Work Text:
“Comin’“ Said the voice on the other side of the door.
Damian knew that this was a bad idea. A horrible idea. A disastrous idea. But what else had he been supposed to do after his last fight with Father?
Damian al Ghul Wayne was no longer welcome in the Manor, he had called home for three years. It hadn’t felt like home in ages now, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t the only one he had left. And maybe that was why Damian had started to “act out” as Pennyworth called it. Maybe that was why Damian had said nothing to defend himself when Father found out about Deathstroke. About the prisoners.
But that didn’t explain why he was here.
In Blüdhaven.
In front of an apartment his own detective skills had helped him figure out Richard squatted in. An apartment that currently but not permanently housed Richard Grayson.
The small backpack clutched in his hands felt too heavy. And why shouldn’t it? Damian had pushed everything he could grab into the small vessel, knowing that there would never be enough room for all the things he had come to love over the past few years. For Titus and Alfred and Batcow and Goliath. For the drawing kit Pennyworth had gifted him, or the camera that had been a peace offering from Drake.
No, all he had was this backpack full of clothes and his most cherished sketchbook. He didn’t even have enough room to bring all his pencils with him, just a select few coming on this trip to Blüdhaven with him.
The door in front of him was a stark white, blinding in contrast to the dirt covering the rest of the hallway leading up to the apartment. This place didn’t belong to Richard, he was just borrowing it – at least if the files Father had kept in the Batcave against the man’s wishes were any indication. Richard hadn’t had a permanent residence since the bullet hit him and he ran away from Father. From their life. From Damian.
And which each sound that managed to reach Damian through the wood, it felt more and more like a bad idea.
Why had he taken the bus to Blüdhaven? Why had he thought that this would be the solution to all his problems?
Because Richard was the only person who had ever been there for him completely. Because Richard didn’t have to love him or take him in, back when Father had been lost in time, and yet he had done so anyways. Because Richard had fought for him when no one else had.
Richard had managed to see something lovable in Damian when not even his Mother had, and maybe that meant that he would do so again.
The door opened, Richard standing in front of him with a disgruntled look on his face, and the crease of a pillow still imprinted on his cheek. Damian did his best not to stare at the scar so frightfully visible on his brother’s head. He failed.
Richard looked at him, his expression changing from confusion over contempt to anger in a matter of seconds:
“What do you want? I thought I’d told you assholes that I don’t want to have anything to do with the Bat. Now he is even sending fucking kids…”
The last part had been mumbled, but that didn’t mean that Damian hadn’t heard it. He was standing too close not to. Damian had known that Richard wouldn’t remember him – he had never allowed himself to forget – but now that he was once again faced with the reality of his brother’s fate, his stomach dropped.
Not even the way Richard scowled was the same.
“I… I am…”
“I don’t care who you are, kid. Piss off! I am not the man you are looking for!”
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
But Damian Wayne was a fighter. He was a hero – even if no one in the world was left who actually believed that.
“I am Damian. I… I got kicked out of the Manor. I…”
“What? He kicked his own offspring out?”
Suddenly Richard didn’t sound angry at Damian anymore, no, he sounded as if he was ready to fight Batman with his bare fists. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and Damian realized that he would be afraid of Richard if that gaze were to ever be directed at him.
Mood swings. Damian had read the files – it checked out.
“No! I mean, yes! I mean-“
He was Damian Wayne. He was an al Ghul. He was his own master. He would be the master of his own story as well:
“I left. I couldn’t stay. It will be only a matter of time before Father will send me back to Mother. And I can’t- I need an out. You are in no contact whatsoever with the entire caped community. You are the safest option.”
Richard stared at him, and the unsettled feeling came back. This was a half-assed plan that could only end in disaster. Damian was trusting a man whose face he could no longer read. Whose body he could no longer trust.
“Your mom’s real fucked up then, huh?”
No, Damian wanted to say, but then the Heretic pushed over the memories of days spent cuddling together in front of a warm fire, halwa heavy in his stomach.
“You could say so. Father never had the most logical taste in partners.”
“What do you want me to do? I am just an amnesiac cab driver on some heavy pills. I am nobody who can help you.”
Richard’s voice was earnest, as he if really thought that that was all he was. As if he had forgotten that he had been the greatest person on earth once upon a time. Hah, look at that, Damian thought with grim satisfaction, barely in the presence of Grayson and suddenly the puns started breaking out like hives.
But he had come too far. He had reached Blüdhaven, he had found this building, he had knocked on the apartment door… it was too late to turn back now:
“I want you to take me away.”
“What?”
“I want you to drive me to this address” – Damian pushed the folded-up paper into Richard’s hand – “by car. A… a road trip of sorts. No one has any contact to you. You are a sad figure shrouded in darkness. They won’t notice if you vanish for a week or two to drive me down there… and then you can come back here and return to your miserable existence, I won’t bother you anymore… promise, I-“
“I’ll do it.”
“I will even pay for it – I still have my trust found left after all, and-“
“Stop, kid! I’ll do it!”
Damian stopped, his breath coming in short bursts. He had spent his entire energy on making his little speech as convincing as possible, and now that he had succeeded nothing else was left. Nothing besides standing there and gaping as Richard motioned for him to enter his apartment.
“What?” Now it was Damian’s turn to be dumbfounded, lost in his own expectations and faults.
“I’ll do it. Wanted to go on a vacation for a while now after all. And a road trip sounds fun.”
“Fun…”
“Just some ground rules first: I am not Dick Grayson, so get that out of your fucking head fast. I will be the only one who drives, no matter what that freaky Bat guy taught you – that car is my job and my life. And if I say ‘silence’, I need you to keep your mouth shut. Understood?”
Ri- Grayson. Damian would call him Grayson again. There was no need to taint the memories of his favorite person with the ugliness of this man inheriting Richard’s body. Grayson sounded harsh, but there was an underlying softness in his voice, that allowed Damian to answer:
“Yes, I understand.”
The first fifteen hours on the road happened in silence. Grayson’s car stunk. There was a heavy smell of alcohol that never seemed to vanish, no matter how much Damian tried to air the vehicle out, and something acidic and stale hung so deep in the leather seats that Damian doubted anything but a well-placed Molotov cocktail could get rid of it.
There was little else to do but watch the road or Grayson, while listening to horrible rock music. The first time The Who had been played over the radio and Grayson had grinned while singing along, Damian had almost said something.
Some part of him was still certain that Grayson had gotten a file of Richard’s hobbies in his hands, reading it and making sure that none of his actions would reflect those of his past self… but Damian’s heart knew the truth.
He’d seen the smile on Grayson’s face as the song played – and he’d seen the life alight in his eyes as he yelled the lyrics to a song Richard had once described as “dying cats on a motorcycle”.
The longer Damian forced himself to keep his vow of silence – Grayson had not yet asked it from him, but Damian would rather not give him a chance to do so – the more time he had to truly watch Grayson drive and exist.
It was horrible.
Because with each new tick Damian discovered (Grayson’s nose twitched when he had troubling thoughts), with each new secret he got to know (Grayson kept his hair short since there was no way it would ever get thick and long enough to cover the scar anyways – so he wanted people to see it the first moment they met him), with each truth that got slowly swept to the surface (Grayson suffered horrible migraines and occasional black outs that he had to take medication for), something else became apparent as well.
This truly was no longer the Richard Grayson Damian had known. Damian had loved.
This was a new person altogether, that had the unfortunate appearance of someone dear to his heart. It would have been easier if Richard had died, a bitter part of his soul careened, because then Damian would have been allowed to grief. But this? This was just mocking the hurt buried deep inside of him.
Not that that was Grayson’s fault.
Damian could understand the need to run away from Father, could understand the urge to run when the mission and the expectations grew too stifling – he wouldn’t be the one to make it worse for a man who was doing something nice for Damian, even though he didn’t know him.
They were nearing the sixteen-hour mark, when Grayson turned towards him for the first time:
“Ready to hit the hay?”
You even speak differently now, Damian wanted to say, instead he only muttered “Sure”.
It didn’t take long until the passed the next roadside motel, the sign advertising a “Pleasant Stay – Like Heaven”. Damian did very much doubt that. No other car was parked in front of the dingy thing, and Grayson scowled when he saw the single light being lit in the reception area:
“Maybe we should drive a bit further? Find a different one?”
“Pff, why? Because you are scared of a motel in the woods as if we were partaking in a talentless Hollywood Splatter movie?”
Damian had spoken before he could think, the words escaping him against his will. It was the answer he would have given Richard, and Richard would have responded with another quip and they would have bantered until Damian would be forced to laugh.
Grayson didn’t quip back.
No, he just raised a single eyebrow before opening the car and leaving. No word in Damian’s direction, just quiet displeasure. It hurt, but it wasn’t as if Damian wasn’t used to it. His steps were quick as he followed Grayson towards the front desk, his backpack protectively pressed against his chest.
Inside, Grayson and the nightshift worker were talking, and from where Damian was entering the room, he could see the tense energy coiled up in his former brother’s shoulders:
“No. As I said, I need one room with two beds for the night.”
“There is only one single room left. I am sorry, but we are booked.”
The receptionist was lying, Damian knew that, and from Grayson’s stance, so did he. But what was Damian supposed to do about that? It was late, late, late at night and Damian wanted to sleep in a bed instead of a car seat.
“Bullshit! There isn’t even a single car out there! Come on, what is really going on here? You trying to rob us while we’re asleep?”
The receptionist didn’t react to Grayson’s taunt, simply smiling a tight-lipped smile before saying:
“Well, then it seems as if I can’t help you. Good Night, sir.”
For a second Damian thought Grayson would snap right then and there, but instead of hitting the man, Grayson simply turned around and made his way towards Damian. There was something bitter in his gaze, but Damian was too tired to try and figure out just what it was.
That was, of course, the moment the receptionist decided to speak once more:
“Hey? Aren’t you that Wayne kid that had that accident a year ago?”
Damian was tempted to say that he had never seen a human move so fast before, but he had been mentored by Nightwing and he knew that would be a lie. Still, the speed and ferociousness Grayson displayed as he whipped around and punched the man behind the counter in the face, was awe inspiring.
The receptionist dropped like a stone and Damian was so far away he almost didn’t hear the growled “Don’t call me that!” that passed over Grayson’s lips. It was frightening. Horrible. Unnecessarily aggressive. But for some reason Damian wasn’t afraid. Some part of him was sure that Grayson would never treat him like that, would never hit him.
Maybe that was a foolish belief, but it was all Damian had.
He noticed the exact moment Grayson returned to his right mind, the position of his shoulder’s shifting, until they displayed confusion and not rage. There was no recognition in Grayson’s eyes as he looked at the unconscious man behind the counter and the blood staining his knuckles red:
“Shit.”
“Yeah…”
“Shit… I should not have done that.”
Damian had changed his own position in the room while Grayson reveled over his own violent nature. He wanted to check if there really was only one room left. His eyes were scanning paper after paper after paper, the findings most interesting. Grayson continued his meltdown in the background:
“Fuck. Shit. Your dad is gonna find us because of this. Shit. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Well, according to this, you actually kept us or some other thoughtless peasant from being violently murdered. It seemed as if this was indeed the plot of a bad splatter film.”
Damian didn’t look up, but he could feel Grayson cease his pacing:
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, these records show that there is a secret door built in the room they were trying to rent us. And google tells me that a shocking amount of tourists go missing around this particular stretch of the highway each year.”
Grayson was openly staring at him now, and Damian thought he could see something like admiration shine in the familiar and yet so foreign blue eyes. But Damian was tired, he didn’t want to think too hard about the feeling of pride that had settled in his stomach, or the way he missed Richard a tiny bit less after seeing Grayson lose it.
“And now?”
Grayson’s question wasn’t as useless as it first sounded, both of them aware that Father would be searching for them. Damian might have disappointed him, but that didn’t mean he would let his blood son go so easily.
The problem was they had just created evidence.
“Now we leave and hope that the next person stopping here is in their right mind and calls the police.”
The look Grayson sent him probably carried a thousand words, but Damian was not fluid in the language of this man, who called himself Ric. Instead, he let the silence carry on until Grayson turned around, swinging the keys to his beloved taxi in one hand and letting blood drip down the other:
“What do you think about sleeping in the cab? It is not the worst kind of night you can have.”
Damian was tired. Damian just wanted to sleep – even if that meant leather seats that smelled like acid, and big brothers that never called him by his name:
“Sure.”
“Why Ric?” Damian asked two days later when endless woods had turned into endless rows or corn.
“What do you mean?”
“Why Ric. There are many good short forms for Richard: Richie, Rickie, Rick,… you could even have chosen a completely new name. So, why Ric without a K?”
At that Grayson turned towards Damian, his eyes leaving the straight and empty street in front of them for a few precious seconds:
“What is it to you, kid? You only ever call me Grayson. What does it matter what I choose to call myself?”
Because you never call me by my name.
But Damian couldn’t say that, instead he answered:
“I was just wondering about it, so I thought maybe I should inquire its origins.”
“Inquire its origins… you are really something, kid. But if you actually want to know?”
“Yes.”
“It’s because he took the name I really wanted.”
Damian knew exactly whom Grayson was talking about: Richard. Dick.
“Oh.”
“I… I couldn’t, I still can’t be him. I’m not him. And even though I will always stay Dick in my head… I needed something else, so people could start seeing me as someone else. You understand?”
No. Yes. Maybe.
Damian choose silence as his answer, another field of corn passing them by, another silly advertisement promising Jesus and souvenirs for little money.
“Hey, kid, wanna check out the world’s biggest ball of yarn?”
They were on a mission; they had a goal. At the end of all of this Damian Wayne would vanish, and Ric Grayson would return to Blüdhaven. At the end of all of this, Batman would no longer have a chance to ever find him again – ever.
Damian looked at the exited grin on Grayson’s face and towards the giant advertisement formed like the promised ball of yarn:
“Sure.”
“Hey, kid.”
They were nearing the end of their fifth day on the road and Damian was growing sick of this car and the American mid-west. Nobody needed to see so much corn in their entire life.
“Yes?”
“Why did you come to me? Why not just talk it out with your dad?”
Damian turned to look at Grayson, at the innocently interested look in his eyes, at the soft wrinkles betraying the way in which the vigilante life had prematurely aged his body.
“Father would not have understood.”
“You don’t know that.”
Why was Grayson defending Father when all the man had ever done was run away from Batman and the responsibility that brought with? Why was Grayson telling him that? Didn’t he understand?
No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had never grown up under the stern gaze of Bruce Wayne, and the stiff upper lip of Alfred Pennyworth.
Damian tried his best to form these thoughts into words:
“But I do. And even if he would have come to… understand my side of the story with time, I have disappointed Father enough as it is. My continued existence by his side would only do more harm than good.”
“But-“
“I do not want to further discuss this!”
Grayson fell silent next to him, and for a couple of minutes the dark and eerie corn fields passed by in the tense quiet that always followed when Damian lost control and snapped at someone. He was almost ready to apologize for his temper, when Grayson spoke next:
“You’re a great kid, I hope you know that.”
“I’m so- What?”
“You’re a great kid. I mean, I don’t know you very well, but we spent the last week together and you are well-behaved, polite – most of the time at least, and extremely clever… you are even occasionally funny.”
Grayson had not laughed at a single one of the dry remarks Damian had accidentally offered in all their time together. And even though Grayson had never laughed, something hot and painful lodged itself in Damian’s heart.
He couldn’t breathe.
“Kid? Oh, shit…”
“It’s okay, It’s just…”
Tears were running down his cheeks, burning paths of shame and relief into his skin:
“I hadn’t known that. I didn’t know that you liked me.”
It was love for a man who was no more burning in his chest – it was hope for the man Damian didn’t know yet soaring deep in his soul.
“Of course, I like you. I wouldn’t drive you through an entire country otherwise. Man, this family of ours is a mess, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
“Ice cream?”
“Sure.”
On the seventh day Damian found out what Grayson meant when he described his migraines as bad.
They spent the entire day parked behind a barn a few miles off a main road, cautious to never be seen anywhere public for too long in case Batman was still tracking them.
Damian knew his Father, of course, Batman was still following their every move.
Damian spent the day outside, wandering through yet another corn field, or curling up underneath the apple tree he had found near a creek, reading the book on wildlife animals Grayson had bought him during their last stop at a gas station the day before.
Grayson was sleeping on the backseats of the cab, curled up in a demeaning position, throwing up every few hours, whenever a tendril of light managed it past the darkened windows.
Damian had done that, using his own and Grayson’s cloths to create the illusion of darkness, after the man had woken up crying because the pain rummaging through his brain was so bad.
After that Damian had done his best to offer Grayson silence and rest.
He hadn’t known the brain injury had affected Grayson this badly – Father had never told him about that.
He had been reading when the realization hit: He was thinking about Richard less and less, the sorrow that had moved into his heart slowly easing its iron grip with each passing day. And yet he didn’t think of Grayson as Richard any more than he had before – maybe even less so.
Grayson was so different. He was quicker to anger, and louder in his joy. He liked different music and was constantly swearing. He even smoked – Damian had caught him trying to hide it. Ric Grayson unironically enjoyed roadside attractions and thought modern art was cool.
He was nothing like Richard.
Damian wasn’t sure if he was starting to enjoy that or not.
“Hey, you bitch!”
It was the evening of the eighth day, when they almost got caught by Batman. Or once of his associates at least.
They had managed to leave the dinner without creating any drama at all, when they heard loud voices coming from an alley not too far away. They should have turned around and left, but neither Grayson nor Damian were particularly good at that.
Their steps carried them to an alley, and to a crime: Three men holding down a viciously fighting woman. She was good, Damian would give her that, but even her skill would not safe her from the three bastards who were taking advantage of their numbers.
“I would stop doing that.”
Grayson’s voice had that dangerous tilt again, something violent bubbling close under the surface. The men, however, didn’t seem to hear what Damian did, laughing in the face of danger:
“Oh? And who are you, pretty boy? And the brat? Looking to join our lady friend on the floor?”
This time it wasn’t just Grayson that sprang into action, Damian fast and aggressive beside him, as their bodies moved in tandem. The three assailants were no challenge at all – Damian would have beaten them alone, he was… he had been Robin after all. But with a slightly unhinged Nightwing by his side?
The men never even stood a chance to begin with.
The woman quickly thanked them, her eyes telling Damian that she would remember them – and that she might be a great ally or a great foe in the future. They would all have to choose their own paths to find out what it would be.
It was then, that it happened.
Cassandra, in her horrible Orphan suit, jumped down from the roof on the left side of the alley. The only sound she made had been on purpose: The crunch of her feet as they hit the gravel covering the ground.
Next to Damian, Grayson tensed. He clearly didn’t know who exactly had graced them with their existence, but it wasn’t hard to recognize a Bat if you saw one:
“Cassandra” Damian offered up.
“Damian. Ric.”
Her voice was as silent as ever, and yet she never once stumbled across the unfamiliar name of Damian’s companion. He could feel Grayson appreciate it, even if Damian didn’t dare to look:
“Are you going to tell Father that you found us?”
Cassandra cocked her head, something contemplative radiating from her entire body, her face hidden from sight:
“Two days. Then I tell the Bat. You two are good for each other.”
“Wha-?”
Grayson never got to finish his question, Cassandra jumping into action, climbing back on top of the building, as if wings had been sewn to her back. She was a wonder of moving parts, and Damian felt sorrow over all those possibilities the two of them never had.
It would only hurt him, if he continued to stare at the space Cassandra had left behind. Damian turned around, walking out of the alley and towards their car:
“Come on, Grayson. Didn’t you hear? We have two days before the Bat knows where we are.”
“Sure.”
Grayson followed.
Grayson stopped the car in a small forest, nothing but trees surrounding them, a small house decorating the clearing in front of them.
They had reached their goal.
No.
Damian had reached his goal. He had no idea if Grayson had goals of his own, if he had aspirations besides drinking and driving and smoking and trying to forget things he could no longer remember.
A glance in the direction of the man Damian had spent the last eleven days with, told him nothing new. Grayson looked tired; tension that spoke of a slowly building headache hidden in his brows. The scar on his skull – once the only thing Damian could focus on, now no longer all that noteworthy – looked pale in the light of the late summer sun.
They had reached their goal. The end of their travels. The final destination of this… business arrangement that had brought them here.
And yet Damian wasn’t ready to open the door.
Grayson didn’t make any attempt to leave the car either.
Instead both of them just stared at the house that offered Damian all he had asked for not even two weeks ago: complete and permanent protection from the Batman. From Father.
Should Damian step through those doors, he would never return. No matter what Father tried. No matter how much Pennyworth cried.
(would Grayson miss him, too?)
The moment Damian would step through these doors, he would cease his existence in this universe and travel into another. Not one he could choose, not one he knew he would survive – just one so far away from this one, not even the Justice League could follow.
(a part of Damian wanted Grayson to miss him)
The sun was beginning to set, and Grayson needed to find a motel before it was too late. Damian didn’t want to force the man to spend another night sleeping in his cab. Grayson deserved a prober bed and a shower after what he had done for Damian.
“I really should-“
“Why don’t you stay?”
They had spoken at the same time, Damian reaching for the handle, Grayson reaching for him. For a moment the silence returned and then Damian could no longer control himself:
“What?”
“I…” – there was a look of slight bafflement on Grayson’s face, as if he had surprised himself when he had first spoken – “Why… Why don’t you stay? With me, I mean.”
“Let me rephrase that, Grayson: What the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?”
“Hey! Language!”
Damian sent a glare in Grayson’s direction that simply translated to “are you kidding me?” and Grayson’s answering grin felt like home, before Grayson turned serious again, the twist of his lip so foreign and yet so familiar – only this time because Damian recognized it as something that was inherently Ric:
“I… It would suck ass if you vanished into this witch cabin and I never see you again. I… I like you, kid. You are the only one in this… this mess that calls themselves my – our – family that I can actually stand. No, that sounds wrong. I…”
Grayson stopped, taking a deep breath before he returned his focus on Damian:
“I care for you, little one. And I had more fun in the last ten days, than I had in the entire last year. Running away sucks – but living on the road is the one thing I remember. I am good at it – and together we would be the fucking best.”
We were the best Richard.
Damian wouldn’t be able to explain the tears to Grayson, without having to tell him that he accepted Richard’s death. And Damian wasn’t there yet, was not ready to see Richard gone completely – but until he could say goodbye, he would gladly travel the world with Grayson.
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
Grayson sounded so hopeful, so happy. Damian sent a last look into the direction of the small house in the woods, before he whispered:
“Yes, I am sure. And my name is Damian.”
Grayson grinned and started the car, nobody having left, nobody being left behind:
“Sure, kid.”
On their eleventh day together, they decided that there would be a twelfth.