He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to tear the lopsided domino mask from your terrified face and cast it aside as he grabbed you by your shirt collar.

But then again, you hadn't meant to end that man. To spill his blood on the rooftop gravel, only for it to be distilled and washed away by the midnight rain. But intentional or not, this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Damian had been put on probation when his same sin was committed. But he was of his own flesh and blood. Unlike him, your veins pumped with the blood of your sickened and psychotic father whose laugh sometimes graced your throat, or whose wild look crept into your eyes.

He didn't want you as Robin despite his occasional statement that he'd take you on one day. Everyone else had been malleable in their views or aspirations, though united by a common goal of protection. Even Jason. But he can't trust that the Joker hasn't rubbed off on you too much. Even when you're playing with one of Damian's pets, or sitting next to Dick as he chats to you; reading with Jason, cooking with Alfred, studying with Tim, it doesn't matter. Every time he looks at you, the gnawing anxiety and terror at the idea that you've been shaped by the Joker, to be beyond redemption, sits in his mind. That you're rotten, molded inside in a way he can't fully fix.

Until tonight, those thoughts had been disproven though. Until tonight, you hadn't snuck out in your mismatched Robin garb to go "help" on a patrol. Until tonight, he hadn't had to pull you off an already downed criminal after you'd broken his nose and sent the shattered shards into his brain before Bruce could even realize you'd lunged at the man. He'd known you were tailing him, sure. But he hadn't expected your interference. Until tonight, he hadn't ever been forced to believe he might have to put you down like an unruly dog.

"If you want to act like your father, I'll start treating you like him. I can lock you in Arkham before the sun is up. Do. You. Understand?" His grip tightend around your collar.