Chapter Text
He burst into the cave, the dim lighting a welcome respite from the bright city lights he'd left behind. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth. Bruce's footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls as he made his way deeper into the cave.
Dick sat on a medical cot, his long legs stretched out in front of him as Alfred tended to a cut on his knee. The usually stoic young man looked worn, his eyes cast downward in a mixture of frustration and defeat. Cassandra, meanwhile, sat on a nearby stool, her ankle iced and elevated as she gazed absently into the distance.
"How is everyone?" Bruce asked, his voice firm but laced with concern. He scanned the room, taking in the various injuries and the general air of exhaustion that hung over his team.
Dick raised an eyebrow, his expression sardonic. "Just great," he drawled, his tone heavy with sarcasm. Alfred, sensing the tension, worked more quickly to finish dressing the wound on Dick's knee.
Bruce nodded sympathetically, then turned to Cassandra, waiting for her assessment. She looked up, her eyes locking onto his, and gave a small nod. "Fine," she signed.
As his worries eased, Bruce's demeanor shifted. He straightened, his shoulders squaring as he transitioned from "dad mode" to "Batman mode." His voice took on a more commanding tone, and his eyes narrowed as he demanded, "Mission report."
Cassandra's expression turned serious as she began to sign. "Scarecrow had set up fear toxin bombs around the city," she explained, her hands moving quickly and efficiently. "We prioritized disabling them and helping victims. It was a mess, Bruce. The toxin was spreading fast, and people were panicking."
Dick picked up where Cassandra left off, his voice grim. "Once we finally managed to clear all the bombs, we made our way to Scarecrow. We found him in a puddle of his own blood. Someone skilled killed him."
Bruce's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with possibilities. "It was the Hood," Cassandra signed, her hands moving with conviction.
Bruce's gaze lingered on Cassandra, his expression a thoughtful mask that betrayed the intensity of his thoughts. Once he had heard the description on TV, a spark of recognition had ignited within him. He knew Hood had been involved, and the implications were profound.
The information he had gathered about the Hood painted a picture of a skilled mercenary with ruthless efficiency. His targets were often the most heinous of criminals, sexual offenders and murderers. The Joker and Scarecrow were just the latest additions to his list. Bruce had observed that the Hood was a ghost, flitting from city to city, completing his missions with precision before vanishing into the night.
"How did you confirm it was the Hood?" Bruce asked, his voice low and tense, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for any detail he might have missed. The air was heavy with anticipation, and the silence that followed was oppressive.
Dick's voice was laced with remorse, his head turned away, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. "We saw him run, but there were too many injured civilians, so we had to let him go." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken regret, like a challenge that had been left unmet.
Bruce's questions continued, his tone measured, each word carefully chosen. "How was Scarecrow killed?"
Dick's reply was barely above a whisper. "Two shots, one to his head and one to his chest, and a cut that resembles a bat." The image was vivid, and Bruce could almost see the scene unfolding before his eyes.
A cold dread crept up Bruce's spine, his anxiety rising like a tide. What if the Hood would stay in Gotham, targeting the other rogues that infested the city like a plague? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the stakes had just been raised.
Gotham was a city that bred corruption and violence, a hotbed of supervillains who seemed to thrive on chaos. It was more than likely that the Hood would find more targets here, and Bruce's mind was already racing with scenarios. Could the Hood be an ally in his quest for justice, or would he prove to be a more formidable foe than the villains themselves? The uncertainty hung in the air, a question mark that only time could answer.
The idea that someone had been adding information to the computer about him should have eased his worry, but whoever did it clearly was in over their heads. The thought made his stomach twist with unease, and he suddenly felt a strong desire to extricate himself from the situation. However, the heavy looks on his kids' faces made that impossible.
Bruce closed the distance between himself and Dick, wrapping a reassuring arm around the young man's shoulders in an attempt to ease his guilt. As he did, he couldn't help but notice how much Dick had grown – when did he become so big? Cassandra, sensing the moment, stepped closer and took her place under his other arm. Bruce pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling a surge of paternal affection.
"Both of you did well," he said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "It was the right call to make." They stood there for a while, a tableau of comfort and reassurance. Alfred, ever the discreet butler, had slipped away with the stealth of a seasoned operative, leaving the trio to their moment.
After a while, the kids made their way to the showers, eager to wash away the dirt and grime of the night. Before they completely disappeared he quickly turned and asked.
“One more thing, can you add his description to the computer when you file the mission report?"
Dick continued walking to the shower but made a gesture that looked like a halfassed thumps up.
Bruce knew he had to continue his research.
__________________________________
Bruce walked toward the cave, his mind consumed by the mystery of the Hood. Despite his best efforts, he had yet to uncover any significant information about the vigilante. The days since the attack had been eerily quiet, with no new updates on the computer. Bruce wasn't sure if this silence was a relief or a cause for concern.
The description Dick had provided; a red helmet, brown leather jacket, and armor was frustratingly vague. Bruce had spent countless hours in the cave, pouring over research and scouring the depths of the dark web for any hint of information. But the more he dug, the more he felt like he was losing touch with his kids.
Guilt weighed heavily on him. He knew he needed to make time for them, to be present and engaged. As he considered his options, he thought about each of his kids. Tim was away on Titans business, Dick was in Bludhaven, and Cass was busy with her dance recital preparations, she always kept her dances a secret until the performance. Duke was studying hard for his test week, and Bruce didn't want to disturb him.
Damian, however, was a different story. Bruce hadn't seen much of the boy lately. Damian still kept mostly to himself, struggling to adjust to life at the manor. It had only been a year since his life had been uprooted, and he had to leave behind his mother and everything he knew. Bruce could see the toll it had taken on the boy, the cultural shock of going from an assassin's life to a "normal" one still a major issue.
Bruce often caught glimpses of the deep-seated longing in Damian's eyes, a yearning for the League of Assassins despite the harsh treatment he had endured at their hands. It was a complex and conflicted emotion, one that Bruce struggled to fully understand. He had once asked Damian if he missed his mother, and the boy's response had been telling. Normally strong and defiant, Damian had become quiet and soft-spoken, his eyes clouding over with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. "Yeah, something like that," he had replied, leaving Bruce to wonder what lay beneath the surface of his words.
As Bruce entered the cave, he was surprised to see Damian sitting in front of the computer, his eyes fixed intently on the screen. It was as if the boy had been summoned by Bruce's thoughts.
Bruce had a habit of startling people, a skill he had honed since becoming the Dark Knight. He liked to pop up quietly behind them, catching them off guard. It was a trait that had served him well in his crime-fighting endeavors. And even though he would never say it out loud; above all he found it funny.
But now, as he gazed at Damian's focused expression, Bruce decided to indulge in his usual behavior. It always managed to get a laugh out of his kids.
So he did what he always did. He slowed his breathing, moved silently behind the boy, and peered over his shoulder to see what had captured his attention. Damian was focused on the Batcomputer, a file open on the screen. As Bruce got closer, he could see which one it was, the Hood file. His eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued. Why would Damian be interested in the Hood's file? And more importantly, why would he be adding something to it?
Before Bruce could see what Damian was typing, the boy suddenly turned around, quickly closing the tab as he moved. "Father," Damian said, his voice neutral.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Damian asked, looking at Bruce with his head slightly cocked to one side. Bruce felt a surge of embarrassment, taken aback by the boy's perceptiveness. He took a moment to respond, his words faltering. "I... uhm..."
It didn't often happen that Bruce got caught off guard, and he wasn't sure how to react. Damian, however, seemed to find the situation amusing. "Ah, this must be what Grayson spoke about," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You were trying to startle me."
Bruce's face grew warmer as he looked away, trying to compose himself. "No," he muttered, his denial sounding unconvincing.
To change the focus from his embarrassing moment, Bruce suddenly changed the subject. "What were you doing? Anything I can help with?"
Damian's expression turned blank, his eyes giving away nothing. "No, I just wanted to familiarize myself with Red Hood's file, in case I come across him," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing that there was more to Damian's words than met the eye. But he let it go, for now, intrigued by the boy's interest in the Hood's file.
The silence between them was palpable for a few beats, but then Damian broke the stillness with an unexpected request. "Father, can we go get ice cream?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of hesitation, as if he wasn't sure if he'd be allowed.
Bruce was taken aback by the request. Damian wasn't one to ask for such things; he usually found them childish or a waste of time. But the fact that he was asking now, after their earlier conversation, made Bruce's heart swell with warmth. It seemed that Damian was finally starting to feel comfortable enough to let his guard down and ask for something as simple as ice cream.
Bruce's face softened as he looked at Damian, and he smiled. "That sounds lovely," he replied, trying to keep his tone light and casual. He couldn't help but notice the spark of excitement in Damian's eyes, and he felt a sense of joy at being able to bring a smile to his son's face.
Suddenly whatever was going on with the hood could wait.
________________________________________
It seemed like this plan had worked. Damian had almost been caught red-handed, and Bruce's reaction had been exactly what he'd hoped for a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Apparently, even the fearsome Dark Knight would drop everything for what Grayson called "bonding time."
Damian's lips curled into a small smile as he thought about his little additions to Jason's file. He knew it was childish, but he couldn't stop. He missed his brother, and recounting information about him made him feel connected. He missed the times at the League when they'd been up to no good, pulling ridiculous stunts and laughing about it later.
He'd told Jason about his mischief, and it had gone better than he'd expected. Jason had laughed for almost 5 minutes straight, his eyes shining with amusement. "Please keep going, it's funny as fuck," he'd said, "just don't give away anything that would reveal my identity." Damian's smile grew wider as he thought about his brother's reaction.
Damian felt a sense of resignation wash over him as he gazed out the window, his mind elsewhere. His father, Bruce, seemed to be on cloud nine, his enthusiasm for their impromptu ice cream trip infectious. It was hard to imagine this man, who was so gentle and caring with his kids, as the Dark Knight, the fearsome vigilante who prowled the streets of Gotham.
As they drove, Bruce chatted effortlessly, asking Damian about his school days, his art projects, and his interests. Damian responded with monosyllabic answers, his mind preoccupied with the secret he'd been keeping from his father. He hoped that once they got back to the manor, he'd have enough time to remove the latest addition to Jason's file before Bruce stumbled upon it.
The car pulled into a parking space, and Damian's eyes landed on the familiar ice cream shop. He'd been here before, shortly after arriving at the manor, and Jason had told him it was a tradition to celebrate the first patrol as robin with ice cream. Dick had confirmed this, and Damian couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia.
As they stepped out of the car, Damian's gaze was drawn to the colorful array of ice cream flavors before him. The shop was a haven of whimsy, with pastel colors and quirky decorations. The flavors on offer were unlike anything he'd had in the League, where ice cream was a simple, functional treat. Here, there were flavors like cotton candy, birthday cake, and rocky road with marshmallows. It had shocked Damian the first time.
Bruce smiled at him, his eyes warm with excitement. "What flavor do you want to try, Damian?" he asked, his voice full of anticipation. Damian hesitated, but as his eyes laid on a familiar flavour he knew what to get.
As they stood before the ice cream vendor, Damian's eyes sparkled with a hint of excitement. "Mint chocolate chip, please," he said, his voice filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
Bruce looked at him for a moment, a small flash of sadness washing over his face before he quickly blinked it away. He turned to the vendor, a warm smile spreading across his features. "You heard the kid, make it a double scoop, and for me, one scoop of vanilla, please."
As they walked out of the shop, good weather was a rare thing in Gotham but the warm sunlight and gentle breeze seemed to wash away some of the tension between them. They strolled toward the nearby park, the sound of children's laughter and chirping birds filling the air. For a while, they walked in silence, Bruce waiting for Damian to speak up about something that seemed to be weighing on his mind.
The silence was eventually broken by Bruce's gentle voice. "I know I'm not the best at hard talks, but I really do hope that you like it at the manor" He looked at Damian with a soft expression, his eyes filled with concern. "And if there's something I can do to make it more comfortable, you would tell me."
Damian's gaze drifted away, his eyes fixed on some distant point as he struggled to find the right words. He took a deep breath, the cold ice cream cone clutched tightly in his hand. "I... I know you guys hate everything about the League," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it was my home."
Bruce's expression softened further, his heart heavy with understanding. He sensed that there was something Damian needed to get off his chest. "Go on," he encouraged gently.
Damian's eyes dropped, his voice barely audible. "Not everything was bad..." He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. Bruce's arm instinctively reached out, wrapping around Damian's shoulders in a gentle hug.
Damian's voice gained strength as he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. "The way you talk about the League, all of you make it seem as if there are only monsters in the League, but not everyone is evil. They are just as human as we are." His voice betrayed him at the last sentence, cracking with emotion. "It makes me feel like I'm in the wrong to miss them."
He turned his face away from Bruce, not wanting to show his watery eyes. Bruce's grip on his shoulders tightened, and he gently pulled Damian into a more secure hug. "Oh, Damian..." he said softly, getting down to Damian's level.
"We never meant it like that, kiddo," Bruce reassured him. "It's alright to miss your mother." Something in Damian's chest tightened, and he felt a pang of frustration. Again, they thought he was only talking about Talia.
Damian's voice was laced with desperation as he tried to make Bruce understand. "But it's not just Talia... There are others who are good." His eyes pleaded with Bruce, hoping that this time, someone would listen and understand.
Bruce's expression changed from concern to realization, and he paused, searching for the right words. "Do you miss someone else?" he asked gently. "Ra's? Did you have a friend or someone else?" Damian's eyes dropped, and he hesitated, unsure of how to respond.
He couldn't reveal the truth about his brother, but he desperately wanted to share something. A spark of inspiration hit him, and he decided to tread carefully. "There was someone... not a friend, but something closer to an older brother," he whispered.
Bruce's face went pale for a moment, surprise written all over his features. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, and worry replaced the shock. "Oh, Damian, why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly. "Who was he?"
Damian chose his words carefully, trying not to reveal too much. "My mother took him in, he was hurt for a while, but once he was healed, he was my guard." He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. "He would protect me, and he let me be a kid... I miss him."
A single tear escaped, and Damian cursed himself, quickly blinking away the rest. Bruce's eyes filled with compassion, and he reached out, gently wiping away the stray tear. "It's okay, lad”.
"Do you know where he is now?" Bruce asked, his eyes locked intently on Damian's face.
Damian hesitated before responding, "He's on missions a lot." Bruce's expression changed, surprise and concern etched on his features.
"Do you keep in contact?" Bruce asked, a hint of Batman's intensity creeping into his voice. It was clear that he was worried about the fact that his youngest son was in contact with an assassin.
Damian hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Bruce's voice softened, and he promised, "I won't get mad, but I need to know, Damian."
Damian's eyes dropped, and he admitted, "Sometimes." He knew it was a bad idea to reveal this, but it was too late now. A small part of him felt relieved that he had finally admitted it.
Just as Damian was processing his emotions, Bruce's phone rang, breaking the tension. Bruce answered, his voice light but controlled. "Alfred, what is wrong?"
He turned and spoke for a few minutes before hanging up and turning back to Damian. It was clear that their respective masks had slipped back in place, and neither was too eager to finish the conversation.
"Alfred called to ask when we would be back for dinner," Bruce said, a hint of a smile on his face. Damian nodded, understanding the butler's subtle way of urging them back home.
"Let's head home then, we wouldn't want to keep him waiting," Damian said, a small smile playing on his lips.
As they walked back to the car, their hearts felt a little lighter, the weight of their unfinished conversation temporarily lifted by the mundane routine of returning home for dinner.