling. It’s very difficult to look unconscious and hack a high-level security
system at the same time.”

Damian is so breathless he still can’t laugh so he just beams, shaking his head and shaking off the
final remnants of his assassin’s act. It’s a heavy performance but Robin’s blind faith is enough to
have it melting away in seconds. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you too badly?”

“N’aww, lil D.” Robin says, missing the way the moniker makes him baulk. “I’m fine.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Damian says, unsheathing his escrima sticks.

Again, a hand descends into his hair and ruffles. “I’ll join you in a minute,” Robin promises,
grinning. He turns to the monitor and cricks his neck. “This lovely lady still requires my attention.”

Damian sticks his tongue out. “Gross.” And with that, he plunges into battle.

Those of his team that are present whoop when they see him. Artemis and Superboy are taking on
Deathstroke together and Damian is all too happy to join them, thrilled with the adrenaline of his
deception.

“Traitorous child.” Deathstroke spits, deflecting Damian’s first birdarang as if it’s a bug. “You
really do take after your grandfather.”

In concise response, Damian kicks his knee in. He lets out a strangled cry and Superboy knocks
him hard over the head. He stumbles and one of Artemis’ stun arrows is all it takes to knock him
out.

“He’ll be up again in a minute.” Damian guesses. He notices Queen Bee is speeding towards them,
mouth clearly open to express some order, and chucks a smoke bomb at her. It forces her to cough
and by the time its dispersed, Damian is already in front of her and slapping duct tape across her
face. He kicks her hard in the torso, sending her flying into Superman and decides she can be his
problem.

“As I was saying before that rude interruption,” Damian continues, appreciating the impressed
looks on his teammates’ faces. “How far along are the others?”

“Isolating the nuclear cores has been more delicate than expected.” Artemis admits. “But they’d
finally managed on the first machine when we left.”

“And how many machines are there?” Damian asks, dreading the answer.

“Like… 50?” Superboy hazards and Damian feels his breath hitch. Clearly picking up on his
anxiety, Artemis scrambles to reassure him.
“But they’re really quick at disabling them now they’re in the swing of it. And it looks like Rob is
trying to slow them down.”

Sure enough, Robin is still typing furiously at the monitor. Unfortunately, he looks frustrated and
Damian hazards a guess that it isn’t plain sailing. A grappling Ultra-Humanite and Wonder
Woman suddenly ram into him and Artemis and Superboy curse and run to aid him, leaving
Damian alone.

In their absence the other crucial element of the evening hits him like a bolt of lightning and he
scrambles to look for his father. He spots him across the room fighting Lex Luthor who is decked
out in his godawful purple and green armour. Thankfully, his bald head makes for wonderful target
practice. Damian lodges several birdarangs in there before he turns his sour face towards him,
giving Batman the perfect opportunity to trip him and stamp off one of his bladed gauntlets.

He rises again and headbutts Batman backwards but Damian swoops in on a grappling line and
rights him before he hits the floor. “It’s almost midnight!” Damian yells in his ear as they face
Luthor together. “Where’s my machine?”

For a few painful seconds Batman is too occupied with dodging Luthor’s hits to answer. Damian
solves this problem for him by firing his grappling line at Luthor’s legs. Fun fact about ugly metal
armour: it makes for an excellent conductor. Soon the billionaire is twitching on the floor and
Damian is looking crossly at his father.

“In the bioship.” He grunts, stomping the second gauntlet into pieces. “We thought it was the
safest place for it.”

Damian looks to the timer again and finds, to his combined horror and expectation, only a minute
remains until midnight.

“How many of the light’s machines have been disabled?” Damian insists. “Superboy said there
were 50.”

Batman’s expression, even for Batman, is grave. “Superboy was wrong. If what Martian
Manhunter has informed me is correct, there are far more than 50.”

“And how many have been disabled?” Damian says again, mouth dry with panic. Luthor tries to
move at their feet and he viciously knocks him out cold again. What if he’s done all of this, fought
relentlessly these past days, only to lead his Batman into another trap? Not only Batman, but
almost all his fellow Gothamite heroes?

For one wild second, he hopes the machine doesn’t work. He hopes Drake was wrong. He’d rather
be trapped in this universe forever, would rather die amongst heroes he’s only known a few days,
than condemn his family to that same fate.

The thought is knocked out of him as the ground beneath him gives a sudden jolt, so strong he has
to grasp his father’s arm to keep his balance. Around the room the fighting slows and there are
cries of alarm from villain and hero alike. Damian spins on his heel and watches the counter just in
time to see the numbers dwindle to zero and with the stroke of midnight, Vandal Savage lets out a
victorious cry, slamming Superman into the ground.

“Yes!” He bellows, brandishing his fist at the sky. “Soon the multiverse will know the power of
the Light!”

And as if that were a command, the floor quakes again only this time, the motion doesn’t halt. All
light cuts out except for the glow of the full moon and the entire hall begins to make a rumbling
descent, like an elevator dragging Damian down, down, down. He can only watch in horror as the
roof slides closed and the floating bioship, glistening silver, dwindles out of sight.

Every time he comes even a step closer to his return home, it feels as if fate hurls him another
world away.

He tries to send up a grappling wire but the hook falls short, only serving to glow tantalisingly
before ribboning back down. Cursing in frustration and itching to escape, he lunges uselessly at the
walls in an attempt to climb but his father catches him at the last minute, wrapping a secure arm
around his chest.

“Unhand me!” Damian spits and struggles.

“The roof is closed. You’ll fall.” Is all his father says. “Stick with me.”

It is that appeal alone that halts him and their pseudo-elevator grinds to a halt. Instantly the right
wall begins to split, opening like a giant, gawping mouth. From it emits a light, an insidious light
Damian recognises all too well: the light that stole him from his home. Savage and his colleagues
are laughing and the rest of the Leaguers seem paralysed in shock, shielding their eyes as the glow
grows brighter and brighter. Eventually Damian’s vision has been entirely stolen and he has to hide
behind his cloak lest he be blinded.

Miserable in this position of cowardice and ears ringing with villainous laughter, Damian’s hopes
feel horribly crushed and when the brightness dies, he is dread to open his eyes.

There is a forbidding quiet: the laughter has died and the only sound is a quiet groaning and
rustling, the same sound he must have made when he first stumbled into this world. Finally, unable
to bear the suspense any longer, Damian snaps open his eyes.

And can hardly believe what he sees.

If the room he’d met the Light in had been vast, this doesn’t qualify as a room at all. The wall has
opened onto a cavern of innumerable size, at first glance several football pitches wide until Damian
realises what is eyes had taken to be borders are simply the limits of his own vision. It is filled with
machines, isolated at 20 metre intervals, more than Damian can count, far more than 50, possibly
hundreds or even thousands…

And of these thousands, ten dimly glow.

Damian spots the heroes tasked with disabling them still poised by the nearest portal, clearly
working desperately until the last second. Savage and the rest of the Light don’t even notice them,
too preoccupied with what has travelled from the other side.

“What-” Ultra-Humanite begins in a hushed and horrified grunt.

“Huh?!” Klarion exclaims, jumping up as if electrocuted, his cat yowling in his arms.

Queen Bee lets out a shuddering, outraged cry.

Deathstroke slams his fist into a wall.

Luthor says nothing, because he’s still unconscious at Damian’s feet.

At last, Savage seems able to summon some words. “Where,” He screeches, face no longer ancient
and formidable but freshly appalled. “Are my millions?!”

Easy for him to complain, Damian thinks, surveying the army before him. Admittedly they are in
quite the sorry state, piled atop each other and groaning from their multiverse trip. Some even
vomit, a fate Damian is glad he avoided, whilst those that try to stand stumble drunkenly. Still,
there are several thousand facing them and Damian doubts they’ll remain comatose for long.

“You did it!” Artemis’ mental cry cuts through his pessimism and Damian watches M’gann perk up
in real time, a beam spreading across her exhausted face. She’s leaning heavily on Kid Flash who
himself looks as if he’s been through the wringer. “Or well, most of it.”

His head bursting suddenly with jubilant thoughts, Damian feels his own morale boost as he scans
the collected rogues in front of him for anyone who could pose a true severe threat. When his eyes
finally land upon a familiar face and he lets out a crack of laughter so loud, almost every eye in the
room turns to him. “Oh heaven forbid!” He yells. “We are doomed! It’s Calendar Man!”

At the sound of his name, Julian Day perks up from amongst the shifting mound of disoriented
bodies, his bald head ringed intimidatingly with the months of the year. The other members of the
Young Justice, alongside a few Leaguers, join in with the relieved outburst.

Savage looks like he might burst as he turns to his reinforcements, face plum-coloured and vein
ticking. “If we can’t conquer the world,” He bellows over the mocking laughter. “We can at least
conquer the League! Humanity will have its insurgence! Attack them!”

Needing no further prompting, Ultra-Humanite launches himself at Superman with an animal snarl.
Klarion, slightly less courageously, disappears in a crackle of red, Teekl’s final yowl wavering long
after he’s gone. The freshly arrived army, mindless and clearly unable to execute such a neat
escape, clamber to their feet and join the fray.

One man has the misfortune of moving in Damian’s direction and he delivers a swift kick to his
chin, revelling the cracking noise of his jaw. Two more meet a similar fate before he even gets a
chance to think. The League may not be outclassed, he quickly realises, but they’re outnumbered
and weary to boot. Rapidly the morale boost abandons them as the air rapidly heats and fills with
violence. It’s a struggle to discern who’s friend or foe amidst the frantic bodies and Damian has
never resented his height more than when he’s forced to elbow his way through the crowd in
search of Robin.

Damian spots the leaping silhouette of him fighting at the same time as his voice rings through his
mind. “Team! Everyone ok?”

“Here!” Kaldur barks back followed by Artemis, M’gann, Kid Flash and various sounds of
exertion from Superboy that suggests he’s alive but otherwise occupied.

“I’m fine,” Damian thinks, hoping his tone suggests so and does not betray the franticness that has
seized him. “But I need to get to the bioship. Batman should be here by now.”

“I hope so!” Superboy finally chimes in. “Any longer in here and we’ll be crushed!”

“Rob-” Kaldur begins hopefully but Robin cuts him off before he can say any more.

“I’m overwhelmed!” He says. “I need backup if I’m going to hack us out!”

“I can help with the ‘whelmed’ aspect!” Damian says aloud, whacking the man Robin is fighting
and letting loose an arc of birdarangs to push the onslaught back. Mentally, he thinks “We can’t
turn to cowardice now, not when we’re so close! Anyone else who can, converge on the monitor
and help me watch Robin’s back!”

In the end there’s no time for that. As soon as Robin turns back to his monitor screen he gasps and
steps hastily back again. Damian knocks out one more foolhardy assailant before turning rapidly to
join him.

“What? What is it?” He demands.

“I think someone’s hacking us out!” Robin exclaims and Damian feels a wave of hope so strong it
drowns almost all his fears. They both follow the fresh code as it appears on the screen so fast they
can barely keep up. “Or maybe… two people? I’m not deluded, am I because that looks like
my…”

He trails off as the screen begins to flash ‘ACCESS GRANTED :)’ He knows what Robin was
going to say and the conclusion he’s reached. “No way.” He whispers, clearly wracked with the
same chills Damian is experiencing.

“Yes way.” Damian confirms and they stand together, shoulder to shoulder, as the roof far above
them slides slowly open and baptises them in a beacon of light. He feels as if with that light, a
lightness fills him. His suit is as seamless as a second skin, his cape as weightless as feathers on the
wind.

Still, neither of them envy the brightness when it folds to the silhouette of a bat cut against the
moon.

That’s all Damian can make out before the air around him turns to fog. Even the smell of the
smoke is familiar and it makes his heart ring gratefully: he realises he hasn’t even truly tasted the
past days. He hears feet hit the ground, impossibly light for such a drop, and the contentment peels
away to be replaced with a frenzied excitement. He wants to hurl himself blindly in the direction of
the sound but two things make him pause.

One is that Robin is still at his side, stiff and paralysed, and Damian knows Batman would call him
irresponsible for leaving him. The second is that the backup doesn’t end there.

He can’t even keep track of the landings that follow but he hears them, the covert swish of capes,
of weapons being cleanly drawn, even the click of a gun safety. “What?” He hears Savage’s voice
boom, irate above the confused coughing and cries. “For the love of the gods, what now?”

As if in succinct response, a loud gunshot rings out through the blindness, causing the cries to
somehow become even more distressed. And because Damian is listening so carefully and he has
perfectly honed senses, the result of years of training and a flawless genetic makeup, he hears the
quiet, growled:

“Hood.”

And: “Sorry, Big Bird, but you asked for my help.” that follows.

“They’ve come.” Damian says, reverently. “They’ve all come.”

And they waste no more time. The smoke pellets disperse to reveal what must be a villain’s worst
nightmare: a fully-fledged bat-den, armed from head to toe, charging right towards them. It’s
Drake who leads the charge and his baton takes down three men in one swing. Brown rides his
coattails, swinging into a shell-shocked Ultra-Humanite with a whoop and triggering a delightful
domino effect. It’s hard to tell who the enemy shrinks from more: Todd, wielding two pistols and
hurling vicious insults, or Cain stalking silently forward and crushing any in her path.
She strides right up to Vandal Savage who drops Kid Flash in shock. Damian watches with no
small admiration as she beckons him with one hand only to dropkick him the second he takes a step
forward.

“Ho-ly Batmobile.” Is all West has the capacity to think across the mental link and from the
stunned silence that follows, Damian gathers his team are in agreement.

Damian registers all of this action with only the fringes of his attention: his focus is on the figure at
the back of the pack. At first he feels a flicker of anger at him for not leading the charge. It should
be Batman to strike the first spasm of fear into the enemy, not Red Robin. But he pushes past this
irrationality, reminds himself that Batman always has a plan and watches the way the other heroes
clear him a path and the way he’s scanning the fighting, taking out his enemies almost distractedly.

He’s looking for him, Damian realises. Batman’s first thought is to look for him.

And what is Damian standing here waiting for? Fingers fumbling, he yanks out his communicator
and switches to their channel. Holding it up to his ear, he says four words: “Idiot. Look behind
you.” He watches Batman stiffen, watches him turn with almost inhuman speed and grace and feels
them lock eyes through their domino masks.

It’s near imperceptible, the way in which Batman’s face softens with relief and the way he exhales
as if he’s been holding his breath but Damian catches it. He’s sure, unfortunately, that Batman sees
through his own stoic exterior: his whole body is buzzing and there’s nothing quiet about his own
relief. It is violent and joyful, exultant and reckless in a way he isn’t accustomed to feeling. Look
what you’ve turned me into, Grayson, he thinks wryly.

“I missed you.” Is the hushed response he receives over the communicator, a thought tugged from
his own head. “Although it looks as if you’ve found me a replacement.”

Damian scoffs and elbows Robin who is watching himself, slack-jawed and listless as a ragdoll. He
starts at the contact and shakes off the stupor. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… That is so far from
omalous.”

Damian shakes his head despairingly and leans into his comm one last time. “I’d get a better
replacement, this one’s as defective as the original. Incoming.”

Across the mental link, he projects: “In case you hadn’t gathered, my home team are here.”

“YEAH NO KIDDING!” Kid Flash screeches in instant response. “Could you tell them to watch
where they’re pointing their weapons? I’ve almost been shot and skewered twice.”

“You see, they’re used to working with people who are competent…”

“You’re a demon and I can tell this is your family.”

“I’m going to fight beside Batman, my Batman. Will you follow me?” Damian asks, disregarding
the previous comment. “It’d be a fitting end, I believe, to my time in this universe.”

“Your old team and your new team, side by side?” Artemis suggests, and he can hear her knowing
smirk across the mental link.

“My true team and my temporary team, you mean.” Damian bites back. “But… certainly. If that’s
how you see it.”

“Robin, it would be an honour.” Kaldur thinks solemnly.

“We can see you, boy wonders!” M’gann says aloud and Damian spots her too, swooping towards
them aglow. They assemble around him, prepared to follow his lead and he spares one last glance
at Robin before letting them do exactly that.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

Robin flexes his fingers, leans forward in anticipation. “No. But let’s go.”

And with Damian at the helm, Young Justice have never caused such havoc. Brown spots him
first, halfway through wriggling out of a headlock, and flings her arms up. This holds the dual
purpose of a greeting and also as an effective method of breaking someone’s nose and freeing
yourself from a headlock.

“Brat!” She cheers. “Oi, Red Robin! Look who it is!”

Drake looks over his shoulder and grins. Or maybe that’s a grimace. “Guess we’re not getting rid
of him that easily.”

Damian doesn’t stop to chat but he does give them a nod in acknowledgement and M’gann offers a
friendly wave on his behalf. He rampages his way to Batman’s side and grasps the hand he extends
out to meet him. He’s loathe to let go, if only because he’s sure Grayson will want to do something
excessive like hug him in the middle of the battle field otherwise, but Batman extricates himself
carefully and pats him down gently, as if taking inventory.

“All in one piece? Two arms, two legs?” He says gruffly but teasingly. “And look: some new
friends.”

Again, though somewhat awkwardly this time, M’gann offers a wave and Batman returns it with a
small smile that has them physically recoiling. Damian knows it’s an unsettling image.

His own cheeks burning, he tuts. “Tt-. They’re not my friends.”

“But they can keep up?” Batman says and there it is, that challenge. That mischievous complicity
Damian has come to revel in.

“With you and me? They can try.”

“Then let’s go, Robin.”

And if an extra Robin had meant the Light never stood a chance, their dynamic duo condemns it to
a swift death. It is as easy as breathing to fight by Batman’s side again. Damian has grown sick of
having to vocalise where he wants his teammates to be all the time: now his partner is instinctively
wherever he needs him, at his back, by his side, in step. And Young Justice don’t get in their way;
instead Damian mentally instructs them to clear up the riffraff whilst he and Batman target the
heavy-hitters and they mow through their opponents with new zeal.

At one point Superboy decks Calendar Man and they all give him an exaggerated cheer. Damian
hopes Batman doesn’t catch his cheeks twitching as he tries not to laugh.

There is one strange moment when Damian and Batman turn to target Deathstroke only to find
Batman and Robin about to do the same. There’s a moment of tension where the four of them stand
frozen in front of him and Damian just knows Grayson is about to acquiesce when his father does it
for them, resting a hand on Robin’s shoulder and steering him away. Damian catches the nod he
shoots Grayson and the controlled curtness of Batman’s answer.
He tugs once on his cape to centre him again and it works. “Thanks, Robin.” He mutters and they
finally beat up Deathstroke, who had been watching completely disorientated by this standoff. He
should have run when he had the chance.

At a certain point Damian looks around and sees a sea of downed men. He sees that the members
of the Light themselves are unconscious or imprisoned and he feels that in the wake of the battle in
which they were one side, the distinction of the heroes is being felt. In front of him, the League of
this universe are assembling and around him his own team gather.

He turns and looks up at Batman, feeling the adrenaline drain from his tired limbs, replaced with a
bone-deep ache for home. “It’s over?” He says and whilst he intended it to come out as a statement
of fact, it’s doubtless a question and in a strangely small voice too.

Batman nods. “It’s over, Robin. You did it.” Damian watches his arms open and finds he still has
the energy to finally leap into them.

He wraps his arms around Batman’s neck and feels him drop down onto his knees. His grip around
his back and the hand that cradles his head are so gentle but firm and his breathing is shaky. A little
of that flawless control he always maintains is crumbling and that’s why, Damian justifies, he
accepted the embrace. He’d rather it crumbled here, where he can shield him, than in front of
everyone.

It has nothing to do with the fact that his own eyes leave the Kevlar damp or the brutal strength
with which his own arms grip his partner. He’s just not practiced with hugs. He’s always had
trouble being able to let go.

Finally, he does relinquish Batman and pretends not to notice the way his hand lingers to ruffle his
hair and cradle his cheek. Or that his own covertly maintain a grip on Batman’s cloak.

He is embarrassed to find everyone is looking at them, watching what is a regrettably emotional

display. This is what Grayson puts him through. Back for under an hour and already Damian is
reminded how he relies upon him.

It’s awkward facing the League again for other reasons however: Damian’s father is looking at
them with a pain even he cannot entirely mask and Robin with an unabashed mingling awe and
fear. It’s clear neither side is sure yet what is expected of them now that the war has been won.
Since Damian’s already being such a saint, he figures it’s up to him to remedy the situation.

“Batman,” He says, glancing up to Grayson so he knows who he’s referring to. “This is this
Earth’s Justice League. Justice League, Batman and associates.”

“Family.” Grayson amends which Damian allows because he places a hand on his shoulder and
they step forward together. “I must thank you for working with Robin whilst we were unable. You
were certainly real help to us tonight.”

Damian can’t help himself. A little bitterly, he scoffs. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘working
with’. There were plenty of times when they worked against.”

Batman gives his father a look as if to say ‘is this true?’ and Damian almost laughs to watch him
squirm. Unfortunately, his expression is still too sad. “It’s true.” He says. “We weren’t as trusting
or accommodating to Robin as we should have been.”

“We had just had a minor clone crisis.” Superman points out, gesturing to Conner who waves
nervously as if this is a role call. Damian relishes the clattering sound of Drake dropping
something on his foot as the background at this reveal.

“Kon?” He says after a short curse.

“Er, it’s Conner actually.” Superboy says, looking over his shoulder as if there was someone else
Drake might be referring to.

“What the fuck?” Drake says, baffled, only to be rapidly hushed by Brown.

“There are babies present, jerk.” She hisses and Damian is pleased to see her gaze directed at Robin
as opposed to himself.

“The clone crisis is not an excuse.” Batman says. “I, in particular…” He swallows and Damian
knows this is a struggle for him, pushing aside his pride. Batman nods coaxingly and he continues.
“I acted rashly and the timeline has been endangered as a result. Most importantly, your Robin’s
privacy was violated.”

Batman looks at Damian for confirmation and he gives it: “He knows I’m his son. And I didn’t
exactly volunteer the information.”

“Batman, could I add,” Black Canary suddenly speaks up and Damian is horrified to see her. They
haven’t directly interacted since his therapy session and he has a wild fear that she’ll blurt out some
of the things he shared in a misguided attempt to ‘help’ him.

“Everything he’s said is true.” She says. “He could, however, sum it up by saying he acted like a
complete ass.”

Behind him Damian hears an explosion of laughter and the League allow a couple of giggles at that
too. Damian’s father doesn’t try and deny it and Batman doesn’t say anything, expression
inscrutable as they continue to observe each other. Eventually, Grayson speaks:

“Thank you, Canary. In which case I’d like it known, for the record, that I would really like to
punch you right now, B.” This startles a cackle out of Robin who rapidly attempts to muffle it
behind his glove. Next to him Kid Flash gasps as if he himself has been punched. It’s certainly not
the response Damian was expecting down to the casual use of the nickname and he’s beginning to
wonder how Batman expects this night to end if he’s letting down so many guards.

He has a plan though, of that Damian is sure. He trusts him implicitly, after all.

“I’m not going to punch you because I’m trying to set a good impression for Robin and teach him
that violence is not always the answer.” Grayson continues. “If only there was someone here
equally eager to punch you but not beholden to Batman’s absolute moral code…” He trails off
speculatively and Damian wishes Red Hood weren’t wearing his mask just so he could see the
expression of glee spread across his face. Instead he is content to watch him crack his knuckles and
step forward eagerly.

“I have been waiting for you to say that for the past five years, dickhead.” He says, and punches
Damian’s father in the face so hard he falls back into Wonder Woman. When Robin opens his
mouth to complain, hand already closed around a birdarang, Todd flicks him hard on the forehead
and he goes silent in shock.

“You used to be so cute.” He observes to Grayson and on his way past cuffs Damian’s shoulder.
Instantly his hand is thwacked away and Damian feels any appreciation of his right hook fade
away but Todd merely chuckles. “Good to have you back, kid. Bats was unbearable.”
“Since that’s all resolved,” Batman says, as if Damian’s father is not still rubbing his jaw. “Robin,
would you like to introduce us to your friends before we leave?”

Instantly Damian feels his face heat up and wishes he could yank up his hood without looking
petulant. He happens to catch Cain’s eye and the tilt of her head alone reminds him how easily and
smugly she must be reading his body language right now. “You are insufferable.” He hisses at
Batman. “They are not my friends.”

This elicits a round of offended protestation from Young Justice and Damian already wills Grayson
gone again. Drake looks between them incredulously.

“Demon spawn? Made friends? I don’t believe it.”

M’gann frowns at him. “That’s not a very nice thing to call anyone. Let alone Robin, who has been
a privilege to work with.”

Kaldur nods. “Despite the rocky start he had with the League, he showed admirable patience and
initiative. He helped us out of many tight spots.”

“Your Robin rocks.” Artemis agrees and Kid Flash flashes a convincing thumbs up. He’s mainly
looking closely at Batman, obviously trying to see the similarities between him and his friend.
They all are: he’s simply the least subtle about it.

Damian wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. He’s not used to such a barrage of
compliments, let alone attesting that he was such a good team worker. He can’t even look at
Batman but he can imagine the self-satisfied look on his face after going on so many times about
how Damian should try and make friends, insisting he’d be good at it.

Not that these sidekicks are his friends. The tightness in his chest is indigestion or perhaps fatigue
or a mix of the two.

“Clearly I know who I should really be thanking for looking out for Robin.” Batman says, voice
choked form holding back laughter. He rubs Damian’s shoulder, expression so bright it’s a struggle
to look at it. “I’m so proud of you.”

Damian is just about to bluster and brush him off when Robin speaks up. “You should be.” Is all
he says and it’s eerie hearing his voice after listening to Batman’s. Even with Batman’s gruffness,
admittedly tempered in their casual conversation, they sound inevitably alike. In acknowledgement
of this, Robin gives an awkward huff of laughter. “Like Batman, I wasn’t so sure about Robin at
first or about this future. And there are still, obviously things I’d like to change.”

Grayson nods. When he speaks, Batman is almost entirely peeled away from his voice. “Of course.
Me too.”

“But it’s not bad, really. You all take care of each other. It’d be stupid of me to try and change
anything when really that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Damian can practically feel the guilt that exudes from his team at that and a little of the guilt that’s
fostered in himself. It hasn’t been an easy road to get here. He and Drake used to try and kill each
other when Drake was even there to be killed. Cain was away for so long in Hong Kong. Todd is
still a loose cannon, still rejects Grayson’s appeals to family. Damian still stubbornly refuses to
consider Brown a true Robin.

And Gordon can’t even be here with them in person.

“I think it would be boring if the future were perfect.” Is all Batman says and it’s a neat response to
both Robin and them all that he wouldn’t trade it. And Robin isn’t wrong, Damian internally
accepts. They did all come together to rescue him and as much as Drake or Todd or Brown might
swear they didn’t do it for him, he knows he’d do the same for them if Grayson asked.

Maybe even without Grayson asking.

“Yeah, well we’d all be out of the job if it were.” Is Robin’s only response with a cheeky grin.
“Speaking of, you’re going to make us forget all of this, aren’t you?”

Batman nods. “I’m afraid so.”

“Look after me then, Damian.” Robin says and holds out a hand for him to shake. “And I hope I
get the chance to do the same for you one day.”

Damian grasps it and tries to swallow down the impression that he’s saying goodbye to Grayson all
over again in a slightly different way. “Obviously I will. Lord knows you can’t look after yourself.”

“This is so sad!” Kid Flash erupts and Damian catches the way Batman winces out of the corner of
his eye at his voice. “Come on everyone, group hug!”

“No.” Damian says quickly and firmly but when he tries to pull away, Robin has his hand in a vice
grip and a cackle brewing in his throat. “Absolutely not. Unhand me, charlatan. Artemis, don’t
come a step nearer or I will rip out your-”

His protests are muffled by six pairs of arms wrapping securely around him and squeezing. At least
one has super strength. If Damian weren’t so determined to end this entire excursion on a positive
note he’d do something brutal right about now but his self-restraint is legendary. When his patience
does wear thin, all it takes is to stamp down crushingly hard on Kid Flash’s foot and he’s released
with a yowl.

He looks over his shoulder to see Cain, Drake and Grayson taking turns embracing his father.
Superman claps Batman’s shoulder and Wonder Woman and Canary offer him quiet touches and
words. For just a moment to Damian he looks very young, listening to them attentively and leaning
into the contact, but in the next he’s drawing him to his side again, face and voice stern and
commanding as he instructs Martian Manhunter to fetch their machine.

Drake fiddles with it and it begins to glow a far more muted light green, a light that seems to
beckon rather than reject. “Red Robin is a genius.” Batman says simply but proudly. “He’s isolated
this scheme of the Light’s as a temporal anomaly and programmed it to be deleted when we return
to our universe.”

“All with alien technology too.” Drake reminds him distractedly.

Brown coos at him. “So clever, boy wonder.”

“You’re sure you couldn’t leave any evidence, something to inform us the Light is colluding with
alien lifeforms?” The Flash, Allen, suggests. Batman shakes his head.

“I’m sorry but nothing can remain. We have no idea what effect sharing information within the
multiverse could have. Maybe it would do nothing, maybe time would unravel at the seams. We
can’t risk it.”

“So that’s a problem for us to deal with. That’s just astarous.” Robin sighs. Batman tilts his head
curiously.
“Did you just say astarous as in-”

“The opposite of disastrous? Yeah. Why, have you never thought of that?”

“No, I have! I think about it literally all the time! I’ve just never said anything because everyone
with English as their first language acts as if it’s normal. Like, why is no one ever just-”

“Whelmed.” Robin finishes and Damian has the sinking feeling this is an irritation that won’t stay
in this universe.

“On that note, we ready to leave Batman?” Red Robin says, a little too enthusiastically. He looks
roughly how Damian is feeling.

“Oh yeah, I’m ready to leave. You could even say I’m traught-”

“Get us out of here.” Damian says. “Now, now, now.”

Todd is the first to leave, striding through the doorway as if lingering stings. Brown follows
behind, hand slipping out of Drake’s as she disappears into the light. Cain salutes Damian’s father
one last time, placing a hand over her heart and then extending it to him. Automatically he mimics
the action back. Having done so she exits without hesitation.

Batman has to gently prompt Drake towards the light and he walks into it facing forward, not
letting himself glance back. Then he extends a hand to Damian and in tandem they do indulge in
one final look behind them. Young Justice wave goodbye to him, M’gann and Kid Flash in tears.
Robin smiles at his future. Damian can’t tear his eyes away from his father but it doesn’t matter
because Grayson leads him forward and so he’s the last thing he sees, for the last time, before the
portal closes around them.

***

Robin wakes up at home.

There was a time when he thought he would never look up at the jagged ceiling of the Batcave,
brimming with gaudy souvenirs, and consider it a sanctuary or even a place of work, let alone a
home. But that is what it has become to him.

He feels dizzy the way he did when he arrived in the other universe but not sick. His bones feel
secure in his body and his body, down to its aches, feels warm and his own. The only thing that
feels off is a new emptiness in his mind, as if a comforting white noise has been tuned out. It’s the
mental link, he realises, which has been cut. He mourns its loss until aged hands are helping him
up. They feel secure and he never fears they’ll turn and strike him. They brush him down when
he’s on his feet, holding his shoulders to keep him from losing balance.

“Master Damian,” Alfred says and Damian does not miss the wateriness of his tone. “Welcome
home, my boy. I have missed you dearly.”

“We must work on my needlework again sometime soon, Pennyworth.” Is all Damian can think to
say. “I am severely out of practice.”

“That would be wonderful, sir. Sit down whilst I get you and the young masters and mistresses
something to eat and drink.”

Damian does sit down and groggily surveys his surroundings. He and the others are gathered
around a table in various states of consciousness: Drake is out cold, Brown has her head in her
hands but Todd and Cain are alert and dutifully shedding the more cumbersome elements of their
disguises. Most importantly, Batman is slowly coming to and then all at once jerking awake,
looking desperately about him.

“Damian?” He demands, voice harsher than he has yet to hear it.

“Right next to you, Dick.” Brown groans. “Quit being so loud.”

“Brown is right, Grayson.” Damian says, privately pleased to see the tension deflate from his
partner as soon as he sees him. He still needs some recompense for Grayson calling Drake a
‘genius’ back there. “No need for the theatrics. I’m home.”

“Thank God.” He agrees, leaning back in his chair and suddenly the picture of weariness. “It has
been a miserable couple of days without you, Robin.”

“Oh a miserable couple of days for you, was it?” Todd says, face now bare so that Damian gets a
perfect view of his raised brow. “You should have seen it, kid. He went full Mama Bear. Struck the
real fear of Batman into Gotham. I was scared to say no when he showed up in the middle of the
night and demanded my help finding you.”

“No smoking in here, Jay.” Grayson says without opening his eyes and Todd lowers the cigarette
unlit, muttering ‘bastard’. “And I know I was pretty intense but I’m not going to apologise since it
got Damian home. What’s Batman without his Robin?”

“A question we’d never like to have to answer again.” Gordon says, appearing in the doorway with
a tray of drinks balanced on her lap. When she sees Damian awake, she lights up. “Hello, Damian,
I am so glad you’re ok. Never do anything like that ever again.”

This last part is issued cheerfully but still strikes Damian as a threat. “I didn’t exactly have much
choice in the matter but certainly, I’ll take the suggestion onboard.”

She makes a sympathetic sound as she places down the tray beside Drake. “Poor Tim. No wonder
he’s still out, I doubt he’s slept in three days. He practically pulled that machine apart and rebuilt it
again for you, Damian.”

Damian lets out a “Tt-” at this and refuses to be touched. He absolutely refuses and thus absolutely
isn’t. “He’ll try and force me to pay him back in the future, never fear. Speaking of the machine, I
do hope we’re going to melt both it down and the people responsible for constructing it?”

“Tomorrow.” Grayson suggests, eyes still closed and voice now slurred. He’s dropping off.
“Tomorrow’s problem. Also, uh- I objected to something you just said but I can’t remember what it
is now.”

“No melting?” Cain suggests.

“Yes! Very good, Cass. Damian, no melting people.”

“Right,” Damian agrees. He takes a long draught of his drink without even realising he’d been
thirsty. It’s the sugary American lemonade he usually objects to but in this moment he drinks it
happily. “That’s how maniacs like Two-Face happen. We want to cremate-”

Todd lets out a bark of laughter so strong it finally startles Drake awake and his muddled
expression and the twisting of his bald cowl is so humorous it makes Damian laugh too. When
Alfred appears with a spread of grilled cheese sandwiches and his famed cookies and joins them at
the table, Damian is struck with a bolt of déjà vu.
 This feels like a dream he’s had.

He tries to fight his drooping eyelids and enjoy it, the warmth of homecooked food and the more
than tolerable company. But he’s tired and he has been tired for the past three days and the
atmosphere is so safe his body is automatically shutting down to catch up on its rest.

He only wakes up a little when arms lift him from his seat. Less because of the sensation itself,
which is just as safe as everything else, but because he’s suddenly frightened this is a dream. It’s
too perfect and he’ll wake up stranded again any minute. But the soft voice of his partner assures
him back into drowsiness and bears him carefully to his bedroom and lays him down just as
delicately on the bed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.” Damian hears and he feels a hand swipe the hair back from his
forehead and rest there.

“Did it get through the Kevlar?” He mumbles.

“What?” Grayson says quietly, amused but lost.

“The bullet. You were shot the night I disappeared.”

He makes a noise of protest. “It grazed me, but-”

“Then I didn’t protect you either.” Damian says, still sleepy but leaving no room for argument.
“Don’t apologise when you did your best. Next time we’ll both do better.”

“You’re away from me for three days and you get so wise.”

“I wonder why.”

Grayson laughs, voice achingly tender. “I’ve missed you so much, Robin. And I love you, lil’ D.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Damian says and hopes everything else is implied by the contented smile
on his face, the glow inside of him. “Don’t go anywhere until I’m asleep.”

“I won’t.” He promises.

And only then, at home and with his family, does Damian sleep deeply and dreamlessly.

Chapter End Notes

i've been reading all the comments since the last chapter was published and the
amount of commitment and passion so many of you have had for this fic is insane: i'm
going to try and answer as many as possible in the coming days :D
the completion of this fic has been a long time coming and i'm so satisfied to finally be
finishing it but its bittersweet too of course :(((
thank you to all of you guys and hopefully i'll write more dc stuff in future: it'll
probably also be focused on dami and dick because they're my beloveds and it'll also
likely be nothing of this scale but i hope you enjoy that if/when i do :'D
please continue to be lovely lovely people and again thank you all so so much :)))
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