There was a summer lull, a heatwave during which evil festered in the drains and fermented under the streets but generally kept its head down. Though Gotham could never exactly be called sleepy, there are more ominous words for lethargy and they certainly seemed to apply as petty crime and petty victories remained the order of the week.

Dick was using the opportunity to catch up on sleep.

He still worked nights, of course, he wasn't slacking, but it'd been a long time since he'd let himself relax and now during these slow, sweltering days he found excuses to saunter down to the batcave, where, more often than not, he'd find Bruce pondering some obscure detail of a long-cold case, hands folded, lost in thought in front of the computer screen. Dick would lean on the desk and if it was a good day they'd talk for hours, he'd find some unnecessary but difficult crime-fighting question to ask Bruce and they'd trade ideas, methods, memories in the name of investigation: the closest to chit-chat the Batman ever came. If it wasn't a good day, Alfred's cooking and the use of the computer still made the trip worthwhile.

Dick had to make do with just the computer and a few freshly baked cookies today. He'd just buckled down to do some homework (a sophisticated DNA analysis that he didn't have the tech to do at his apartment) when a streak of red caught his eye.

"Damian! Holy - I'm so sorry! Uh - computer, mute!"

"Tt."

Damian, perched atop a stalagmite, didn't open his eyes. He was sitting in a perfectly balanced, cross-legged pose that obviously indicated meditation, and Dick now realized he'd had the computer on and had been making noise for quite a while, and that Damian must have been here trying to maintain some level of focus the entire time.

"Sorry. I didn't see you. You were completely in the shadow."

Damian didn't reply.

"Uh… I can get outta here."

Damian gave a little jerk of his chin, something almost like a flinch. Dick turned back to gather the crime scene evidence he'd strewn all over the table, then hesitated and looked at Damian again.

Damian had his mask on, and there was a deep furrow between his brows, a hard, clenched look to his jaw. As Dick watched, his hands jerked up to cover his ears as if he was blocking out a painful noise, and then fell to his knees again in fists.

"Are…" Dick hesitated. "Hey, is everything okay?"

There was a pause, then Damian opened his eyes and leapt lightly to his feet, balancing for a second on top of the stalagmite before landing in the light. "I see you're not going to be quiet any time soon," he said. The words were sullen and as he spoke he pulled his hood up defensively.

Dick half-turned back to the computer, but kept an eye on Damian. "I didn't know you did yoga."

"Yoga," Damian repeated. "Sometimes I question how many of your jokes are born out of pure ignorance."

"So enlighten me."

There was a silence.

"I was trying to clear my mind," Damian said finally.

"Oh. And was it working before I barged in?"

Once again, Damian was quiet, standing there with his arms folded, and after a moment Dick turned towards him. "Damian, is something wrong?"

"In Ra's Al Ghul's household, an atmosphere of quasi-spirituality was maintained," Damian said, "And while I found elements of it totally lacking and self-contradictory I could never dismiss the power of superstition as a weapon of fear. Or completely dismiss evidence of the supernatural."

"What are you trying to say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Do you want to spar or something, to get your mind off it?"

"No!" Damian tugged at his hood again. "I don't want to."

"Alright, alright. You're probably training a lot with so much time off these days, anyway."

"I haven't trained… hardly… all week."

"Damian, why would you do that to yourself? Isn't it difficult to keep a lid on everything if you're not working your energy off?"

Damian slammed a fist against the cave wall. "Obviously!"

Dick shut off the computer and turned towards Damian completely, head tilted, indicating his full attention and concern.

Damian sighed loudly.

Dick didn't move.

"What would you say of I told you I'd been having visions?"

"I'd, uh …" That wasn't at all what Dick had been expecting. "I'd ask you if you'd been getting enough sleep?"

Damian took off his mask and rubbed his eyes with a closed fist, the hood still drooping over his face. "So would Batman. And he'd end the conversation there."

"Well, to be fair, you are growing really quickly and not showing signs of severe mental illness, so what else could it be? Some new strain of fear gas you've been poisoned with? What do you see?"

"Never mind."

"Hey, I don't have to believe in visions to care about something that's freaking you out."

Damian met Dick's eyes for the first time, and Dick felt a wave of trepidation.

"Bud," Dick ventured, "It's okay, you can tell me."

Damian scowled and looked away, his moment of vulnerability over. "Suffice it to say... I feel that my instincts and training will soon win out over my better nature. I see so much ... gore."

"Oh - Damian."

Damian wet his lips and didn't elaborate.

"That stuff is over, Dami, you know it's normal to have trouble forgetting and forgiving."

"You misunderstand me," Damian snapped. "I'm not seeing what I've done, but what I'm sure I will do."

"Don't say that - you're not that person anymore. You've done nothing but good since you came here."

"That isn't true. I -"

"I don't want to hear a laundry list of your mistakes."

"I killed - "

"Don't!"

"Morgan Ducard, I killed him, I c-crushed his skull -" Damian looked at his hands wildly, fingers curled, words spilling out of his mouth, "-Put bits of bone in his brain while Batm -"

"Damian, stop, stop." Dick dropped to his knee and took Damian's upper arms in a steadying grip. "Stop it now."

"Y… you don't care?"

"I care because it hurt you. But that's the exact reason I know I don't have to worry."

"Bullshit, it means I'm capable of -"

"It means you're capable of regret, and seeing your mistakes." Dick brushed Damian's hair back from his forehead gently. "It won't happen again."

Damian growled in frustration. "How can I trust myself?"

"Maybe you can't. Bruce doesn't trust himself."

"Then what - "

"Trust us. Trust me. That's why we have a family."

Damian's mouth twitched downwards. "Will you watch me?"

"I'll watch you. I'll hold you back when you need it."

"Will you?"

Dick nodded.

"You'd better."

"Look, I'm here." Dick put one hand on his chest, the other resting on Damian's shoulder. "If I'm not here, I'm dead. Those are the only two options."

It ended with a thunderstorm and a robbery.

The rain came down and left the streets slick and the radios lit up with the news that there was broken glass where the bank window used to be, that the suspects were fleeing on foot and there was no sign yet of the Batman. Shots had been fired.

Dick was in the cave when they got the alert.

Normally, when news like this came, Damian was the first in the Batmobile - often, Bruce had to shove him out of the driver's seat. And it had been weeks since he had been able to take down anything worse than purse thieves. But there was a painful moment of hesitance, a minute where all three of them - Nightwing, Batman, and Robin - stood there in full costume and stared at the screen that announced there was a fight to be had.

Bruce broke the silence. "What is it, Robin?"

"Nothing's wrong, father. What are we waiting for? Are we not going to go?"

"I think we've got so used to you jumping the gun that we've forgotten how to take initiative," Dick joked, turning towards the Batmobile himself. "Uh - hm - Damian, does this have anything to do with your yoga?"

Damian stood there, arms folded, and radiated indignation without answering Dick's question.

"Batman, this is different, but how about I take this one with Robin? For old time's sake. Would you feel more comfortable with that, Dami?"

"I am comfortable delivering justice, it doesn't matter to me who my partner is tonight," Damian snapped, but he finally started towards the car now, and Dick nodded at Bruce. "Trust me on this one. It'll be back to normal in no time, you'll see. We all get rusty."

"Rusty," Damian scoffed from the passenger seat.

"I'll direct you from the cave," Bruce said, "If that's what you want, Nightwing."

"Thanks. I owe you." Dick gave a playful two-fingered salute and got in beside Damian. "Sweet!"

"Don't scratch her."

They listened to the police monitor on the way to the crime scene. The suspects had disappeared and the GCPD had the area surrounded, and despite his excitement over Bruce's tech, Dick always took to the air when he had the choice, so before long he and Damian were soaring from building to building, scanning the ground from above. The rain had slowed down to a dribble and the air was warm, humid.

They worked in silence, broken only once as they peered over the side of a skyscraper together.

"How'd you know?" Damian said.

"I always know," Dick replied, and then - "There, down there, in that alley. Is that them?"

Damian whipped out a pair of binoculars. "Absolutely. There're five, heavily armed, and it looks like they've got - Nightwing?"

Dick dove off the side of the roof, catching himself at the last moment with a laugh that sounded eerie from so far away. Damian sighed and followed suit. "I've remembered why I'm Batman's regular partner and only yours out of necessity," he said, landing with a practiced roll beside Dick. "It's that obnoxious giggle. Do you consider giving yourself away a trademark?"

"Yes. Shh."

The criminals were close now, just on the other side of the low building Dick and Damian were now perched on top of. "You ready?"

"Nightwing, I can handle myself. You know I can. Don't underestimate me."

"I hear you," Dick said seriously. "Let's go, then."

They went.

Over the roof and straight down onto the criminals with a yell, and Damian found himself breaking wrists and knocking guns away, kicking jaws and listening to Dick laugh again. He maintained his focus. He ignored the cold sweat on his forehead. Surely he was coming down with something, this was all a summer fever. He never felt fear this physically.

And then there was a different raised voice, a harsh bark. "Stop what you're doing, Boy Wonder, or this clown gets it!"

Damian dropped his fist and looked around.

Even with the thug's arm around his throat and the handgun to his head, Dick rolled his eyes. "Clown, really?" He said. "I accept insults, but only appropriate ones."

"Drop him," Damian said in a bored voice, "You think we haven't dealt with a thousand of your kind?"

"I mean it, I'll shoot him. You vigilantes are a -"

"I know, I hate our disrespect for the law," Dick said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "It's almost on par with theft and threatening innocent people with guns."

"Don't get smart. I will shoot you. I'm not afraid."

"We don't have time for this," Dick said, and he began to execute a familiar move - Damian had seen him evade chokeholds in a blur of acrobatics a hundred times.

But this time the gun went off.

Dick dropped to the ground, and Damian hesitated, took a half-step forward with inertia and then shuddered to a stop, looking from the smoking gun to the puddle of blood to Dick's blank face.

He stared. The bullet wound was black, it went right through Dick's ear, split open his head. His eyes were still open under his mask. "You… you bastard… you…"

"You're next, kiddo." The criminal sounded slightly shaken, but he raised his gun and pointed it straight at Damian. The barrel was splattered with red.

"You think!?"

The members of the gang that Damian and Dick had partially incapacitated were picking themselves up now, rising up like ghouls around Damian. But there wasn't any time for them to reach out, there wasn't time for them to make a move, because Damian was faster, he'd jumped towards the gun, he'd thrown himself onto the murderer, his fingers were digging in the soft parts of the man's skull, turning the eyes to pulpy smears, leaving red grooves on the man's neck, he pulled off his gloves so he could use his nails, and when the man fell under his weight Damian jumped with both feet on the man's head, feeling the skull splinter under his boots, the contents smear onto the alleyway. "That's what you get! That's what you get, you bastard!"

He turned, saw the others, and the others saw him and they ran. The gun with the bloody barrel lay a few feet from the mess, discarded, and Damian snatched it up and fired with one hand, perfect accuracy, four headshots, one after another, and then there were more bullets left so he kept firing, walked forward and kept firing at the bodies, ripping them apart, making the faces unrecognizable, until the gun started click-click-clicking.

"I'm just getting started, motherfuckers!" Damian screamed. "Do you hear me? Send in the calvary! I'll dissect you! I'll raize your cities! I am Damian Al Ghul, do you hear me? Do you know my name? Come and get me!"

He threw the gun down, hard, right down on the pavement, he wanted it to break but it didn't. He wanted to go over to the bodies and reduce them to their basic components, paint the whole street with their guts, but he turned around to look at the one who'd started it all and he stopped.

Dick was still lying there.

"Damn it," Damian said, stumbled over and fell to his knees and dragged Dick onto his lap, peeled off the mask and looked at the face he knew so well, pale and staring at the sky.

He stretched out his hand to close the eyelids, but he couldn't do it.

"You fool!" He screamed, shaking Dick's body, "I can't even count how many promises you're breaking right now!"

He cupped Dick's face, his clammy cheeks in his own bloody hands. The skin was getting cold already.

"Wake up! Wake up, right now! I hate you!"

Damian felt the world laugh at him.

He curled over the body, quivering with grief, kissed the forehead. A sob smothered his breath. He kissed those cheeks.

He lifted up his head. "Someone come for me! Someone come! Someone help me! Somebody help me!"

There was silence. Somewhere in the distance, and ambulance screamed, but it wasn't for them. It faded.

The radio crackled in Damian's ear.

Bruce's voice was very quiet. "I'm coming to help you, Damian."

Damian gasped, like he was coming up from underwater, the whites of his eyes wide with fear. Hands scrabbling, he reached for the gun again, put it to his temple, but the bullets were gone and he couldn't get up and leave Dick for a second to get another one. He pulled the trigger anyway. Click.

"Richard, help me!"

"Damian, just stay calm -"

Damian dug his earpiece out and threw it as far as he could. "Richard! Help me! Help me, Richard!"

There were more sirens, Gotham city sang with them, all heading in confused directions, flowing around or away from the real crisis. The police chattered. The earpiece, lying among the corpses, buzzed with Alfred's assurances and Bruce's pleas.

There was nothing Dick could do.