It’s very easy for him to act like he hates you.

Damian’ll never admit that he’s jealous of the fact Bruce raised you. That despite the two of you being twins, you led incredibly different lives. He feels pathetic. Why does his father’s attention matter so much to him? Bruce’s made your life easy, and that’s made you weak. Spoiled. Sheltered. Everything he hates.

Even when Bruce chose him as Robin instead of you, Damian didn’t feel satisfied. He wants you to realize he’s your better. He’s Robin, while you take up a mantle of your own. You get to be something more than a title handed down from son to son. He pretends he’s not jealous of that, too.

But for all his hatred towards you, he still can’t let you go.

One moment he’s wrestled one of Scarecrow’s lackeys to the ground, the next he sees Scarecrow shove you off the rooftop. Bruce is too far. Damian sees your face, a reflection of his own. You’re twins. He doesn’t know why the thought suddenly crosses his mind. Doesn’t know why his body moves without hesitation.

Wind hits his face, nearly deafening him as he dives off after you. His breath stills. Gotham stays bright and loud, even at the dead of night. There’s people walking, cars honking. Life continues, and the two of you plummet. Damian reaches a hand out towards you, grasping your palm.

“Don’t let go!” he shouts. He sends his grappling hook flying. It wraps around a flag pole that bends at the combined weight. Damian’s grip on your hand tightens. The pole creaks, nearly snapping.

He looks down at you, at your connect hands. Have they always felt so similar?

“I won’t let go,” he says, teeth gritting from the effort of holding you and the grappling hook, “so you won’t either.”