Chapter Text
The cab idled in the rain, its headlights throwing long streaks of gold against the cracked pavement.
Damian stood at the curb, hood pulled up, watching the driver sleep behind the fogged glass. The man’s head was tipped back, one hand still on the wheel, radio murmuring low.
He shouldn’t have come.
He told himself that twice before knocking anyway.
The driver blinked awake at the sound—bleary blue eyes, a hand instinctively brushing the scar at his temple. For a moment there was nothing, no spark of recognition, just confusion at the kid standing in the downpour.
Then, softly, “Hey… you okay, kid?”
Damian swallowed hard.
“I need to talk to you, Richard.”
The man sighed and leaned over to open the passenger door.
“You’re one of the Waynes, right?”
Damian climbed in, shutting the rain out behind him. The car smelled faintly of musk and wet pavement. A duffle bag slumped at his feet, its zipper half-broken—clothes, a toothbrush, and a bottle of painkillers spilling from the gap.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m Damian. I’m your—” He stopped, swallowed. “I’m Dick’s youngest brother.”
He cringed at his own words. Having to introduce himself to someone he used to know so completely—someone who’d once been his guardian—felt like twisting a knife.
Ric studied him with a familiar gaze that held no recognition.
“Look, kid—”
“I know,” Damian cut in, too quickly. “I know you don’t want anything to do with us. I know you’re not… him. But I—”
His voice broke. He wiped at his eye, breath catching.
Ric sighed again, the sound heavy but not unkind. He nodded to himself, like he’d just made up his mind.
“You’re soaked,” he said finally. “Let’s get you inside.”
He reached into the duffle for a small umbrella and stepped out of the cab. Damian followed, the rain swallowing them both as they crossed the street toward the familiar, half-crumbling apartment building.
They entered the apartment, and Damian could barely breathe through the dust that had settled thick in the air. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time he’d visited Dick—right before he lost his memories.
Even the trash in the garbage can was the same, stale and half-forgotten, giving the whole room a rancid scent.
Ric walked in first and sank onto the couch with an ungraceful groan. Damian followed, careful not to disturb anything in what felt like a shrine to the life his brother had forgotten.
Photographs lined the shelves in the living room: the extended Bat-family gathered at Thanksgiving, Dick’s friends laughing at Wally’s house, a six-year-old Dick balanced proudly on the shoulders of his parents.
Damian smiled faintly as he picked up one of the two of them and Damian’s best friend Jon — Dick’s arm around the two kids, the circus tent blurred in the background. That had only been a few months ago.
Ric’s voice broke through the quiet.
“He really cared about you, didn’t he?”
Damian nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I caught him a few times referring to me as his son by accident.”
He set the photo back in its place, leaving a small clean mark in the dust where it had rested.
“I thought you were brothers?”
Ric’s voice was gentle, though it carried that uncertain compassion of someone trying to sound more invested than they felt.
“We are—were.” Damian corrected himself softly, lowering onto the far end of the couch. “He raised me for a year. Our father was… indisposed, and Dick was my guardian then.” A small smile flickered across his face. “We were the best.”
Ric didn’t answer. He just watched him—the boy he used to call his own, though he couldn’t remember any of it. He knew he should say something comforting, but nothing came to mind.
Finally, he asked,
“Would you like something to drink?”
It was such a small question, but it hit Damian like a punch. Dick would have known without asking.
He drew his knees up on the couch, hugging them loosely.
“Tea would be nice.”
Tea was the one comfort all the Waynes shared. Alfred had made it for them in every kind of crisis—his quiet ritual for fixing the unfixable. Something to warm the body and the soul, he used to say.
Ric nodded and stood, moving toward the small kitchenette. He tied up the old garbage bag first, hoping that would help the smell. Then he started opening cabinets, searching.
“What kind?” he called.
“Jasmine,” Damian said quietly, trying to fill the space.
Ric brewed the tea in silence, muscle memory guiding his hands before he realized how natural it felt—how many times he must have done this before.
Neither of them spoke, even after the tea had steeped and they’d both settled back onto the couch.
Ric couldn’t hold it in anymore. He didn’t know this boy—not really—but he could tell something was wrong. The way Damian’s breath hitched, the quiet sniffles he tried to hide.
“Why are you here, kid?”
Damian’s answer came out broken. “I’m sorry.”
Ric frowned, “For what?”
“I’m so sorry.” Damian’s voice cracked as he looked down at his mug, eyes unfocused.
Ric didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Sure, he’d said before that he didn’t want anything to do with his so-called family anymore—but this was a kid. One he used to love, even if the memories were gone. He could feel it somewhere deep in his chest.
“You don’t want me here,” Damian muttered, curling in on himself. “You shouldn’t want me here. I’ve done such terrible things—I deserve everything—but my karma is hurting others.”
“Kid—Damian, right?” Ric shifted closer, holding back his own emotion. “It’s not your fault. I was told what happened. It isn’t your fault. You weren’t even there.”
Damian shook his head, unable to speak.
Ric sighed.
“I doubt he—” he caught himself, softening. “I doubt I would blame you for anything.”
Damian took a shaky breath.
“I’ve killed people. So many people.” His knuckles turned white around the mug. “I’ve done terrible things, and this is my repercussion. I have to reap what I’ve sown, but…” He looked up, meeting the same blue eyes that used to comfort him. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
Ric hesitated, then placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You didn’t do this.”
Damian’s voice broke again. “But Alfred died because of me. My brother doesn’t even remember me anymore. My best friend was supposed to be back a week ago. There are rumors he’s gone missing.” A tear slid down his cheek. “If this isn’t divine retribution, then why is everyone I care about suffering?”
Ric didn’t know what to say. The air between them hung heavy, steeped in the scent of jasmine and dust.
He gave Damian’s shoulder a small squeeze, a poor substitute for all the comfort he couldn’t remember how to give.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the slow ticking of a clock on the wall.
Then, softly—
“You mentioned a friend,” Ric said. “The one who was supposed to come back?”
Damian’s fingers tightened around his mug. He didn’t look up. “Jon,” he murmured. “Jon Kent.”
Ric frowned, thinking. “Hes the one in that picture?”
Damian nodded. “He left for a two-week mission in space with his grandfather. It’s been a month. No one knows where he is.” His voice thinned to a whisper. “There’s no signal. No trace. Just—nothing.”
He set his mug down on the table, hands trembling slightly. “He’s twelve. Won’t even be a teenager for another two months. And now he’s just… gone. Lost in space. He’s probably so scared—such a crybaby.”
Ric watched him carefully. “And you miss him.”
“No,” Damian spat out defensively, “I just— He probably feels very lonely and I don't like seeing him sad.”
“And I…” Damian swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I didn’t know where else to go.” He exhaled shakily. “Alfred’s gone. Father’s barely present because of it. I thought… maybe even if you don’t remember, you’d still know what to say.”
Ric’s throat tightened. There was nothing he could say that would fix this—no memory to draw on, no wisdom to borrow.Still, he hated seeing the kid shake like that.
He took a slow sip of tea, staring into the cup for a long moment before speaking, “You said this Jon kid’s out there somewhere… you don’t know for sure that he’s gone, right?”
Damian shook his head. “No one does.”
“Then… maybe don’t decide for the universe yet.” Ric’s voice was low, rough around the edges. “Sometimes people get lost. Doesn’t mean they stay that way.”
Damian looked up, uncertain.
Ric gave a small shrug. “I don’t remember much, but I do know this—people have a way of showing back up. Even if you're not ready. They just… do.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. Damian’s shoulders loosened, the tightness in his chest easing just a little.
“Maybe,” he said softly.
Ric nodded, reaching for his mug again. “Yeah. Maybe.”