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Danny fiddled with his thumbs, pressing them together almost painfully. The limo was— heh— deathly silent.
“Do not embarrass me, Daniel,” Vlad intoned, just a hint of warning. Though he was more focused on his phone, and the blackmail he’d gathered. Used Danny to gather.
“I won’t,” Danny said flatly. He turned his attention to the windows trying to block out what he’d done. What Vlad had done. Vlad was a noxious presence next to him, and Danny hated every moment they spent together. The view out the window was all grey and shadowed.
He traced the drops of water as they ran down the window, and longed to be out in it. He hadn’t flown for pleasure, for the simple act of clearing his head in weeks.
And it was all Vlad’s fault.
Thunder rolled overhead, sending a light tremble though Danny’s core. He hated thunderstorms. He pressed his thumbs together tighter, twisting them. His heartbeat kicked up higher even as he forced his limbs to stay still, to keep his back proper and straight. Vlad didn’t tolerate Danny’s fears.
Still, it was hard to sit there when every instinct demanded he find somewhere small and quiet to hide until the storm passed.
“You remember what we discussed?” Vlad asked, and Danny regretfully turned away from the window. He hated the storm, but it was better to look at the rain than it was to look at Vlad.
“I’m to be your heir,” Danny said dully. He had to get out of this. Had to find a way out from under Vlad’s thumb. But not here. Not right now. “I am Daniel Fenton-Masters, the child you graciously took in after-after the tragic passing…”
“Daniel,” Vlad prompted warningly when Danny trailed off.
“The tragic passing of my parents and sister,” Danny choked out. “You’re teaching me about business. Introducing me to higher society. I’m supposed to ask slightly rude questions and give you openings to talk to people you might normally not be able to.”
“Very good,” Vlad praised, mouth upticked in a smirk. “You might make it through the night without needing reprimanding.”
Danny pressed his hands together, trying to hold together against another burst of thunder. The pressure of his fingers locked together was the only link to reality he had right now.
That and the near-burn of the necklace that draped from his neck. The locket of it fell right in the middle of his sternum and each flutter of his core was met with a matching thrum from the locket.
His own mobile jail cell.
The first hour of the gala was a blur of names, handshakes, sharp calculating smiles, and choking perfume. Vlad’s hand had stayed locked on Danny’s shoulder through introduction after introduction. Danny had spoken, but he couldn’t recall what words had passed his lips.
He must have done something right, however, as Vlad had allowed him to head towards one of the refreshments tables while Vlad guided some poor schmuck to a more secluded corner.
If Danny was right, that was one of the people Vlad had blackmail on.
There was nothing he could do to warn him. Or help him. Danny was trapped, a collared pet. He scowled, even as he scanned the table for something that looked decent. It was all fancy rich food— tiny portions, weird foams, and ingredients he couldn’t pronounce. Or recognize.
“Hey, Damian, have you see- ” the voice trailed off, steps halting suddenly. “You’re not Damian.”
Damian.
The name crashed through him. It felt like standing in the portal again. It felt like his world shifting, breaking under his feet. Like his mother’s hands on his shoulders, her voice a vicious whisper in his ear.
You have failed me, Danyal. This life is not for you. By rights I should kill you. I won’t. You will live with your failures, my son.
But you will never again fail me.
Who would…? Why would anyone mistake him for…
“No,” Danny said, tearing his eyes from the table and meeting the curious gaze of the older teen who had spoken. His hair was as meticulously styled as Danny’s own, but his suit was of higher quality. Vlad had quizzed Danny on recognizing the differences in high fashion suits, and had purposefully dressed Danny in a low quality one.
He’d garnered a lot of sympathy tonight with his tale of how his poor ward couldn’t bear to part with the suit his parents had bought him in anticipation of prom.
The other teen’s brows furrowed. “I’m Tim, who are you?”
There was something more than curiosity in his voice, but Vlad had been clear. Danny was to introduce himself, and do it properly.
Or face the consequences.
“I’m Daniel Fenton-Masters,” Danny said, holding his hand out to shake. Tim cocked a singular brow and took Danny’s hand.
“Timothy Drake-Wayne.”
Damian sighed through his nose, trying to suppress his irritation. If one more of these sniveling idiots told him how much he’d grown or how much he looked like his father in a cutesy voice he would not be held responsible for what happened to them.
He’d retreated to one of the refreshment tables, taking much longer than he needed to select food. There were well labeled cards in front of every offering, giving the name and what dietary restrictions it either did or did not accommodate.
He was just getting the first of his selections when a hand closed tightly over his shoulder. It was only the years of his father teaching restraint and patience that held him back from stabbing the person behind him with a cocktail fork.
“Daniel,” Damian registered a sickly smooth voice, a slight midwest accent but—
Danyal? The name was a shock to his system, like being removed from the League, like standing before his Father for the first time and wondering his place.
It had been what felt like a lifetime since he’d last heard that name connected to him. Since he’d last been mistaken for anyone but himself.
“Daniel, do not ignore me,” the voice for more vicious now, hissed and low near his ear. “I have a task for you. Bruce Wayne is surrounded by his usual band of brainless tramps. His soft spot for pathetic children, however, should break him from them and give me an opening. Do not fail me, Daniel. You know the consequences.”
Damian’s mind was going a thousand miles an hour— it was just impossible to figure out what direction it was going in.
The words registered. Fury welled up inside Damian. How dare this- this ingrate plot against his Father? How dare he use his brother’s name- threaten him?
(Was… was it possible his brother lived? Was his death another lie to lay at his grandfather’s feet?)
Damian squared his shoulders, turned to face the man behind him. He jerked the man’s hand off of his shoulder, met blue eyes set in a long face with long, silver hair.
“Bold words from a stranger.”
The man’s eyes widened, shock clear before he masked it. But Damian saw. Along with the half step back, it was clear this man had no idea who Damian was.
Yet he knew Danyal.
“My mistake,” the man said smoothly, a greasy smile spreading across his face. “I assure you this is a misunderstanding. I mistook you for my ward. He’s new to these types of events, you see, and so we made a bit of a game out of meeting people.”
Damian raised a single eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.
(Hoped the man couldn’t see how his fingers dug into the extra fabric at his elbows. He felt unmoored, and it was only his need to know more that kept him from giving into old habits and seeing how fast he could make the man bleed.)
“A game.” Damian repeated blandly.
The man laughed awkwardly. He was trying to look sheepish.
“Yes, a game. It’s…hard to explain, but think of it like being spies. We give each other missions, of sorts.”
“Interesting,” Damian said blandly. “And your way of delivering this mission was to bruise your ward’s shoulder and threaten harm? I would think there were better ways.”
Another awkward laugh, this one with some rage buried in his eyes.
“I suppose to an outsider it may not make sense,” the man said. There was a hint of pity in his voice, like Damian was the one missing out.
“I will be speaking with my father.”
A derisive laugh. “Please, feel free. You are but a child.”
“I am Damian Wayne,” he informed the ingrate. Damian smirked as the man paled. “And I’m sure my father will be interested in this…mix up as well.”
With that, Damian stalked off. He needed to find his father. Needed to find Danyal.
“Something’s wrong,” Tim said and Danny’s chest constricted, heart kicking up.
“Pardon?” Danny’s smile felt strained. Where had he messed up? What had he said wrong? Panic beat against the lock around his core.
Tim cocked his head, something calculating in his gaze. “Something’s wrong. You’re afraid.”
Danny laughed, the sound awkward. “Afraid? What would I be afraid of?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Danny curled his hands together, despite knowing he shouldn’t. His thumbs pressed together, the pressure barely enough to stem his rising anxiety.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
(Damian. Tim knew Damian. But what did it matter with Vlad holding his leash? What did it matter with his life in shreds and everyone gone? If Damian wasn’t with the League, if he was here somehow, then he escaped. He had a life Danny wasn’t a part of. He was free. And here was Danny, coming in to wreck it all. Again.)
“I— I have to go,” Danny said, thumbs pressed tight. The storm chose that moment to boom overhead, the large windows around the room not hiding the bright crackle of lightning that etched across the sky. Danny’s core stuttered in his chest, and the locket burned. Danny stumbled, gasping. And though he was inside, petrichor clung to his nose.
“Yeah, okay, want to try that again?” Hands on his shoulder. Gentle.
“I need to— my godfather…”
“Can wait,” was Tim’s firm verdict.
Danny couldn’t find the words to protest. The strength to fight. Vlad was angry, and the burn of it was a hissing pain inside. Danny’s face twisted with it, and Tim guided him away. The sounds and smells of the gala faded, the clamor of voices eased, though his chest still burned.
Tim spoke, but the words meant nothing to Danny. The storm, Vlad’s fury, the locket…
It was all too much.
Time turned to mush. Tim kept close, kept speaking, though Danny still couldn’t focus on the words. The storm outside had turned vicious, rolling blasts of thunder and lightning shaking Danny to the core.
At some point, there were new voices. Steps that got closer.
“...Drake this had better be— Danyal.”
Danny jerked upright, shuddering with the effort of focusing. Vlad was pulling. Demanding. His core felt squeezed and uncomfortably hot.
But the pull towards Damian had always been, would always be, stronger.
“Damian,” Danny managed.
His first glimpse of Damian after… too many years to think about was blurry, but Danny knew his twin. He’d grown up, gotten bigger but.
The same green eyes, the proud tilt to his chin. Danny’s breath stuttered, his core thrumming painfully in his chest.
Damian took one hesitant step forward, breaking from the side of a large man in a tux that made Vlad’s look like a thrift store special.
A second’s pause, more hesitation than Danny had ever known Damian to allow himself—
A choked sound, like words denied by a too-tight throat, and Danny had barely a second to brace for impact.
“There you are,” Damian said right in Danny’s ear. The words that weren’t quite League Dialect, not quite Arabic, but theirs.
Danny gripped hard, desperate. “Ahki…
Akhi help.”