A Name Worn Again
The Batcave was quiet in the way only it could be—machines humming softly, stalactites dripping water in a slow, patient rhythm, the weight of legacy pressing down harder than any ceiling of stone.
Bruce Wayne stood near the Batcomputer, unmoving.
Damian noticed that first.
Not the glare. Not the clenched jaw.
The stillness.
That was worse.
The images replayed on the cave's massive screen without sound: the Batjet spiraling, fire tearing through the night sky, Damian's figure leaping at the last possible second. Too late. Too reckless. Too close.
Bruce didn't look angry.
He looked afraid.
And that realization hit Damian harder than any reprimand ever could.
"You almost died," Bruce said finally, his voice low and controlled—but not cold. "Not because you weren't strong enough. Not because you lacked skill. You almost died because you refused to trust anyone."
Damian crossed his arms, instinctively defensive. "I handled it."
"You survived it," Bruce corrected. "There's a difference."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Damian opened his mouth to argue—about preparation, about contingencies, about how the Fire Shadow didn't need backup—
Bruce raised a hand.
"No. You don't get to turn this into a debate." His eyes finally met Damian's. "You're sixteen. And yesterday you nearly paid the price for believing you have to face the world alone."
Damian froze.
Bruce continued, slower now. "You weren't raised to be part of a team. You were raised to be a weapon. I won't let that be the only thing you become."
Damian felt something twist in his chest. "I don't need—"
"This isn't about need," Bruce said sharply. "It's about learning how to rely on others without ordering them to obey you. About trusting people who choose to stand beside you."
He took a breath.
"That's why you're going to the Titans."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "As Fire Shadow—"
"No." Bruce cut him off. "You're not going as Fire Shadow."
The words landed like a blade.
Bruce stepped closer. "Not permanently. Not forever. But for at least a year—until you learn what it means to fight with people, not above them—you're stepping away from that identity."
Damian clenched his fists. "You're grounding me."
Bruce shook his head. "I'm protecting you. And I'm giving you something you've never truly had."
Damian scoffed. "And what's that?"
Bruce's voice softened. "A chance to be a kid who isn't carrying the weight of the world alone."
Damian wanted to argue. Wanted to shout. Wanted to say the Fire Shadow didn't hesitate, didn't need permission, didn't almost die—
But then Bruce said quietly:
"You nearly died because you couldn't ask for help."
That broke him.
The words sliced straight through Damian's armor, through pride and training and defiance. For a long moment, he couldn't speak.
Finally, he muttered, "Fine. I'll wear the colors suit. Happy?"
Bruce's mouth tightened—but there was relief there too. Just a hint. "It's not about being happy."
Damian turned away. I'll be your next stupid Robin."
Bruce flinched.
But he didn't correct him.
Present
The Batmobile roared through Gotham's streets, its engine a low growl beneath the city's distant sirens.
Nightwing drove, relaxed in a way that only made Damian more aware of how tense he was. "You know," Dick said casually, "most kids get sent to Titans Tower as a reward."
Damian stared out the window. "Most kids don't crash Batjets into demons."
"Fair," Dick admitted. "Still—try not to stab anyone on day one."
Damian didn't respond.
He adjusted his gloves instead.
The suit he wore wasn't the Robin of circus lights or bright colors. This was his Robin.
A dark, armored bodysuit—black and graphite-grey—layered like Batman's, built for war rather than acrobatics. Over it, a deep red tunic bore the 'R' insignia, muted but unmistakable. His cape was black on the outside, yellow-lined within—a controlled echo of tradition rather than obedience to it.
Green armored gauntlets lined his forearms, blades concealed but ready. The green boots matched, reinforced and angular. A yellow utility belt sat at his waist, balanced, efficient.
And the mask—
The green domino mask framed eyes that had seen too much for sixteen years.
Not Fire Shadow.
Not Demon's Heir.
Robin.
The Batmobile shot forward, Titans Tower rising in the distance, its massive T-shaped silhouette cutting against the horizon.
Damian's thoughts drifted—unwanted, persistent.
The demon.
The familiarity.
The way it moved. The way it spoke.
And then—
A sensation.
Not sound. Not sight.
A presence.
Inside him, something stirred.
SYSTEM UPDATE — HIBERNATION COMPLETE
Damian stiffened, eyes narrowing.
Hibernation?
The voice—neutral, calm—continued.
Apology acknowledged. System entered hibernation due to large-scale magical interference caused by Hextech-Stabilized Artifact deployment. Host notification was not possible.
Damian's jaw tightened. You went offline.
Correct.
He exhaled slowly. That explained the silence. The lack of directives. He'd been too focused—on upgrades, on contingencies, on Batman's suit—to notice.
Hidden Mission Complete.
Damian blinked. Hidden—what?
Condition met: Exorcism of demon-possessed metahuman through non-conventional force application.
Images flashed in his mind—the Batjet, the impact, the explosion, the demon tearing free.
Reward Granted.
Space folded inward.
A katana appeared in his personal dimension—black scabbard, worn hilt, deceptively plain.
Item: Demon-Slasher Katana (Modified).
Properties:
• Anti-demonic resonance
• Permanent destruction of lesser demons
• Capable of injuring higher demons
• Inert to non-demonic entities
• Does not interfere with Devil Fruit abilities
Damian's pulse quickened.
A weapon meant for what was coming.
Note: To all external observers, the weapon appears ordinary.
Good.
Storage recommended.
Damian complied instantly, sealing it away.
The Batmobile slowed.
Titans Tower loomed before them now—bright, open, alive.
Nightwing glanced over. "You okay, kid?"
Damian nodded once. "Yes."
But his mind was already racing.
Demons.
Teams.
A sword that could wound gods.
As the Batmobile came to a stop and the doors opened, Damian stepped out—not as Fire Shadow, not as the League's heir—
—but as Robin.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew:
This was only the beginning.