Chapter Text
“He’ll be thirteen years younger than you when he’s born.”
Damian had thought he would have had more time to deal with it, but he had underestimated his Mother’s ingeniousness and cruelty.
She said thirteen years younger.
He was planning to go after him in three.
He showed up in one.
Damian Wayne had a little brother, a clone, a twin, a monster.
A thing that had been raised and implanted with one imperative overall: that he would have everything Damian had, would take it all away.
His mother must not have thought it out fully though because of everything, above his mantel as Robin, above his blood as a Wayne, even above his father the thing Damian Wayne cherished most was Richard Grayson’s love and Grayson’s love was not a finite thing.
-
It was a turbulent time in his life. His partnership with Grayson was coming to an end and although in the beginning he had resented him, Damian had come to respect his father’s eldest ward. They worked well together and when idea that his father might have survived first became plausible and not the delusional ravings of Drake’s over active imagination Damian had felt uneasy. If his father returned wouldn’t his father be Batman again? Wouldn’t Drake be Robin again? Or would he be his father’s Robin? And Grayson… would Grayson be Nightwing? Luckily his father saw that Damian and Grayson balanced and complemented each other and they were able to continue… for a time.
Damian was surprised that he hasn’t seen it coming. As hard as Grayson worked to uphold his role as the ‘Jolly Batman’ he was restless. He constantly complained about the weight of the costume. Damian had thought he had meant it physically, that the heavy cape and Kevlar were hampering the acrobat’s ability to move. He hadn’t realize—no he had forgotten Grayson’s reluctance to take up the cowl. It took a year for the cowl to get too heavy.
“Grayson, what are you wearing?” Grayson stood in his black and blue Nightwing uniform minus the domino mask. He held the cowl of Batman, weary look on his face.
“Grayson?”
“Just one night, okay little D?”
His father quickly caught on. A serious conversation took place that Damian had no part in and that had felt like a betrayal. It was decided Grayson would go back to being Nightwing and his father would once again take up the cowl in Gotham. It had been his goal to work at his father’s side. That was what he had strived for when he had first entered the Wayne household, but that had changed. Although he strived to impress and be worthy of his father’s name working with him was a different matter. His father commanded and was inflexible. He looked everything Damian did over with a critical eye waiting for the mistake which would justify an end to their partnership.
There were times he had to admit to himself that he secretly wished his father had not come back. That he and Grayson could continue on as they had before. That Grayson would bear the responsibility of the Batman because there was no one else that could.
His father kept him and Grayson on missions together, but now it was as Nightwing and Robin. Only very occasionally did his father partner with him, and when they where together there was always tension if Grayson was not present.
Damian was aware that this was a transition, that his Father was weaning him off his … dependence on Grayson, and at the same time trying to allow father and son to develop a rhythm. Neither side of this plan was going well.
The last time he had worked with his father it had dissolved into angry words and shouting. His father had wanted to dictate, Damian had wanted to run free. It ended with him turning off his communicator and his father freaking out, banning him from patrol until he could prove he was trustworthy.
Damian had stayed at the manor for a grand total of ten minutes before heading towards Wayne Tower and the Bat Bunker where Nightwing continued to reside.
“I’ve already proven myself,” The boy hissed. He was balanced on a gargoyle, wind whipping against him, his hood and cape flapping in the wind.
“Your eyes on the prize little D?”
“What have I told you about using that asinine nickname Ba-Nightwing, especially on the job?”
“Hey, you’re lucky you’re on the job. Batman’ll kill me if he finds out I let you out on patrol when you’re ‘grounded.’ Oh, and you told me you’d tear out my throat or something violent and unnecessary like that for continuing to call you by your nickname, but I’m not nearby,” Grayson sung over his com, “Can’t rip out my throat from here!”
“-Tt-”
Damian wasn’t frowning anymore though.
“I can hear your brood from five buildings away, seriously. You’re going to have an ulcer at fifteen.”
Damian was about to summarily dismiss Grayson’s quips but didn’t have the chance. It was only his trained reflexes beaten into him as a child that saved him from a strike to the head and a long fall to the street below. He leapt up grabbing the ledge of the building pulling himself up to the roof and taking out his bird-a-rang waiting for his assailant to make their move.
“Robin?”
“-Tt-”
Damian froze hearing the familiar sound coming out of someone else’s mouth.
“Robin are you still there?”
“Brother,” It was like hearing a recording of his own voice, similar but wrong, “We properly meet at last.”
He finally appeared in front of him. Damian knew who it was. It was like looking into a mirror and he knew it wasn’t clayface or some other shifter playing games. From the way he held himself to how he styled his hair there was no mistake.
“I’ll be right there; whatever’s happening hold on.”
His posture, his fighting stance, the arrogant twitch of his lips. The only difference between them was that the boy in front of him looked younger. Damian was fourteen, this one looked ten. He was also in civilian’s clothing, a black hoodie and dark jeans.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Damian finally said studying his opponent.
“It won’t be a long reunion,” His—whatever he was assured him. The boy wasn’t his brother. In the last year Damian had learned what brotherhood was and it didn’t come from a test tube… although he’d never tell Grayson that.
The boy in front of him pulled his sword a smirk on his face.
-
His life started in dreams, memories filled with darkness and determination and pain. He learned his deadly skills in these memories and when he awoke he put these skills into practice.
From the very beginning he knew that these dreams and memories were not his own. A copy of the brother that came before. His mother, who loved and doted even as she sent killers for him to prove himself, did not deny this.
“If you don’t want to be a copy then prove you are the stronger,” She told him. He learned of his elder twin and of his father Bruce Wayne, the Batman. He was being groomed by his mother to be a powerful man. A man fit to rule, but to be worthy he had to remove his enemies first the foremost being his elder brother. The elder brother whose memories he held. The elder brother he was constantly compared to.
On the tenth day of awakening he learned resentment for a brother he never met.
When he wasn’t training he was studying, researching, learning about his enemy. ‘Damian’ resembled him in looks, but he could see the… carefreeness in his elder brother’s attitude. He watched video of his brother over and over looking at all weaknesses, learning all his moves. First he only watched his brother as Robin, but soon found himself looking at news profiles usually concerning Wayne Enterprises and a struggle between his brother and the board.
He had grown quite used to his brother’s scowling face, but one day there was something new.
“Mother, who is this beside my brother?” He pointed at the handsome young man who gave an easy candid smile completely unaware of the camera, or perhaps so used to it that he was no longer fazed. The young man held his brother’s shoulder saying something that wasn’t picked up by the audio. He watched as his brother’s scowl softened before he pushed the man’s hand away.
His mother examined the news clip with disdain. The young man was apparently his father’s first apprentice, his first adopted son, and the heir of his father’s legacy as the Dark Knight.
“He is who poisoned your brother,” She told him stiffly, “A circus boy, a stray your father took a fancy to and has always indulged.”
After his mother had left he continued to study the picture. He traced a finger over the circus boy’s upturned lips.
It was the first real smile he had ever seen with his own eyes. Before it had been the false smiles of his servants and the cruel smile of his mother. The news programs showed his brother’s scowls and serious newscasters explained the disaster that Batman and Robin were trying to solve.
The young man had something real that he couldn’t comprehend. He impulsively printed the picture telling himself it was to remember Richard Grayson’s face.
He didn’t think too deeply over why he wanted to remember it.
On the third month of awakening he learned what joy looked like, but didn’t understand what it was.
-
The two grappled one another. He had not expected his elder brother to be easy to kill, that would be an insult to his mother’s training. His brother didn’t hold back. He pushed forward trying to get him closer and closer to the edge. His brother claimed to follow his father’s code, but he was still a killer and in a desperate situation he knew the murderous look on his elder brother’s face was mirrored in his own eye.
“Robin!”
He couldn’t help but glance. It was Nightwing, Richard, crouching on the ledge of the building his lean muscles tensed and ready to spring into action.
“Two?” Richard asked in utter confusion.
“Grayson!” His brother hissed.
“Right!” Richard gracefully flipped over the two fighting boys and grabbing him by the hood. He attempted to swing his sword into Richard’s exposed ribs, but his elder brother ripped it out of his hand.
“Woah, woah, Damian, Damian calm down,” Richard tried taking on a calm steady tone as he attempted to pin the boy.
“That’s not my name!!!” He shouted
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Richard repeated over and over, “Robin, knock out gas,” Richard commanded with some authority. His brother nodded pulling a pellet out of his belt and cracking it under his nose.
He felt his vision blurring. As the concerned face melted into darkness gentle words carried him away.