tushanshu_logs

Current Mood: careful

Entry tags:

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Characters: Damian and Bruce Wayne, Robin (

demon_brat) and Robin (

hackingyoursensors), and also Robin (

demon_brat) and anyone!
Location: Here, there, and everywhere. Mostly rooftops, probably a lot in the Metal and Fire sections.
Situation: Meet Robin, if you wish!
Warnings/Rating: TW for child abuse. Because it's Damian.
A/N: Prose or actionspam welcome. Thread headers for Bruce and Dick, anyone else who wants to meet or talk with Robin, welcome after that!

It took Damian a couple of days after Grayson showed up to return to his, ah, usual levels of visibility. After that first conversation, he did his best to vanish out of sight, making sure not to fall into his usual patterns of anger at circumstances he did not welcome. Because neither Father nor Grayson would approve - his Grayson, this one had no reason to care - and the urge to not fail his Batman was suddenly double strong. Or, at least, more explicit.

Eventually, almost a full day later, he found his way to his Father's suite.

And the next night, and the one after that, he was cautiously back to patrol.

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[Damian doesn't have words. He's barely managed to get some grip of the confusion, the anger that came from the realization who the arrival is, and he's made himself tired in simple ways, running, rooftop running. Patrolling, but it was more Damian Wayne, the assassin who knew how to sneak into shadows than Robin. No, he didn't kill. No, he wasn't the brightly colored target that he'd accepted being a while back. But he needed that.

He tried to return to his own residence, but it felt like it was suddenly, for the first time, too empty, too quiet, the absence of a voice he hasn't heard in weeks too difficult to bear.

So he's making his way to the only place that he can think of. (Well, no, he gave a passing thought to going to Brown, but after the last time, he doesn't trust himself not to make himself even less welcome there. Plus, she will probably want to task it out or something. The way he would. And Damian... can't.) No, he's making his way to the Metal sector, and he drops into the familiar suite wrapped in shadow and silence.]

It was a little easier, the night after the time spent with Father. Not easy, but easier. So he was out on the rooftops, watching over the streets that probably wouldn't welcome him, anyway, and maybe, just maybe, keeping an eye for another brightly-clad figure. Because... he strongly suspected that Grayson would end up sniffing up the same problem areas... sooner or later.

[Bruce is sitting at his desk, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee as he taps a pen against his thigh. He's the very picture of 'lounging', but to anyone who knows him there's an unmistakable intensity to his posture. He has a map of Keeliai - hand-drawn, with the detail only a Bat could have managed - spread out in front of him, with numerous other papers scattered about.

This is the part of the job Tim had been doing before his disappearance. It's the part Bruce likes the least.

Oh, he's every inch the Detective, of course. He knows that doing this work saves more lives than being out on the street knocking heads together. But he knows which he prefers. Which he's always preferred.

He doesn't look up when Damian joins him, but he recognizes the light step, the breathing rate, the displacement of the air.

Robin.

Damian has never felt like Bruce's Robin. He wasn't the one to bestow the title upon the boy and frankly found him ill-suited to the title, no matter that he's... grown into it. But he only did that growing because of Dick.

And now Dick is here. From another world. At an age when he knows nothing of the pain to come. Bruce knows that losing his temper at the boy the first night he was here was... foolish, but the differences between this version of Dick and the one he remembers were too salient to ignore.

Bruce stands abruptly, gathers his paperwork into its leatherbound portfolio for storage under the loose panel in his floor which no one - not even Tim - knew about. He doesn't return it to its place, instead he simply leaves it on his desk and turns to Damian.

The only person who could possibly be taking the nature of Dick's arrival harder than him is his son.

Bruce purses his lips. Then he gestures, open-handed, at the large, clear area of his suite that he's outfitted specifically for working out. Including a mat designed for tumbles and throws. The offer is wordless, but it has been a while since he's sparred with Damian.]

[For all intents and purposes, Damian should be tired. He's been on the run for hours, and he's found no peace, whatever means - violent or peaceful - he's tried tonight.

And, in a way, he is. He is not paying attention to what his Father leaves (maybe he remembers it, his trained memory overriding his conscious mind, but he doesn't comment), he is not even looking at the rigidity, the silent rejection of what he does that his Father has been careful to keep away from their encounters so far. It might have hurt, if he'd been paying attention. It might have made him run away again.

But he's not looking deeper than the surface, right now. And the surface is quiet, and the surface is inviting him to fight, safe setting at all, a worthy enemy. (...an enemy to the House of al Ghul. Very well, Mother. I hope I will be a worthy enemy.) (Fight me, Father! This one has been a long time coming...) (And yet his thoughts go to the spars with Grayson, the ones where he found out where a decade and a half in the field left a person more prepared than even the best of training.)

He doesn't speak. But he does answer by moving where Father pointed, a very small shift in the way he moves, from everyday walk to a fluid motion that showcases his years of work, and the work of teachers who've pushed him further than any other student of there has been pushed. For others, the hours on the go would be grueling, tiring.

For Damian, for this, they are warm-up.]

To say that his first day in Keeliai had been rough would be a gross understatement. After his pseudo-argument with Bruce (which mostly consisted of misunderstandings that culminated into mutual frustration), he hasn't entirely been himself. But Dick Grayson isn't the sort of person who sulks forever. Just maybe a day or two.

Anyway, he was finally feeling up to pulling on his Robin suit and having a look around. His method of choice: rooftop express. He's not trying to be seen or trying to hide. He's just enjoying the freedom.

After awhile, Dick ends up in the fire sector. He sits down on one of the higher rooftops and observes the blocks below. The bio-luminescence was really quite breathtaking.

Yeah. There he was. Careless, almost - at least compared to Grayson back home when they were moving together.

Right now, they weren't.

Damian didn't get to the same roof, but perched on one nearby, watching for a moment. It wasn't the Robin outfit that he knew Grayson had worn - if anything, it was the Drake design, which made Damian's lip curl in a silent snarl, and then ease. There were reasons for full body coverage. He preferred it himself. It was logical and it was useful - he wasn't going to stay angry because of it.

Then he spoke - no clearing his throat, directly spoke. "Have you yet discovered that the flames don't really burn? You can touch them with bare hands or stand in them and they aren't even hot."

He doesn't even jump. He just casually turns his head in the direction of Damian's voice.

"I don't really make a habit of sticking my hand in fire. I'm guessing they don't use it for heat."

A pause. "I spoke with you over the network, right?"

"And now you know." And it would be probably a question of trust, not that Damian realizes that, if and when Dick believes that.

He leaped over easily to the other roof, standing up in the changing light.

"Yes." Headcant. "He and you talked?" Or did he have to explain things...

Honestly? He'd probably give it a try by throwing a twig in the fire or something.

Dick makes a face. Not so much at Damian, but at the memory. It's safe to say that it didn't go so well. "Yeah."

Damian stills, barely stops himself from recoiling. This is not Grayson's reaction to Bruce Wayne. Not even when there is a bullet in the back of Grayson's skull and Father has been back for some time and hasn't made a call.

His mind races, but the 'eyes' of the mask tighten only a little. "Differences? With where you come from, I mean."

[Bruce watches the way Damian moves. Far more efficiently than he did at that age. Of course, at that age he was still mired in his own grief, and hadn't yet set himself on the path to become what he is today.

In terms of technical ability, Bruce thinks that Damian will overtake him one day. Not soon. But perhaps in a decade. He'll be in his forties, then. Even with his trip to the Lazarus Pit, Shondra giving up her mind to heal his back-- even after Bekka's healing on Apokolips, the years of abuse he's put into his body will be taking their toll. He already feels it sometimes, the old aches and injuries. Bones that never healed quite right. Muscles that have been ripped and torn. Scars that hide old bullet fragments that Alfred couldn't dig out.

There's a part of him that looks at Damian and doesn't want that life for him.

And there's a part of him that knows perfectly well that Damian couldn't have been raised any other way. Bruce had been willing to give up his life as Batman to raise a family. Could he have? He and Talia and Damian (he would have had a different name, if Bruce had been there--) living the socialite's life in Gotham?

Trying to imagine it is... difficult. That chapter of his life is closed. He shouldn't dwell. Instead, he clears the thoughts from his mind and steps onto the mat.

He's already barefoot, in loose drawstring pants and a simple shirt in the local style. Perhaps it's not perfect for fighting, but he's fought in both better and worse. He turns to face Damian, gives a short bow - really just an incline of the head - for Bruce is the master here.]

Dick notices the reaction. Evidently, the Dick Grayson in Damian's world is rather different when it comes to Bruce. He sincerely hopes it's a better relationship. Somehow.

"Huge differences. He expected me to know stuff that I couldn't possibly know. It went south from there."

[This? This is a language that Damian can understand. This is a language that he asked Father to speak with him, a lifetime ago and a world away, except now he isn't issuing a challenge, and neither is Father.

Not the way he meant it then, at least.

He shrugs off his local-style robe, remaining in loose trousers, and kicks off his shoes; his return bow is proper. And not taking his eyes away from the opponent. It has nothing to do with not trusting Father, and everything to do with habits ingrained into him since before he could form actual sentences.

Then he takes a low stance, believing that Father would take the advantages he had (even in sparring) (unlike Grayson, who'd kept insisting on giving him advantages) (until he'd gotten better, at least), including his height.

He hadn't been in a mood to pick a fight. But not that it was here, he half-let, half-felt himself relax into practiced skills, routines ground into him and lessons learned from his most recent teachers learned, both. Don't anticipate. Do not get angry.

Win.

One does not win by reacting.

He waits for a blink, and he's darting forward, aiming for the edge of his palm hitting Father's side.]

The Dick Grayson in Damian's world did what was far beyond reasonable to get Damian's Father back. Even, occasionally, at the cost of knowing that the Batman may never forgive him for it. Even at the cost of the possibility that the person who had almost nobody but Grayson to look up to might be cast adrift.

So... no. Dick Grayson of his world would not be cold where Bruce Wayne was concerned.

"You mean in your world he expects - demands - less that the best and most of those he trusts?" Those few he trusts remains unspoken.

Here it goes. The misunderstandings. Hopefully this doesn't turn into one of those like-father-like-son things.

"If his idea of 'the best' is somehow knowing about someone that he knows I can't have possibly met yet and knowing what happens to him as Robin, yeah, he doesn't expect 'the best' of me."

Damian's eyebrows actually fly up, before drawing back in again.

"Expected you to know, or... expected you to interpret what he means?"

From what he has heard - from Pennyworth, mostly - Father always assumed that Grayson would understand. And Grayson did - if not immediately, then later. Father expecting anyone to know the future? That, he's finding harder to believe.

He considers. Bruce did try to explain but...

"A little of both. He got snappish at me when I asked him questions about a topic he brought up. It's like he expected me to know the motivations of someone I've never met and have no information on."

And more staring. And then Damian turns to look out over the fire displays, his mouth going a little dry. It is entirely, entirely not easy to put the words out. And yet he does, voice even and clipped.

"Some people... are not very good at connecting with their feelings. Let alone expressing them. So they protect them by becoming angry. Or snappish. He's lost two... sons, one home, one here. Talking about the Robin after you is probably not easy."

Grayson, back home, would not have needed to be told about that, regarding Father. In fact, Grayson back home had been the one explaining most of what he is saying, to Damian. The younger boy completely suppresses a shudder. How to deal with a Grayson who... isn't?

[Bruce doesn't often fight opponents that are so much smaller than him. He's trained three Robins, worked with two more, but training is never the same as fighting. And Damian is even smaller than Tim was, once upon a time.

But Damian also has more than just Tim's training in karate. He was trained to kill. He shifts, enough so that the blow connects but ineffectually, and drops his hand down against Damian's wrist to knock it away. He's careful about it, but there's an authority to his motion that belies the lack of direct force behind it.]

There's a sharp intake of breath, like Dick is about to get defensive, but he doesn't speak. Instead, he turns and looks at the fire too. Was the Bruce here different because of everything that had happened? How long has he lived under this crushing burden of grief and pain?

Dick doesn't ask about the second lost son. He imagines Damian doesn't want to talk about it and, honestly, Dick doesn't know if he can really hear about another lost "brother" right now.

"I... I know. I tried to avoid everything but the most essential questions. I'm not trying to upset anyone, but that's all I seem to be doing so far."

And that upsets him. He's never been in a position where just his presence caused so much difficulty.

"I'm not upset!" Not exactly, at least. It's a lot more complicated than that.

Plus, admitting to being upset would be admitting to a weakness. No way.

"It's... where we are from, you are so much older. Gone through a lot of experiences nobody who respects you, let alone... more, wouldn't want to think of you going through again. But you've learned from them, from everything. You not knowing, or understanding, is... jarring."

And, because he is definitely getting into tho Robin gig...

"Which questions?"

He looks over at Damian. It's clear Damian wasn't entirely convincing.

Dick listens thoughtfully. It makes sense, sure, but the idea that things that bad happen to him (no, not him, the other him) is a little sobering.

"I'm from a completely different world. Those things might not happen to me."

Part of him is trying to ease Damian's concerns. Part of him is trying to ingrain that into himself. At Damian's next question, he pauses. If he's offering information, he must be okay to talk about it, right?

"How he became Robin. How he died."

"Maybe."

The questions which basically would kill any father, right.

"The general agreement is that it turned out that Batman needed Robin, to stay sane, and you... outgrew that." Actually, that conclusion wasn't reached until the Robin after that, but Damian's a bit hazy.

Or, you know, nobody but Alfred has ever explained any of it to him, and Damian didn't start listening to the butler until later.

"And it was the Joker. Beat him with a crowbar, then blew the building up, timed so that Batman would just not be able to reach him in time... but barely." That was in the file. "And he came back wrong."

Now Damian does cross his arms in front of him. "Not that anyone lets go." His tone goes a little skewed, a little unhappy... yet not nearly as much as he would have resented this all, months ago. "Family."

Dick listens carefully, though parts of it are a bit strange to him. Batman needs a Robin to stay sane? What does that even mean?

His eyes narrow when Damian mentions the Joker. Safe to say? Not a fan. And stabbing at Bruce right where he knows it would hurt? Killing a child? He wouldn't put it past the Joker but it was sick. In fact, it made him feel sick and angry.

"Why would they? Just because someone dies or... changes doesn't mean they're not family."

"Why?"

Damian's head whips around to look at the other ... boy.

"What are the things that make Batman Batman?"

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Father and son

Robin and Robin

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