#dfbi

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[ababybat]

For your dfbi au what was jaydami's first impression of each other

Jason wasn’t in a very good mental state the very first time he met Damian, and he honestly can’t remember much of it, but when he was formally introduced, he thought the kid needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Damian’s been brought up as some kind of great savior, so it messed with him in the sense that he felt super pressured and he hid that by being a bit of an entitled brat. But Jason quickly realized that Damian was lonely, and afraid, so he warmed up to the kid pretty quickly. Also, Damian pretty much became Jason’s new purpose in life. Damian is his to protect, to watch over, to prepare for what’s coming, and Jason takes that very seriously. Jason isn’t sure if he believes in the league or its cause, but he is sure that he believes in Damian.

Damian was kind of indifferent towards Jason for the first few days. At first he thought Jason would just be passing through, like so many other people his mother took an interest in, but then Jason stayed and started training with him, spending time with him, and he did not appreciate it when Jason spoke to him so informally. It took a while, and Damian will say it took years but in reality he warmed up to Jay much faster than that, but he enjoyed having someone he could talk to.

[ababybat]

death from bad intentions - 9

when ghosts come out to play

In the streets below, Joker is putting up a show. He's spinning around and wiggling his hips, the coattails of his ugly purple suit flapping around when he moves around. The painted grin on his twisted face stretches even wider while his goons, all of them in similar clown make-up and gaudy clothing, look on in confused wonder.

Joker keeps dancing even as some poor screaming fool is pulled from what looks like a clown car (how predictable) and, when the newest victim is brought to his knees before the clown, Joker finally brings an end to his ridiculous dancing. He pulls out a gun from the inside of his jacket and laughs, long and hard, when he promptly shoots the man in the leg. The fool's screaming goes up a level while Joker's cackling becomes more maniacal.    

The only thing missing from this perverse picture is Harley Quinn. Once she would have been prancing around, her baseball bat slung over one shoulder, while encouraging her puddin' in his violence. But word on the street is Harley saw the light a few years ago, dumped abusive Mistah J, and has since then shacked up with Poison Ivy.  

Jason watches closely from his position on a rooftop at the opposite end of the street. His eyes are narrowed, shoulders stiff, and his fingers twitch, itch with the powerful need to get down there and put a bullet in that laughing face.

It's not time yet, Jason has to remind himself. He clenches his hands into tight fists while promising himself that the clown will be the one doing the screaming soon enough. A bullet to the head would be too good for the man who tortured and murdered him. No... Joker deserves to feel the same pain he has so joyously inflicted on others over the years. By the time Jason is done with him, there will barely be anything of The Joker left.  

The idea of ending Joker's miserable existence is enough to have Jason smiling a little, and even a few more seconds of murderer's ridiculous prancing doesn't make it disappear. The quirk to Jason's lips remains when the wounded man's screaming becomes too annoying, and Joker puts his gun to the man's head. There's one second of nothing before Joker pulls the trigger and blows his brains out on a dirty street corner.

The smile disappears after the gun goes off, and Jason hates how he cringes. For a brief second, Joker's gun sounded far too much like an explosion.

Jason breathes in through his nose in an attempt to calm the trembling that has started in his bones. He's no longer the same kid who could be hurt so easily, Jason reminds himself. He's come too far. He's seen and done too much since his resurrection, and he'll never be a victim again.

Once Jason has his vengeance, he can finally let go of the ghost that has been haunting him for years. He'll be able to focus on his future. A future with The League. With Damian.

Damian.

They've barely spoken since that night in the alley. Damian has been avoiding him, and when he's forced to be in the same room with Jason, his green eyes are haunted with a kind of pain that only comes with betrayal.

His temper has always been a problem, even before the pit warped his mind in ways Jason is still trying to recover from. But even when he attacked everyone else, even when he hated everyone else, Jason has never lashed out at Damian. Until now.

Jason hates what he did. He's tried to make things right again, but whenever Jason tries to apologize, the words catch in his throat and trip over his tongue while the silence between them becomes heavier.  

There's no time to dwell on his relationship troubles, Jason reminds himself. Not now, anyway. When Joker is dead, when the spreading fire of hate in his veins is finally doused, and Jason's ghosts have finally been laid to rest, then he'll make the amends he needs to. He'll get on his knees if he has to. He'll do anything and everything needed to reassure Damian that he is Jason's reason for existing. No one will ever be able to get under his skin again - not Bruce and definitely not his replacement.

Down below the clown begins threatening a few of his thugs when none of them laugh at the dead body on the ground. He's hurling his gun at the nearest goon and pauses for a few seconds, disappointed that it didn't go off, before finally climbing into the car.

"I know you're there." Jason announces as he watches the car disappear down the street.

When he turns around, Jason sees a figure step out of the shadows.

Dick, or Nightwing since he's dressed in regular his black and blue, pauses just as he steps into the light. It's amazing how young Dick still looks. In his mid thirties, one would expect Dick to seem noticeably different, but all Jason sees is the same young man who always had an encouraging grin and a warm hug ready.

Their relationship was complicated back in the day. Living in Dick Grayson's gigantic shadow isn't a fate Jason would wish on anyone. Feeling like he always had something to prove meant Jason wasn't always the sweet younger brother everyone probably thought he should have been, but Jason can admit that he'd loved the older boy, and by the end, Dick had become an important part of his life.

Funny how quickly and easily things could change.  

"Jason." Dick breathes his name like it's salvation on his lips. He looks like the space between is physically painful. "When Tim told us you're alive, I..." Dick moves closer, but stops immediately when Jason pulls his guns out and aims them right at him.

"One step closer and I blow that pretty little head off, Dickiebird."

Dick holds up his hands in a show of peace. The quick show of surrender has Jason growling.

"What happened to you, little wing?"

"What do you think happened to me!?" Jason's voice hitches, and cracks into a scream. He shouldn't get so worked up, but the trembling in his bones has moved into his muscles and it's an awful moment when Jason realizes how much his family still hurts him.

Dick's head lowers in shame. His own voice seems shaky when he asks, "How are you--,"

"Alive?" Jason laughs and it's a bitter sound crawling up his throat. "Don't pretend you give a shit." Dick's head snaps up and a protest is already on his lips, but Jason won't hear it. "All you need to know is Batman's greatest disappointment has come back to haunt him."

"You were never a disappointment!" Dick cries, and there once would have been a time when Jason would have believed him. Now it's one more lie to add to an already impressive list. "You have no idea how close your loss came to destroying Batman."

"Then why is that homicidal fucker still breathing!?"

Dick swallows hard. "You know why."

"Yeah, Batman's one rule." Jason moves closer, and feels a rush of excitement when Dick doesn't back away from him. He's taller than Dick now, Jason realizes. "Here's the thing, Dickless, I always thought we meant more to him than his stupid rule." When they're just inches away from each other, Jason pushes one of his guns up against Dick's forehead. "Guess the joke's on me."

A mad grin has spread across his face. There's a giddiness flaring up inside him as he curls his finger over the trigger.

"Do you want to kill me, little wing?" Dick asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm tempted, yeah."

How devastated would Bruce be if Jason killed his golden boy? Would Dick's murder be his undoing? Would it finally push Bruce into doing the one thing he was never willing to do for Jason? If Jason's murder came close to destroying him then Dick's would probably do so completely. In a you can only save one kind of scenario, Jason knows exactly who Bruce would have picked and it's never been him.

It would be so easy to find out how much Bruce can bend before he breaks.

"Then do it." Dick hisses. "C'mon, Jay... If you wanna kill me for never breaking Joker's neck like I should have then fucking do it."

The domino mask's white lenses are obscuring Dick's eyes, but Jason doesn't need to see them to know his bright blue eyes have darkened.

"I will kill you," Jason promises, and Dick sucks in a loud breath, "but not now," and just like that, Jason steps away from Dick, "I'll make sure to do it when Batman can watch the life slip out of you."

Dick's shoulders sag. "Come home with me, Jason." He begs, hands lifting and reaching for Jason, but the younger man is already out of his reach. "Please."

"No thanks, golden boy." Jason holsters his weapons, and continues on to the edge of the roof. "I stopped being cannon fodder for Bruce's war a long time ago."

"Jason." Dick has never, in Jason's memory, sounded so hurt before. He wonders if Dick is feeling the supposed pain of his loss all over again.

He winks, grin still in place, steps off the roof and allows himself to fall away.

part eight: a job that slowly kills you

[ababybat]

death from bad intentions - 8

a job that slowly kills you

The man - or murdering asshole as Jason likes to call him - won't stop blubbering. Thick and heavy tears run down scruffy cheeks, and he's begging for mercy while his body quakes from his violent sobs. It's admittedly a step up from the horrified screaming he did earlier, when his buddy found himself on the other end of Damian's sword, but it's still annoying enough that it has Jason's jaw clenching as a headache begins blooming behind his eyes. 

The idiot has cornered himself, his back pressed against a grimy wall. Damian is standing a few feet away from him, and with his cloak's hood up and sword in hand, its silver blade discolored by deep crimson, Damian looks like some kind of unholy avenger. Whenever Damian moves so much as an inch, murdering asshole begins whimpering pitifully through his many tears.    

"Tt." Damian turns away with a look of loathing on his face. "We will get nothing from this coward."  

Hopping off the dumpster he's been sitting on (he'll need a scalding shower when they get home) Jason frees one of his handguns from its holster, which means even more sniveling, and claps a hand on Damian's shoulder as he passes him by.

"Let me handle this, gorgeous."

Damian scoffs, but makes no move to stop him.

The man's begging, stuttered pleas of "oh god no please no," becomes more distressed as Jason slowly walks towards him. Someone who works as an enforcer for Black Mask really should have more backbone, Jason thinks. Maybe the pool of delinquents willing to do all the dirty work is drying up, and this poor fool is the scrap left at the bottom of the barrel. Or maybe the bastard has never been challenged before, always punching down, feeling like a big man when threatening kids and old ladies, and now his real spinelessness has finally come out in the face of people better and stronger than him. Whatever the case may be, it's getting on Jason's nerves, and he shushes the man, gently, while patting the moron's stubbly cheek with a free hand.    

"Look, I'm gonna be honest here," Jason says, voice uncharacteristically kind, "You're gonna die tonight, but it's how you die that matters. A bullet through the brain beats being skewered like a kebab, right?" The man's terrified eyes flicker to his accomplice's dead body. A moan crawls out his throat when he remembers his friend's agonized mewling as he lay dying. "So why don't you tell me where your boss has been hiding since his little lover's tiff with Penguin and I'll make sure your insides don't get to find out what my friend's sword feels like."

"Nice speech," Someone pipes up from above them, and when Jason looks up, he finds none other than Robin, his goddamn replacement, standing on the building's fire escape, "Do bad guys have a school where they teach most cliché villainous speeches ever, or does it just come naturally?"

"Comes naturally." Jason replies easily. "Aren't you a little too old to be playing Boy Wonder?"

He steps back, away from the goon, draws his other gun and aims both of his weapons at Tim. Damian has his sword ready, and if Jason wasn't so focused on Tim, he would have noticed Damian lowering his hood even more, obscuring his face further.

Tim's eyes go comically wide behind his domino mask, the white of his lenses stretching. "Jason Todd?" He asks, voice wispy from shock. "You're dead." It shouldn't surprise Jason that Tim knows who he is, or that the twerp can recognize him even now, but he still feels taken aback. No doubt Bruce drilled him into Tim's head - "don't be the same screw up, Tim," - while holding a photo of Jason inches away from his face.

There is a flicker of something uncomfortable in Jason's heart, his belly, every nerve. He knew they would eventually recognize him, and Jason had looked forward to shoving their greatest failure back into their faces, but he feels no triumph now, only a sick kind of apprehension burrowing into his bones.  

"Yeah, death? Not as permanent as you'd expect." Jason replies with a false sense of bravado.

"You're behind all this?" Tim asks as he hops down the fire escape in a few acrobatic moves that absolutely scream Dick Grayson. "You killed Two Face?"

"I can't take all the credit." Jason sees Tim's attention move to Damian, and eventually the sword.

"Tt."    

"Why!?" Tim cries, sounding horrified. "You're Robin! You're a hero, not a murderer!"

"What the hell do you know, Boy Blunder?" If Jason were anyone he would be shaking. A buzzing has started in his ears, and it suddenly feels too much like those few seconds before that warehouse went up in flames.  

"I know you had a crappy childhood, and I know you managed to rise above your criminal father and drug-addicted mother." Tim is moving, carefully, along the alley's wall, towards Black Mask's thug. "I know you were murdered, and that Batman hasn't been the same since. Most importantly, I know the boy who wore this symbol before me," Tim presses his hand against the R on his chest, "would never have gone around murdering people."

"Enough of this." Damian snaps. Jason's voice has died in his throat.

Tim grabs the goon's arm and pulls him away from the wall. He then moves them back along the wall towards the street the alley opens up to. The goon is babbling all the way - voice rough, he goes on and on about never believing a day would come where he'd be happy to see Robin.

Both Damian and Jason watch, neither making a move, and when Tim and his new friend are out of immediate danger, he shoves the idiot towards the street and snaps, "Get out of here."  

And that's when Tim learns how deadly Damian is even when someone is no longer within easy reach. The man has spun around, is running, a grin spreading across his face as he sees his freedom, when suddenly he cries out and drops to the ground like a stone. A throwing knife sticks out of the back of his neck - blood wells up around the edge of the wound, and begins dripping down his neck and soaking his dirty jacket.  

A surprised yelp is Tim's only reaction for a few seconds. When Tim eventually turns back to face them, there is a terrible kind rage settling into every nerve in his body.

"You didn't really think I was going to let him go, did you?" Damian sounds impossibly smug, and Jason knows he's reveling in having taken Tim by surprise.

"You're a monster." Tim hisses as he pulls his collapsible bo staff from the belt around his waist.

"You have no idea what kind of monster I can be." Damian stalks forward. He's twirling his sword, wrist moving with practiced ease. The blade makes sharp swishing sounds as it cuts through air, and becomes louder as Damian's speed increases.

Tim readies himself for the coming attack. He carefully moves his feet into a defensive stance. With a flick of his wrist, his bo staff opens, increasing in length as both ends snap out. In a show of his own skill, Tim moves it with a trained curl of his wrist so that one end is tucked between his feet. With his arm outstretched and hand before him, Tim waits.

It happens so quickly. Damian's blade comes down just as Tim kicks the end of his staff up so he can grab it with the hand that was held before him. He steps closer to Damian, and brings the staff above his head just in time to successfully block the blow.

Damian gives Tim no room to breathe. He's already planned his second, third, and fourth move before even executing his first. He drops to one knee, swinging his sword low, and aiming for Tim's shins, forcing the other man to block low. They immediately rock away from one another, each straightening up again, and then come together once more, sword and staff clashing with a loud clang that echoes throughout the whole alley.

It's like some kind of twisted dance, and they both know the steps perfectly.

"Who are you?" Tim asks. His voice is strained, jaw clenched, as he uses all his strength to keep his staff up against Damian's sword.

"You won't live long enough for it to matter." Damian snarls in reply.

Damian is a few inches taller than Tim, and is using his extra height as a way press Tim down and back. Soon enough Damian realizes that Tim is stronger than he looks, and he'll only give in for a few inches. Forced to reevaluate, Damian moves away and thrusts his sword forward, aiming for Tim's gut. But Tim is prepared, and takes a careful but quick step back, putting as much space between them as possible. He then swipes his staff forward and to the side, blocking the strike.

Jason knows he could - should - end this fight right here. One well-aimed shot could cripple Tim; could easily help Damian put an end to the replacement's worthless life. But Jason finds he can't move. His feet are stuck to the ground, arms heavy at his sides, and mind foggy, heavy, as Tim's words spin around in his head.

Tim is twirling his staff as he quickly backs away, effectively keeping Damian from striking. Damian keeps moving forward nonetheless. His own steps are careful, and then Damian sees it. The very second Tim's stance changes - the moment Tim decides to stop backing away and to attack instead - Damian is ready, their weapons once again coming together with a hard clash.

Seizing the opportunity Tim has unwillingly given him, Damian flicks his wrist, twisting his blade so the flat of it is pressed against the staff. With one had keeping the blade steady, Damian forces the tip of Tim's staff down, their bodies bending slightly to the side in the momentum.

Damian has always been fast, his speed often coming in handy when he can't overpower an enemy with strength alone, but now he moves like lightning, faster than Jason can remember him ever being. In a flash Damian swipes his sword up, away from the staff, and swings it towards Tim's neck, hoping to decapitate him right then and there.

Turns out Tim is just as fast - perhaps even faster - and manages to duck seconds before the blade can cleave through his neck. Damian follows him down, spinning on his heel, sword out and once again aiming for Tim's legs, but Tim knows what's coming and jumps over it, once more escaping the razor-sharp edge of Damian's blade. The small, blink and you miss it moment Damian's back is turned to him is all Tim needs. He thrusts his leg out in a swift kick, pushing Damian forward and away when the heel of his boot connects with the small of Damian's back. Damian stumbles forward, stops himself from falling with one hand, his palm slamming down against the ground and, using his body's momentum, rolls forward and back up to his feet.

The few seconds of imbalance is all Tim needs. He smacks the one end of his staff down hard against the ground, wastes no time as the staff's ends retract, and pulls the grappler from his utility belt. With one final look thrown in Jason's direction, Tim aims high and fires.

Damian gives a vicious growl as he watches Tim's wing-like cape disappear over the edge of the rooftop. He turns when Tim is completely out of view, and pulls his hood off as he stalks over to Jason in quick, angry strides.

"What the hell, Todd?"

Jason blinks when he snaps out of the daze that kept him firmly locked in place. "What?" He asks while holstering his weapons.

"You just stood there like an idiot!"

"I didn't know you needed my help winning a fight." Jason snaps.

Damian opens his mouth to say something, but then pauses. He slowly sheathes his blade as his eyes narrow in contemplation. "He got under your skin, didn't he?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." It feels like needles are prickling at his skin. His breathing feels shallow, too shallow, and Jason's voice is barely a whisper.

"One mention of who you used to be, and the fool managed to utterly undo you." Damian scoffs. His words and voice are vicious; meant to wound. "If you can't do what must be done, Todd, then leave before you become a liability."

The violence that has been inching closer to the surface since Tim's arrival finally flares up. In a sudden burst of speed, taking them both by surprise, Jason grabs Damian and curls his fists around the thick material of Damian's cloak. He spins them around, slamming Damian back against the wall with a growl. Jason hears the surprised gasp hit the back of Damian's throat. He hears the way the back of Damian's head hits the wall with an awful crack, and is something Jason swears he can feel in his bones.

It should make him feel awful - should have him backing away and begging for forgiveness - but it only serves to make him angrier.

"You don't know shit." Jason snarls. He leans closer, faces inches apart. "What happened here tonight? It won't happen again. The next time we meet, that fucker eats a bullet." Pushing himself away from Damian, Jason stalks down the alley and never looks back, missing the surprise brimming in green eyes.  

part seven - when too close isn’t close enough

[ababybat]

I’m going to try and set up a schedule for DFBI (no promises though) so Tuesdays and Fridays will have DFBI updates.

I’m finishing up tomorrow’s update now. :)

[ababybat]

death from bad intentions - 7

when too close isn’t close enough

Jason would have tried to stop him if he knew what Damian had been planning.

"It's too risky," Jason would have said. And coming from Jason - the man who thrives on too risky - that would be saying something indeed. So, doing the smart thing meant keeping his plans a secret; it meant playing his cards closer to his chest than Damian has before. When the time eventually came, Damian announced he would be doing a few hours of solo reconnaissance, before quickly disappearing into the night.

Technically Damian wasn't lying.

Hacking into the Wayne Foundation systems and adding one extra name to the guest list should never have been as easy as it was. Finding someone who could create an authentic-looking invitation proved to be more of a challenge, but with his mother's resources at his disposal, even that obstacle was overcome in time.

Damian Tate smiles, a charming upward turn of his lips, when he's allowed into the grand ballroom. Damian al Ghul scoffs, deep inside himself, and wonders how Batman always has the advantage over his enemies when it's so damn easy to sneak around under his nose.

Miranda Tate is an alias his mother has used throughout her life. As a successful and well-known businesswoman, her name would be a shield when curious guests begin asking too many personal questions. Speaking her name should be enough to divert attention to the legacy she has created and off of him.

Unlike Talia, Damian hasn't needed to take on a new given name when he is forced to be someone else. The name Damian means absolutely nothing to anyone. Yet.

Having never really socialized with a group of insanely rich people before, Damian can admit to feeling somewhat nervous as he weaves between women in low-cut dresses and expensive diamonds, and finely-dressed men. The years of etiquette lessons keep the easy smile on Damian's face, however, and when a waitress carrying a tray of champagne approaches him, Damian grabs a flute and murmurs a kind of thanks that has her blushing beautifully.

"Did you hear about Harvey Dent?"

"Everyone's heard about Harvey Dent."

Two women are huddled close, whispering, voices colored by the kind of morbid curiosity that only comes from believing your money will keep you safe from that kind of pandemonium.

Oh, how shocked they'll be when The League's reckoning comes even for them. A new and wonderful world will be built on the ashes and bones of these disgusting people. When Damian takes his place as a conquering hero, money will never be able to save them again.

"Do you think Batman will find the killer?" The younger of the women asks while clutching the pearls around her neck.

"The killer did us all a favor, so I hope not." The other replies.

"You don't mean that!" Pearls gasps, looking suitably horrified.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it." Her friend sneers.

It's only been a week since Dent's execution and Gotham is already panicking. The unknown monster lurking deep in the shadows has neighbor turning on neighbor as opinions are split between believing Dent finally got what he deserved, and that he should have, once again, been handled by Gotham's ineffective legal system.

The bat signal has been shining every night, but even the reminder of their protector's constant vigilance has done little to quell the ever-growing dread.  

Grinning, Damian wanders away. He would love listening to their brewing argument, but Damian is here for a reason beyond seeing the delightful effect his actions have had.

Finding Bruce Wayne is easy. In person, the man seems to be larger than life. None of the limited amount of captured footage Damian has seen over the years have done him any kind of justice.

Tall and, what one would consider classically handsome, Bruce commands attention even when he's not the one doing the talking. His thick black hair is swept up and away from his high forehead, and with not even a single strand out of place, he does, indeed, look like some kind of prince. The lazy grin on his face, the ever-amused curl of his lips, has everyone around him feeling relaxed. Damian can understand, in that moment, why Talia was so incredibly enamored once. There is a magnetism to Bruce that is hard to ignore.

Hidden and woven into this playboy persona is the very intensity that makes Batman so powerful.

Even when Bruce is living it up as a carefree rich boy, the Bat isn't very far behind. And, unlike the many people laughing around him, Damian can see the long, thin fractures forming in the man's mask.

The casual way Bruce's shoulders roll occasionally is supposed to disguise the alert tension in his muscles. The happiness in blue eyes dazzles and diverts attention away from how Bruce's gaze darts between the room's many unprotected exits. The constructed nonchalance would fool most people, but unlike everyone around him, Damian isn't a self-deluded fool too preoccupied by his own importance. Damian has been trained to watch - to see - what the body has to say when a person's lips speak no words.

Bruce Wayne is uncomfortable, and absolutely no one else can tell.

Damian smirks, so very amused.

Then Bruce is looking at him, and Damian suddenly feels like he's been undone. His own defenses feel like they're being burned away, so easily, by brilliant blue eyes.

There is no obvious change in his father's behavior except the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly. Damian knew when he began planning this meeting that something about himself would make Bruce feel uneasy, and he wonders, morbidly curious, what that something is. Is Bruce plagued by shadows of a younger version of himself, or is he seeing painful echoes of a woman he once loved?

Either way, Damian straightens himself to his full height (which he soon realizes is still far below Bruce's own) and breathes in deeply, calming a sudden rush of nerves, when the man approaches.

"I don't believe we've met." Bruce is only a few feet away from him now. His large hand is outstretched and waiting. "Bruce Wayne."

Damian takes the offered hand, and curls his fingers around it. The grip is powerful, secure, but somehow not in a domineering way.

"Damian Tate." Damian replies and thanks years of accumulated training for keeping his voice so steady.

"Tate." The name rolls pleasantly on Bruce's tongue. "Any relation to Miranda Tate?"

"She's my mother."

"That explains it." Bruce laughs. There are small, barely there wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "Your mother is a remarkable woman, Damian. Tell her I would really like to meet her one day."        

How amused Talia would be if she ever found out about her beloved's desire to meet Miranda.

It feels odd being so close to the man who unknowingly helped bring him into the world; the man he is supposed to kill soon. Damian always imagined their first meeting would involve more punching and fewer handshakes, but this is calm, so normal, and Damian isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved. Then again, wasn't the reason he arranged all this so he could see a version of his father that wasn't driven by his own personal demons? Damian wanted, just once, to simply see the man whose blood flowed in his veins without anyone else interfering.

"How are you enjoying the evening, Damian?"

The way Bruce says his name makes Damian feel weak. Kind, warm, so unlike he's supposed to be. His name is supposed to be a curse on the Dark Knight's lips - it should be spoken with venom and hate.

"It's been quite interesting."

Bruce is laughing again. "You don't have to lie. I know these things are dull."

Damian feels a genuine smile spreading across his face. The smile Damian is given in return carries traces of his own in its corners, and Damian's vision spins, for a second, as he takes it in.  

And then it vanishes, just as quickly as it came, when they're interrupted by someone Damian should have expected but, in his foolishness, never prepared himself for.

Tim Drake. Jason's replacement, and a pretender sitting upon a throne that should, by rights, be Damian's.

"Here you are." Tim breathes, relieved, looking up at Bruce, never even realizing someone else is there. Damian scowls, gritting his teeth, and marveling at the indignity of being ignored by someone so beneath him. "I memorized the speech," Tim continues on without pause, "and I'm like ninety percent sure my jokes are actually funny this time. Alfred seemed to like them, but I'm never sure if that's a good or a bad thing."  

"It'll be fine." Bruce chuckles, claps a hand on Tim's shoulder. "This is Damian Tate. Damian, this is my son Tim."

The words echo in Damian's ears - "this is my son Tim," - even as Tim's eyes widens and he apologizes, with an awkward chuckle, for being so rude.

"This is my son Tim."

It's not like Damian is unaware of Tim having been legally adopted, but hearing it, seeing the smallest flash of pride in Bruce's eyes, is something Damian never prepared for.

It shouldn't matter to him, Damian's mind is screaming. He is an al Ghul - a god walking among men - so if Bruce chooses to sully the Wayne name by taking in a lowly pretender then that is his mistake to make. But, oh god, it feels so much like an impossibly heavy weight is pressing down onto him, and Damian can't breathe, his chest tightening, like it's being crushed.

"Are you alright?"

Damian blinks, inhales quickly, and sees Tim looking at him, blue eyes shining with concern. It sickens Damian.

"Yes." Damian replies, and it's suddenly so much harder keeping his voice steady. How humiliating that a pretender could weaken him so quickly and without even trying. His mother, his grandfather, would both be ashamed.  

"Well," Tim grins up at Bruce, "I'm going to find some more liquid courage before I have to get up on that stage."

"Don't overdo it, Tim." Bruce warns, but he's still smiling.

"Yeah, yeah..." Tim laughs and, with a careful smile thrown in Damian's direction, wanders off.

Damian doesn't know why he does it, why he wants to twist the knife a little more, but he finds himself asking, "you must be very proud?" before he can even think about swallowing the words and burying them deep inside himself.

"I am." And that, Damian knows, is no lie.

"Do you have any other children?" Damian asks as his mind screams shut up, shut up, you damn fool.  

"My daughter, Cassandra, is around here somewhere," Bruce replies easily, "And Dick is a cop back in Blüdhaven."

No mention of Jason, and Damian feels a new kind of fury ignite the blood in his veins. Abandoned completely, like he never even existed, and Damian wants to lash out at the man standing across from him, wrap his hands around Bruce's neck and squeeze, as he screams, voice shattering like his heart is, that Bruce never deserved to even know Jason and that he should have done more for him, that he should have somehow known that Jason was alive.

Damian wants to scream that Bruce should also have known that he has a biological son.

"Do you have any siblings, Damian?" Bruce asks. Not because he cares, Damian knows, but because he's being polite. Everything about their exchange has been a lie - Bruce is digging for information, and he's trying to catch more flies with honey.

Damian will not be duped by Bruce's false kindness again. This is a war, after all.

"No." Damian answers. He has clones, never siblings.

All of his clones are in cryogenic stasis, sleeping and ready, should Damian fail. It was his grandfather's idea and most people would have been horrified to learn the truth, but Damian knows he's an investment. All investments should always have a backup plan.  

"Excuse me." Damian murmurs. He's learned enough, and needs to get away before he does something foolish.

The bathroom is mercifully quiet when Damian enters. He empties his champagne down the drain, places the glass on the countertop, and then leans over the sink while trying to get his nerves under control again.  

He should never have come here. He naively believed he would gain strength by knowing more, but now Damian feels weak and wounded when he shouldn't even give a damn.

Jason would have warned him.  

The door opens suddenly and, when Damian looks up, he finds Tim walking in. Is there no reprieve in this world, Damian thinks and clenches his hands around marble.

"Oh hey, Damian was it?" Tim pauses for a second, but then walks in like he belongs there. He wastes no time  heading for one of the nearby urinals. "You feeling okay?"

There's a sound of a zipper being lowered, which is soon followed by the sound of Tim relieving himself. Damian grits his teeth.

"I am unwell." Damian admits. He hopes by being honest the man will move on and leave him alone. How dare he think Damian would even want his false pity?

"Hn," Again a zipper is heard, "Hope it wasn't something you ate."

Tim suddenly beside him. Washing his hands, water splashes over pale skin, and Damian finds himself staring at the man. Tim is very good looking, pretty even. With his inky black hair and pretty blue eyes, Tim fits in so well with the image Bruce has painted. And Damian realizes, quite suddenly, how out of place he would have looked if he'd grown up in the shadow of the three boys who came before him. There are obvious and undeniable traces of his father in him but, when looking at himself now, Damian finally sees how much he's come to resemble his mother. Impossibly thick eyelashes compliment his forest green eyes, making them stand out. His darker skin would always have been a reminder that he belongs in a desert's warmth, and not this cold tomb people call a city.

Damian would never have belonged. Why does that thought hurt so much?

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Tim pipes up suddenly, "but you're not originally from around here, are you?"

"What gave me away?" Damian asks.  

"You have a hint of a foreign accent," Tim replies, smiling, "It's barely noticeable, but it's still there."

"I suppose I should inform mother to have my English tutor executed." Damian finds himself frowning. "She always insisted that there be no accent."

Tim laughs loudly. Damian wisely keeps his tutor's real fate to himself. Like many of the others, the man was killed when his services were no longer required. Keeping them alive would have posed too much of a risk as they were allowed to see too much.

Damian swallows heavily. He steps away and, when he takes in how vulnerable Tim is, knows it would be so quick and easy to end his miserable existence. Tim is good, there is no denying it, but Damian doesn't imagine it would be so hard to overpower him.

He can see it all. He can see how his hand would sink into Tim's hair, wonders how silky strands would feel knotted between his fingers. Damian imagines how he would smash Tim's face against the mirror, cracking both the glass and, hopefully, Tim's skull. Then when the man is bloodied and dazed, Damian would pull out the knife strapped to his ankle. He would press up against Tim, see the fear in his eyes and then, without warning, slide the blade across Tim's throat, severing his jugular. There would be so much blood spilling from his wound as Tim slowly sinks to the floor. Damian would stare, soak it all in, as the life faded out of the pretender's eyes.

"Wish me luck." Tim says as he begins drying his hands. "I hate giving speeches."  

Damian blinks as he's so cruelly pulled from his fantasy. He nods, and watches Tim leave. Damian allows a few more minutes to make sure he's regained his composure before following Tim out.

He wanders out in the middle of Tim's speech. All traces of the awkward man worrying about his jokes are completely gone. The man giving the speech is calm, confident, and the people listening are mesmerized. He's fooled them all, including Damian himself.

Behind Tim is Bruce and Cassandra. The man has one arm wrapped around his daughter's shoulders while looking at Tim with eyes that are astonishingly warm and tender. The unforgiving anger Damian has always believed is a permanent part of his father is simply missing.

Swallowing the ridiculous lump forming in his throat, Damian turns and walks out. He's learned everything he needed to know.  

part six - in the night we’ll wish this never ends

[ababybat]

death from bad intentions - 6

in the night we’ll wish this never ends

"What is this?"

"It's a burger, gorgeous."

Damian carefully pokes the sesame bun with his knife, as if it will come alive and attack him. Jason has to quickly begin sucking on his milkshake's straw so he won't laugh at how absolutely offended Damian looks.

The waitress, wispy strands of her fading brown hair falling from her messy bun, is scowling at Damian. Hours and hours spent on her feet has her in no mood to deal with anyone's pretentiousness. She clicks her tongue before walking away, and reminds Jason so much of Damian for a split second that he snorts.

Finding out the diner still exists - and is still owned by the mean-looking old woman hiding a heart of gold - was something of a bittersweet moment for Jason. There are too many memories trapped in this place. Painful memories of being a scared and hungry little boy hiding in a back booth while too exhausted to muster up the courage required to scavenge or steal his next meal, but then finding salvation waiting for him in the form of a simple cheeseburger along with a crooked smile from someone who knows exactly what suffering tastes like. More memories, kinder memories, linger in the shadows of sad recollections. The ghost of a teenage boy with a wide grin appears and vanishes again in Jason's peripheral vision -  now a part of a home, a family, the happy boy is followed into the diner by another, older one with shaggy black hair in desperate need of a cut. Jason can still hear Dick laughing and telling him, "slow down, little wing," while promising that Jason can have as many milkshakes as he wants as long as Alfred never finds out about it.

"It's our secret."

Narrowing his eyes, Jason shoves the memories away. Or tries to. They cling to him. Tiny spider legs crawl up along his brain, spinning a web around his mind, and trapping him in what once was.

Jason hates, hates, hates it so fucking much that he can remember the sound of Dick's laugh so clearly again. The years have muffled Dick's voice and dulled the affection in Dick's eyes, but being back in Gotham has reminded Jason why being abandoned by the people who supposedly loved him hurt so much.  

Everything is coming back.    

"It was adequate." Damian announces when he steps out of the diner and onto a blessedly quiet sidewalk.

The wind is particularly bad today and if the weather forecast is correct, more dreary rain clouds will be rolling along during the course of the day. Pushing his mussed-up hair out of his eyes, Damian glares threateningly; as if he could stop the power of nature through sheer willpower alone.

Jason can't hide his grin. Seeing Damian so obviously out of his element is endearing. It makes Jason want to pull Damian into an embrace, fold his arms around the kid and hold him, keep Damian safe from the wind and the rain, and everything else that would want to harm him.    

Damian rolls his eyes when he notices the grin. He quickly zips up his hoodie and turns away as he asks, "Shall we head home?"

"What?" Jason blinks as he's pulled away from his fantasies. His hand shoots out, grabs Damian's arm, stopping him from walking away but earning a confused look for his efforts. "It's still early." Jason adds quickly. "We should go get ice cream or something." He glances up and down street. "There used to be a really great ice cream store around here somewhere."

If the diner managed to stay open all these years, surely the small ice cream store Alfred not-so-secretly adored so much could still be open for business.  

Damian frowns up at him, but doesn't pull his arm away. "The weather hardly seems appropriate for ice cream."

"Now is the best time to get some." Jason glances back at Damian. "Trust me."

"What's going on, Todd? Why are you acting so strange?" Damian asks. Once again he's managed to see right through Jason. It's dangerous having someone know him so well, but at the same time there's something comforting about it.  

"It's a date, alright?" Jason sighs. He runs a nervous hand through his messy hair. "I'm taking you on a date because you've never been on one." Jason pauses, swallows heavily. "I've never been on one."

Jason has had a number of sexual partners since his resurrection. A collection of nameless faces are taped to the back of his mind like some weird kind of mental scrapbook. All of them were meaningless flings meant to satisfy him physically if not emotionally. Then his relationship with Damian changed, and for the last three years the kid has been the closest thing Jason has ever had to a boyfriend, but their way of life does not often open itself up to stupid little dates that are meant to be fun and nothing else.

Twenty-nine years old and he's never been on a date. Jason should probably find it sad, but he honestly never gave enough of a damn before. The only reason he's even trying now is because it's Damian, and Damian matters.  

"Dating is a form of courtship, correct?" Damian asks while leaning his head to the side.

Sometimes Jason can't believe Damian is even real. The kid sounds like some kind of pompous lord from those Jane Austin novels Jason enjoyed reading as a kid (if Damian is Mr. Darcy, does that make Jason Elizabeth?), and Jason finds it increasingly amusing - endearing - that Damian sounds so much like an old English professor trapped in a much younger body.

"Yeah, I guess." Jason finally replies with a shrug.

Damian is smiling suddenly. "You should have said so, Beloved." His arms circle around Jason's waist, drawing the attention of more than a few curious onlookers, but none of them matter, and Damian doesn't seem to even notice them. "I've always been under the impression that a date would be more successful if both parties are aware that they are, in fact, on a date."  

Jason huffs a laugh. "You got me there, gorgeous."

Leaning forward, bending down just as Damian tilting his head up has their lips meeting. What was supposed to be a quick peck quickly changes into something more intense, and soon enough Jason can feel the sting of disapproval on the back of his neck as their actions draw more attention. The ridiculousness of other people's judgments only has Jason kissing Damian harder, however.  

Gotham is a host of too many bad memories. Thankfully Damian is both a shield to protect him and an anchor to keep him from drifting back into the agony of his past. Most importantly, Damian is a reminder of the purpose Jason has found in life. Damian's every breath is what Jason is fighting for.

Damian is the cure needed to soothe the sting of Jason's memories.

Long after the sun's dimmed glow has been swept away by the evening's cool shadows, the duo finally come stumbling through the front door of their temporary home. Or Damian comes stumbling in, balance completely gone to hell, while Jason makes sure, with increasing difficulty, that his young lover won't suddenly fall flat on his pretty face.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before." Jason grunts.

Damian snorts through a series of unattractive giggles - genuine giggles - and begins leaning dangerously to the side. The arm he has around Jason's shoulders almost slips off, but Jason's own quick reflexes manage to keep Damian from falling on his ass.

"Mother does not..." Damian's lips smack together loudly as his mind slowly mulls over the words his tongue is trying to form. "Mother does not permit the excessive consumption of alcohol." His balance might be fucked, but at least the kid can still form a coherent sentence. It's adorable how Damian can still sound so prim even when his words are muffled and slightly slurring together.

"I know." Jason drags them deeper into the living room.

"My fingertips feel strange." Damian murmurs in absolute wonder. He has his free hand inches away from his face, and Damian is gaping as he moves it away then close again.

"Yeah that happens sometimes."

The date turned out to be a something of a success, or so Jason assumes. As he's never been on one before, he really has nothing else to compare it to. But Jason is feeling happier, more relaxed, than he has in quite some time. Damian makes him happy, and while this is no surprise, spending hours with him, with no League or Batman to worry about, has only made Jason realize how much of his happiness is wrapped up in Damian.

Ice cream was followed by a movie Damian couldn't stop asking questions about ("Why does he not simply travel back far enough in time and kill the adolescent version of his nemesis? Surely that would be more effective than traveling back-and-forth in time.") which almost got them kicked out. A slow walk in a park, as lovely as it was cliché, finally followed that. They eventually ended up in a bar of all places, and looking back Jason isn't entirely sure how that happened, but drunk Damian is a new kind of Damian, and Jason is happy that he got to see it at least once.  

"I had fun today." Damian announces. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that Jason winces despite his laugh.

"Glad to hear that, gorgeous." Jason replies. "C'mon let's get you to bed."

"No." Damian shakes his head. He moves his body around so that his chest is pressed up against Jason's own. "I saw people dancing." He whispers, glossy eyes gorgeous and hopeful, and Jason has to wonder where exactly his lover saw that as they were nowhere near a club, or any kind of place where anyone could dance. "And I want to dance." Damian blinks owlishly. "With you."

"You should really go to bed." Jason knows Damian's hangover will hit him hard in the morning. The sooner he gets to bed, the more time Damian will have to sleep it off.

"No." Damian whines. He leans even more into Jason, his cheek dropping against Jason's chest. Damian mumbles something as he begins swaying from side to side. It's no longer the drunk stumbling from earlier, but a rather dismal attempt at some kind of dancing.

And damn if it doesn't feel like Jason's heart is about to explode in his chest. It's exhausting, loving someone so much. It's made even worse by the fact that Jason can't seem to stop falling more and more in love.

Grinning, Jason wraps his arms around Damian's shoulders. He presses a sweet kiss to the younger man's hair, and sways along with him.

Jason doesn't know how long they manage to keep it up, but eventually he realizes he's the only one actually moving, and that Damian has gone completely limp in his arms. So charmed by this unexpected, but entirely welcome display, Jason bends, hooks an arm below Damian's knees, and pulls the kid up into his arms. There's a happy kind of sigh escaping Damian's parted lips when his dark head settles below Jason's chin.

Holding Damian safe in his arms, Jason begins the short walk to their bedroom. He's so incredibly gentle as he places Damian down on the bed, and takes his time as he strips his lover before pulling a loose pair of sweats on him. Jason makes sure there's a large glass of water on his nightstand waiting for Damian when he wakes up, and that his path to the bathroom isn't hiding any kind of unexpected obstacles.

"You're gonna hate yourself in the morning." Jason mutters, amused, as he climbs onto the bed. He wastes no time folding himself around his lover, and adores the moment when Damian turns and snuggles into his heat instead of pulling away.

Being in Gotham has been like reliving a nightmare, but being here also means Jason now knows what it feels like to have Damian in his arms until morning. There's no one lurking around the corner, waiting for the opportunity to destroy this fragile peace they've created.

Jason has learned the hard way that nothing will last forever, but he'll hold on for as long as he possibly can to this impossible peace they've somehow managed to find together.

part five - (i’ll be there) when your heart stops beating

[ababybat]

I didn't hear you leave

I wonder how am I still here

And I don't want to move a thing

It might change my memory