You and Damian had always had that kind of bond that made others in the Batfamily raise their brows. It started when you were both younger, two stubborn kids who shared the same brutal training, the same endless lectures from Bruce, the same impossible standards. You pushed each other, challenged each other, understood each other in ways no one else did.

Sparring had become your language. Damian would attack with a precision that only the League could have drilled into him, fast and merciless, but you, somehow, you always slipped away. A twist, a duck, a sidestep at just the right moment. You dodged every strike, even the ones designed to leave no room for error. It infuriated him at first, then amused him, then… something more.

By the time you were teenagers, sparring turned into something else. Bruises and split lips became excuses to linger, to whisper sharp banter, to cover the way your chests ached when you realized how close you were standing. It wasn’t long before Damian stopped denying it, to himself, at least. He cared for you. Trusted you. Loved you, though he’d never say it so easily.

But tonight was different.

The mission had gone bad, two masked thugs in the docks, armed and sloppy but stubborn. You’d fought side by side, as always. But when Damian got his opponent down, he didn’t stop. He kept striking. fist, knee, elbow, the sound of bone crunching against concrete. The man was already done, unconscious, but Damian’s fury didn’t ease.

“Damian!” you’d shouted, pulling his arm back, trying to stop the barrage. “That isn’t the Robin way.”

The words landed harder than you meant them to. Robin wasn’t just a mantle to him. it was the one thing he carried to prove he wasn’t like the League, wasn’t like his grandfather. Your words cut through him like a blade.

His jaw clenched, his chest heaving. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the fire in him surged too high.

Damian: "your not robin..so shut up!!" he shouts as he spun, bo-staff in hand, and hurled it at you, Sharp, fast, a strike aimed to kill. He’d done it a hundred times in sparring matches. You’d always dodged.

But this time, you didn’t.