Author's Note: Boys Club is a three-part story centring around two characters' relationships with Damian Wayne, A.K.A. Robin. The first chapter is told from the perspective of Colin Wilkes, A.K.A. Abuse, whilst the second is told from the perspective of Superboy, A.K.A. Jonathan Samuel Kent. The third chapter will be told from Damian Wayne's POV, concerning a sleepover with both Colin and Jon in attendance at Wayne Manor

Should be fun.

If you don't know who Colin Wilkes is, look him up. He is awesome and oft neglected

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Enjoy.

Boys Club

Colin – Abuse

Hi. My name's Colin. About eighteen months ago, when I was ten, I got kidnapped by the Scarecrow. It wasn't a great experience, even by my super low standards. My therapists keep saying I shouldn't think about what happened too much. If I do, I get all antsy and have really twisted nightmares. And they're right. That's why I take pills. So, long story short, he experimented on me and tried to turn me into his own personal monster. He pumped me full of that stuff that Bane is on...uhm...venom, but like a cruddy version of it. Before he could properly take away what makes me human, Batman saved me. He says I helped him, which is awesome. And, I guess I'm rambling a little now, so, now I can basically transform into a crazy-big and strong superman at will. And, because I want to help people, like Batman, I fight crime as the superhero 'Abuse'.

Nothing big though, strictly small stuff, although I did team-up with Robin to take down Victor Zsasz and an illegal child-fighting ring one time. He's a total badass. Robin, not Zsasz. Zsasz was a lunatic and I'm glad he won't be bothering people anymore. Anyway, I have my own patrol route I take. Damian said I should have a route and that was why he gave me a sweet lair and motorcycle to ride around the city on. Yeah, so, I patrol from outside Saint Aden's orphanage, where I live, go in and out of Park Row, and then usually get back to bed before midnight. It's only a little four-mile route, but lots of bad stuff can go down in those four miles. Take tonight for instance.

So, tonight is Wednesday night. Wednesdays are busy days for crime-fighting. I've been on patrol for forty minutes and I've already stopped three muggings, an assault with a deadly weapon, and rescued a trauma nurse walking home from a potential rapist. I really wish I didn't know what rape was. Maybe if I didn't, I wouldn't hurt them so bad. Yeah, but five crimes 'thwarted' - Sister Beth likes it when I use that word in my English assignments – in forty minutes. That's why I go until midnight on Wednesdays. Because Batman and Robin can't stop all of it on their own. Nobody can.

My favourite thing about being Abuse is that nobody asks me why I'm doing it. I know that's because, when I'm Abuse, I'm big and ugly like a gargoyle and nobody wants to look a gift horse – thank you Sister Agnes – in the mouth. I think people I save assume a guy who looks like Abuse would fight crime on the streets in a trench coat, hat and pair of custom brass knuckles. They probably shrug to themselves and say 'what else is a guy who looks like that going to do for a living?' I don't like having a tragic backstory like Batman, because being an orphan with my mental issues is never something worth partying about, but I'm glad it's helped me focus on doing something good with my powers instead of anything bad.

I think I'm about an hour and ten into my patrol, and wandering through Park Row, when I spot trouble. Robin is cornered in an abandoned backlot by twelve heavy-looking thugs. Batman isn't anywhere I can see and Damian actually looks a little winded. So, I lend a hand or two to the situation in his favour. I'm not a great fighter like he is, but I am a pretty good brawler. Added to the fact I'm strong enough as Abuse to punch someone through a brick wall, it makes me decent back-up in a pinch. It only takes a couple of minutes for both of us to knock down six each. When I look up from my last opponent, Robin doesn't look winded anymore, just upset that I've crashed his one-man show.

"I had it under control, Abuse." He tells me with more anger in his voice than I think I deserve.

"I never said you didn't. I just made life easier for you." I reply in my super-deep and scary Abuse voice. It makes everything I say sound so gritty and cool, like a hard-boiled PI in a crime novel.

"How is your patrol going?" He says after he's taken a minute to calm down. Damian can be nice when he wants to be. I nod my head.

"I've thwarted a lot of crime tonight already, Robin." I say only for him to scoff in my face.

"'Thwarted'? Are you in a Sherlock Holmes novel by any chance?"

"No. I just...I thought it sounded cool." Yeah, my confidence just deserted me after that remark. I hate how easily he does that to me. All I want to do is impress him again.

Now he sneers at me, I think just for variety. "Well, it sounds absurd coming from that modern-art sculpture you call a face. Just say you've 'stopped' a lot of crime tonight, like a normal person would."

"Oh, there are normal people who do this, are there?" I counter, trying not to sound overly vicious, which is kind of hard with a voice like this.

He smirks at me. How many of these looks does he have? "Touche. Batman is busy with other affairs this evening. Perhaps you might like to accompany me on patrol this once."

"I thought you didn't need help."

"I don't, but since the last time we worked together you kept your mouth shut about what happened between Zsasz and I, I feel as though I can trust you as back-up."

"Just...don't do it again. You're better than that." I tell him as honestly as I can under the Abuse guise. He says he didn't kill Zsasz when he landed that fatal-looking sword blow. I told Batman it was self-defence on Robin's part, even though he clearly didn't have to add that last hit. Since Zsasz disappeared into Gotham Harbour, I guess no-one can say for certain that he's dead. I think he is though. I think he's...very dead.

Damian just shrugs. "Maybe. Let's go, hmm?"

I think it takes me knocking out my twelfth faceless thug in less than four minutes to realise whatever Damian is doing tonight is not a normal patrol. They have seriously big guns and a lot of hand-to-hand combat training for just Gotham garden-variety crooks. Once Robin completes the job on his opposition, I feel like I have to call him on what we're actually doing.

"This isn't routine stuff, Robin. What the hell are we actually doing tonight?"

He shrugs. "We're going to completely annihilate the drug trade at Gotham Docks."

I have to blink at that statement. Like REALLY blink hard. "Sorry, but, before I arrived, were you still planning to 'completely annihilate' the drug trade by yourself?" I ask.

He looks insulted. "Of course. All it takes is a masterful plan of strategy and timing."

"I've been with you for half-an-hour and I've already had to take down eighteen people. What's your count?"

"Forty-three."

"And...how many do you think..."

"At least another fifty, if not more. It would have been a little testing on my own, but with you..."

"Another fifty with guns?"

"Probably. That's no great problem for you though, is it?"

"Yeah, maybe not one or two, but fifty? And I've got super healing and immunity to bullets. What have you got, one layer of body armour? Did Batman tell you this was okay to do solo?" I check, seriously doubting this plan of his got the green light. He sneers.

"I don't need his permission for every little detail of my patrol duties..."

"Trying to smash the entire drugs trade in a city the size of New York, but twice as corrupt, is a little detail to you, is it?"

He jabs a finger at me. "Don't you dare patronise me..."

"You're winded. No way have you only taken down forty-three guys tonight. I've seen you in action – you don't sweat for less than fifty. What's the real number?" I challenge, hoping he isn't going to think he can get away with lying to me twice in as many minutes.

He gives up a sigh. "Sixty-eight...but, the number is arbitrary when faced with how successful I will be, come midnight."

"No way. This is as close to suicide as you can get without actually doing it yourself. We're stopping before you hurt yourself." I tell him, slightly amazed at how quickly I'm putting my foot down. I thought he scared me a little. Obviously, Abuse's size difference is making me a teeny bit bolder than usual.

He bares his teeth at me, like an angry dog. "Don't insult me."

I throw my hands up. "I'm not. I'm really not. I respect you way more than you do me. Which is why I'm not going to humiliate you by just picking you up and making you come back to my lair. You're my friend, Damian. I just want you to be safe. And that looks like blood coming out of your side right now..."

Damian looks down at where I'm pointing my big-ass finger. It's hard to tell with his Robin tunic, but there must be a slash close to three inches across that's starting to drip with the stuff he really wants to keep inside his body. He presses his fingers against it in silence. They're crimson when he draws them back. He looks at proof he shouldn't keep going in utter disgust.

"This...is just a scratch...One of these idiots had a switchblade. Normally they are too dull to cut through my body armour. A lucky strike and nothing more." He tells himself more than me. I decide I'm not helping convince him whilst built like a tower block and sounding like a foghorn. So, I take a risk and shrink back down to Colin-size. Good thing these pants are uber-stretchy, otherwise I'd be naked right now. I hop out of my shoes and wander over to him.

"Hi, remember me? You've done enough tonight, Dami. More than any one person can be expected to do. The drug trade hasn't been annihilated, but I bet you've given one hell of a hiding. Do you really want to go back to your dad in pieces? Because that's what's going to happen if we keep going."

"Do you honestly think that qualifies as a persuasive argument?"

"Yes, I do. So?"

"Fine. Goodnight, Colin."

"Yeah, not yet. First, we're going to Saint Aden's so I can patch you up a little. Don't fight me on this or I will carry you there."

I'm not a qualified paramedic or anything, but I've patched myself up enough times to know if what I'm doing helps or not. He hasn't got a huge gash on his side, it's not even two inches across, but a little suture is going to keep it shut until he gets a professional to fix the damage. Other than that, he's covered in bruises from the neck down to his waistline. All of them remind me of the kind I used to get fighting in the care homes. Underneath the bruises are scars. Again, just like in the care homes. I give him as much ibuprofen and paracetamol as I can without sticking him in a coma, hoping he gives up fighting his body and just goes to sleep. Without the mask, it looks like he needs the rest.

"I need to go home." Damian mutters as he lies sprawled on the couch near the back of the garage, running his fingers over fresh stitches. "I don't think Father would approve of my return in this condition though. He would only be...disappointed in me."

Now I'm back to being Colin Wilkes for the night, I shift my butt onto the small amount of couch cushion at the side of his shoulder and pat his leg. "I think he'll be glad you're alright. I would be. But, if you need it, you can crash here for a few hours before heading home. I've got some blankets I could lend you. Good ones, not ones that are too...used."

"I would...prefer to be somewhat presentable for Father when I return. That would be...agreeable. Please may I have your blankets, Colin?"

I pull them out from a box under my bed in the dormitory and then sneak back to the garage without attracting any attention. He's pretty much asleep by the time I'm covering him with the two best ones I have to offer. He puts a hand on my forearm before I can leave though.

"Next time, Colin. Promise me that next time, you'll help me kill off the narcotic trade in this city."

"Of course, I will, Dami, of course I will. Get some sleep. I'll catch you later."

I sleep well, knowing he'll be gone when I go check in the morning. I sneak down at just after six to see if maybe he's overslept and needs a friendly wake-up call. But he's gone. Even folded the blankets for me and stacked them in a neat pile. He's good at heart. He always has been. He just...lets his mouth do way too much talking for him. I'm glad he's feeling better though. This city needs its Robin at peak efficiency. I turn around and go back to sleep.

It gets around to lunchtime when I spot him loitering outside the gates, looking suspicious and indifferent to everything around him, which isn't an easy look to pull off. He manages it though. When I wave at him, he gives up the tiniest nod of his head to tell me he wants to talk in private. I follow him out and around to a more discreet alleyway beside the orphanage. He clears his throat.

"You were right to stop me last night. I realised this morning how...ill-timed my efforts to derail all drugs traffic in this city. I need more assets to coordinate my plans to fruition." He says as some weird way of thanking me without actually saying the words 'thank you'. I don't mind. Damian is Damian for a reason. I like him the way he is.

"I'm glad to hear you've had a re-think. Is that all you came to tell me?"

"Not many people would have said 'no' to me. I wanted to say, I'm very pleased you did. Father and I had a... difference of opinion yesterday evening. I was angry and my solution was...inadequate. We have since reconciled. That is due in no small part to your influence. Thank you for being my friend, Colin, not my 'yes' man." Damian says to completely surprise me. Wow. He has actual human feelings. I grin at him, suddenly feeling a little shy.

"Yeah well, thanks for listening to me. I know it isn't easy for you to do."

"There was another reason for my coming around here, Colin, not to do with work."

I am genuinely surprised at this switch-up. "Oh?"

"My father has extended an invitation for you to dine with us this evening, at the house. I would be most appreciative if you could attend. Of course, if you have other plans..."

"No! No, I'm free all night! I'd really love to come and eat with you guys." I say, trying not to sound too desperate for attention. He smiles at me, clearly amused by how enthusiastic I am over something he probably does every night.

"Alfred will pick you up at six-thirty. Please be punctual."