@justpeterparker
damian flips out of the path of the oncoming bullets, spins and ducks to deliver a sweeping kick to the knee that drops one of the assailants, his body hitting the ground while his gun fires aimlessly into the air for a split second, the bag of cash flung away haphazardly. he’s one of a group of six assholes out on the streets tonight, fleeing the scene of a robbery that’s left two people dead and four in critical condition, and damian is already furious enough to cut them all in half over it, the blaze in his bloodstream, the thunder in his eyes, his fists like stones as he swings around and punches the idiot hard enough to send him into next week.
there’s five others in the alleyway with him, but he’s not alone tonight, although batman is nowhere to be found-- it’s just bright, bold colors mixing with the grime of the lane this time, of himself and a hero called spiderman, whom damian will never admit out loud is pretty adequate for his age. annoying and silly and uppity, but adequate. “webhead!” he points towards two of the thieves attempting to flee, hoping the other vigilante will take the hint; damian doesn’t have steel-infused webbing. or whatever it is. “the show’s just started, can’t let our guests leave just yet.”