1690/What's in a Name

What's in a Name
Date of Scene:	16 May 2020
Location:	Batcave
Synopsis:	Tim and Jason sit down at the table with Damian, and try to help him understand what the mantle of the Robin really means.
Cast of Characters:	Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne

---

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman doesn't do polite requests. Anything that comes over the Batwave is an imperative-- but then again, such directives are not used casually, either.

<Red-X, Hood, Red Robin-- meet @ cave at 2000 hours.>

No more explanation or justification was offered. Just the directive.

The cave itself is in a low-power mode as the Batlings trickle in; most of the machines in standby and the various alcoves powered down. In fact, the only lights in the cavern are over a single table at the 'core' of the Batcave, where Batman can most often be found working and monitoring the status of Gotham City via the Oracle network.

Of the Bat himself, there is no sign; just a single light illuminating a round table with four stools set up around it. Clearly an invitation for his scions to wait for him at that place.

There is a small vegetable tray set out as well. Clearly Alfred's efforts to make the cold damp of the cavern somewhat more hospitable.

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim Drake, the smart one (have to be the smart one, because Dick is the pretty one), dons his Red Robin costume and makes his way to the Batcave on the double, somewhat concerned. He has his comms up, listening for any reports of Penguin, or Killer Croc, or any number of rogues back on their usual... grateful for the moment that he doesn't hear anything. But that does drive his curiosity. When he arrives to the Batcave, seeing the single light, he approaches the table warily. What is going on?

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason had agreed to play nice, not come running when Bat-Dad called. Still, he had to admit he was curious about the summons, so at 2000 hours Red Hood arrives on his black and red motorcycle, pulling off his helmet, leaving just the red domino mask in place.

"Hellllooo," he calls as his footsteps echo off the bat cave walkways. "If this is some sort of joke I am going to put my boot so far up someone's ass their breath is going to smell like shoe polish."

Like Tim he approaches the light, warily.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian had been staying back at Wayne Tower for a while now. But as the message arrives to him, he comes as requested, in uniform. As he approaches though, there is no trace of his approach.

  Until he is in the light, next to Jason, and he de-cloaks. "Do you really expect Father to joke? That would require a sense of humor..." He says through the voice modulator, the X on his helmet glowing red now that he is uncloaked.

  Like the rest, he waits in the light of the light, looking at the crudites, wondering if he should.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
There's a subtle grinding of machinery and the elevator doors open. Batman's there; khakis, polo shirt, and a designer watch look like they're part of a disguise. An affectation, even. There is that singular force of presence that surrounds him, present in the set of his jaw and his measured stride. The difference between how Batman moves versus how 'Bruce Wayne' moves is perhaps difficult to articulate, but impossible to dismiss.

Batman approaches the table and stops at the fourth point, looking around at his sons. His heirs. Each deadly capable in his own right.

Were Batman anyone else, one might read paternal pride on his face.

"We're here to discuss masks," Batman tells Jason and Damian, bluntly. "There's no need to wear yours right now."

He waits a few beats and sweeps the table with his gaze. "There is an issue that needs resolution." His gravel baritone breaks the suspensful silence. "All three of you have a stake in this. And you deserve a say of your own, before I explain why I've not made my own decision yet."

With a pass of his hand, Batman unrolls a black piece of fabric across the table. The domino mask of a Robin's classic costume.

"I want to know what this mask means to each of you."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim eyes the mask, lifting a brow behind his own mask. "That the Bat-tech improved significantly since Dick wore tights?" he says with a slight tinge of snark. He's usually respectful to his adopted father, and to the Batman, but.... well, he's feeling distinctly 'middle-childish' at the moment.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason turns when Red X appears, "Good point, squirt," he tells Baby-Bats as he makes his way to the table and takes a seat, turning the chair backwards he sits down and puts his arms on the back of the chair.

He removes his domino mask and puts it down on the table, frowning as Batman lays out the older Robin mask, the sort he and Dick wore back in the day. He turns his head, offering an answer, "Servitude," it sounds hollow, an answer thrown out to cover whatever he might really feel.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian took a seat before a small hiss came from his helmet, unlatching and disengaging. He pulled at the helmet, revealing the youngest of the Wayne kids.

  The Red X helm placed on the table and facing the others.

  He took a moment, with his sour face looking to the old school Robin mask, then to Jason, then Tim, and finally Bruce. "Legacy." Not the answer most would think of, but Damian had reverence for the legacy of Batman and Robin to Gotham City. It was all he could latch onto, that wasn't The League of Assassins.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman thins his lips slightly at the terse responses from his sons. However glib or flip they're being, Batman seems to be treating the question as an urgent one. He waits until silence reigns again, and taps a finger on the edge of the mask on the table.

"Dick was the first to wear this," Batman says, his voice low and lacking inflection. "And before he decided to become Nightwing, he told Jason that he was ready for it." Batman nods at the Red Hood.

"And then after Jason... left," Batman hedges, "Dick and I talked at length about what to do. I wasn't sure I was ready to train someone else. But then, Tim came along, and it was Dick-- not me-- who said Tim was ready to be the next Robin."

His eyes sweep around, then focus to Damian. "And now, Damian wants to wear the mask."

He looks around at the trio. "After all your time with me, there has been one goal above all else I had in mind for you. For all of you," he says. "That you are going to take over from me someday. Not tomorrow. Not even next year. But someday. I push you as hard as I do because the Batman must be more than a man. It's a symbol. Fear for some. Hope for others."

"My cowl, I'll give away. Or you kids will discuss amongst yourselves who will wear it."

"But this mask-- it's not mine to give away. Jason has a right to it. So does Tim. The two of you need to decide if Damian's the next to wear it."

Batman looks directly at his youngest son. "I wanted you to understand this lesson," he says. "The mask, itself, is meaningless, if I simply give it to you. It won't make you a Robin, any more than it will make you a leader or allow you to fly. Those qualities come from within you. The mask is just a symbol. If you want to know that you're ready to become a Robin, then you need to talk to your brothers about what it means to them."

Tim Drake has posed:
Tim pulls off his own mask and adds it to the pile, sighing. He rubs his chin, regarding his little brother, ice blue eyes glittering with intelligence. In truth, all of Bruce's children are reflections of him in some way.

Damian is Bruce's ruthlessness.

Tim is his detective skills and brilliance.

Jason is his rage.

And Dick?

Dick is Batman's humanity.

And so what does the young detective say, after all this time of observation, of understanding, of comtemplation and thought?

"No."

Tim grabs one of the chairs, turning it around backwards and sinking into it. "Damian is not ready. He's wreckless. He's undisciplined-- not as a fighter, but in the way that //matters//. Being Robin isn't about just wearing a mask, horrible tights, and a ridiculous cape. It's a symbol. It's a symbol of hope as much as Batman is a symbol of fear."

He sighs. "Damian isn't a symbol of hope. I don't think Damian //knows// what hope //is//. And I -hope- that given more time with us, with his family, that he will learn. And one day earn this mask, and the costume that goes with it."

He leans on an elbow. "Look at that," he gestures with his other hand at the Red X mask. "That isn't hope. That isn't even trying. It's fear, and it's rage, and it's hate. We don't hate Gotham. We don't even hate the rogues we keep dumping back in Arkham. We can't hate. Hate makes us weak."

"Even the boss knew he couldn't... that he //shouldn't// do this alone. He knew he'd fall, and that's what that mask means. We aren't here to punch the Penguin, or escort Poison Ivy back under guard. We are here to remind the boss of //who he is// and //why he does it//. We keep him from falling into the darkness that would make him no different than R'as."

"That's my two bits. Hate me all you want, Damian."

Jason Todd has posed:
"I think the word you were looking for was dead," Jason supplies as an alternative to 'left'.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glances at the mask again considering Batman's words, his face drawn up in a frown.

Tim's words have him lifting his head and regarding 'The Replacement' seriously for once. Still when Tim is done, Jason can't help but stir the pot. He raises his hand, "Hey," Jason nods at Bruce. "I'm his /nothing/ thank you very much."

"I honestly don't care who's the next Batman or which of you two wear the short shorts of destiny. It all ends in anger in death anyhow. But why not let squirt get a chance, put the fear of god into the scum on the streets. Batman's, Batman, he's going to do what he's always done, hell didn't go nuts and kill the Joker when I died, so, gonna guess nothing is going to move him off that 'rule' of his," yes, that's still a sore point for Jason, that Batman didn't take revenge for his death. "So, honestly, it doesn't matter who's Robin, because let me tell you a secret kiddos," he gestures at Batman. "He doesn't care."

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian didn't like what was going on here, the biases most of the family had on him. When he made his intro to the family, it was sudden and sprung on him just as much as it was on Batman.

  He immediately crosses his arms when Tim says no. And retreats into himself more and more as he continues on. His hair shadowing over most of his face with the overhead lighting, but those al Ghul eyes pale green pierce through the darkness, and grow contracted more and more, an outward showing of the inner anger he feels.

  Then when Tim starts attacking Damian's creation, he stands, slamming his fists on the table. "You all left me in the dark. I built Red X with my own two hands. Apart from the family. And with -no- help from -you-" he says, staring directly at Tim. "Or -you-" moving his gaze to Bruce. "Or -anyone- else in this so-called 'family'. Let me get one thing straight here, Drake. I did not ask for this."

  He sits down, removing his katana from his side and resting it on the table. Before he returns to his defensive state. "If this all rests on Drake, I'm fucked forever. "

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman waits until silence has settled and the outburst from Damian rings off the walls.

"Jason is right," Batman growls, finally. His timbre conveys a deep ire for the loudly expressed emotions being vented across the table. "I don't care who wears the mask."

Arms fold across his chest. "The mask is a symbol for Gotham. But for us, for the family-- your brothers and sisters," he points out to Damian, with deliberate emphasis, "it means more than that. And less. Stephanie and Carrie will tell you how they feel about it too, if you ask them," he tells Damian. "As will Dick. Everyone who becomes Robin sets their own price and value for that role. What they've given up and what it means to them."

Knuckles plant on the table and he leans forward slightly, looking from his youngest to his eldest son in turn. "When I say I don't care who wears it, I mean that any of you-- all of you-- have the potential to become whatever you want. In costume or not. Being Robin is... a stepping stone into a new life. Or leaving it behind to become someone new." His clear blue eyes flicker to Jason.

"The mask isn't mine to give away." Batman looks at Damian. "I gave the mask away exactly one time, to Dick. He passed it on when he felt Jason was ready. Then, to Tim. And Carrie, and Stephanie both. He knew the costume doesn't make you Robin, any more than the cowl will make one of you Batman."

Hands slide forward and Batman rests his elbows on the table. He looks almost ... tired. "If you think you're ready for the mask, Damian, all you have to do is reach out and take it. Make it yours, and your choice to become whatever you want to be."

Eyes look to Jason and Tim. "There's only been one Batman. I've never had a standard to live up to except the one I set for myself." He looks sideways, at Damian. "Being Robin will be quite a bit harder. Because if you're worthy of it, then so is everyone who came before you. That's a high standard to measure up to, but..." Lips thin slightly, as if in momentary good humor. "If you meet the standard they set, you'll know you're in the rarest company in the world." He straightens, nodding at Tim and Jason, and gently raps a knuckle on the table. "Because you'll have set your own price for it, and earned it on the terms you set for yourself."

Tim Drake has posed:
"You're not fucked forever. You're fucked until you figure out that you can either do things the way Bruce taught us, or the way your mom and grandfather do shit, but you can't have it both ways, MurderBat." Tim doesn't swear often, nor prolifically when he does, but he seems to be contented to match his little brother. "And you made it yourself. Without my help. You didn't ask me for help. In fact, usually when I come within ten feet of you, before I can even offer you're telling me to go fuck myself or eat shit and die." Tim rolls his eyes. "So, maybe I should try harder. Maybe you need more hugs. Bruce, Damian needs more hugs. We can get Alfred in here too, big group hug, every day, because Damian had his feelings hurt because I didn't realize he wanted my help making him his own pair of," and he points to Jason, "short shorts of destiny."

He turns to Jason. "And you. I'm sorry you died." His expression softens slightly. "No, I really mean it. What happened to you was horrific, and it should never have happened, and it shows a strong force of will and grit that you're even standing here right now, ready to throw babyBat under the proverbial bus of potentially being the next Robin beat to death with a baseball bat by the Joker and then set on fire." His expression hardens a bit at that. "Do you not think after your death we didn't //know// that was a possibility now? That the gloves were off? That they were-- are-- willing to KILL us? You're mad because you didn't really accept that as a possibility when you signed up, and you know what? Be mad." Tim leans back in his chair a bit. "I knew the risks, and I stepped up anyway. Your death is part of what led me to become your Replacement, so maybe back off two steps, Todd. I came into this eyes open, and I know I'm not as good at this as Dick, or you..." he points to the younger Wayne, "or even in some ways, Damian. But we made //choices// and maybe they aren't always the right ones, but dammit, we're going to accept them and their consequences."

"Speaking of choices and consequences-- Damian's right, Bruce. Where have you been? He's your SON. Maybe his presence is a surprise to you-- I mean, with all the lectures you've given Dick and me, and probably Jason here, about wrapping it up, seriously... TALIA? I mean, she's crazy hot. But crazy is like, the first part of that. And... yeah." Tim shakes his head. "He needs more of you than you've been giving him. I get it boss. You have the aloof thing down. But it's obvious that Damian actually needs you to Dad him as much as he needs you to Bat him."

Tim sighs, standing up. "That's all I have. Pissed? It happens-- because we're //family// and that's what this fucking means. It means we're going to fight with each other and then have each others backs when some jackass dumps the contents of Arkham back into the streets tomorrow night. It's just how it works."

He grabs his mask, tossing it at Damian. "You think you have the stones to wear it, Damian? Have at. But it's not about power, and it never was."

Jason Todd has posed:
"Sure we can call it a stepping stone," Jason remarks dryly of going from Robin to becoming something else. They knew what it had turned him into. "Oh they were always ready to kill us Timmy-Tim-Tim. And unlike you and whatever bougie ass life you lead before putting on the mask I've been rolling the dice with life and death since I was younger than squirt here. Also dipshit, it was a crowbar not a bat."

Jason considers the rest, "Like I said, I don't care who puts on the mask, but kudos to you squirt for putting that get up together, and if you want to change up for the Robin mask, you've got my vote, I figure you can hack it."

As for Tim, he turns his way again, "Kudos for your balls dropping there, Replacement, and you had some points, but like I said before none of this really matters, Squirt's going to fight crime in whatever get up he has, the scumbags are always going to be ready to kill us, as for the people of Gotham and hope? Fuck 'em. This is our city, we'll take care of crime how we want to take care of crime and they can go on being the useless wastes of space they've always been. After all if they gave two shits, we wouldn't be necessary."

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian's eyes just keep peering at everyone talking, only lightening up once Jason starts giving him a little praise. "There. Finally. Someone saw that I took the initiative to try and not be the assassin I was. Three weeks, that's how long."

  "I did not need your help making this suit, which by the way." He presses a button on one of his gauntlets, quickly becoming a floating head in front of the others. "Does more than even the Batsuit can. Can take more shots than it can, and is on the bleeding edge of what Applied Sciences can offer us."

  "What it cannot do, is show the Titans that I am as much a member of this family as anyone else is! Which, by the way, I also took from the grave because it was cast aside by one of our own. Like the Justice League as well." A shot across the bow of Tim and Bruce there. He knew Jason did not have much action on the Titans, and little of it positive.

  "I cannot, do not want to be what Mother and Grandfather want, I am not their puppet anymore. But it seems like every single one of you would rather I just not be -anything-. Not as Damian Wayne, not as Robin, even Red X. Then tell me, what the FUCK would you rather me do?"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Cursing's for sailors and frat boys," Batman says, his voice raw and frosty. "Don't let it be a substitute for elocution."

-That- line is an Alfred one. Batman even echoes Alfred's tones with an eerie precision.

Batman's palms press against the table and he looks steadily at Damian, letting the words of the others settle into quietude.

"We want you to have some self-realization," he tells Damian. His tone is pointed, but there's a bluntness to it that turns it from a sharp rebuke into something like paternal mentorship. "The greatest skill the League ever taught me wasn't to sneak or hide, or how to fight. It was self-control. Self-control only comes when you are completely and brutally honest with yourself."

"Jason has it. I don't approve of his methods," Batman points out with a thin-lipped grimace, "but he doesn't pretend to be anything he is not. Dick has it. Carrie has always been on the path she set for herself, tenaciously. Stephanie confronted the truth about herself and her family and found us, so she could do something that was meaningful to her with her life. Tim took matters into his own hands when he decided to approach me."

Batman looks steadily at Damian. "I'm not going to say something as insipid as 'what makes you happy'. Happiness is a rare luxury for us. I want you to find the path forward towards being the best possible version of you. I can't *give* you that," he says, stressing the point with a flat look. "Any more than I can give you happiness or Kal-El's strength. That's why I said I can't *give* you the suit, any more than I can set some arbitrary bar of 'worthiness' for you to achieve it."

The mask is picked up and set in front of Damian again, carefully, so the eyeslits look up at him. "That self-realization, you can only find within."

A beat passes. "But for what it's worth, I have faith that you'll look inside and be honest with yourself if you're ready to try and live up to that standard. Everyone else who has worn that mask has, too."

Jason Todd has posed:
"Quoting from the book of Alfred there Bruce?" Jason asks, but for what it's worth he stops swearing. Alfred had that effect.

"Hey, how am I wanting you not to be anything, squirt? You do you. Live your best life all that bull-" a beat. "-crap."

"Though, and it is literally killing me to say this, the old man is right, you can't be given the title you got to take it, got me? Got me?" he says glancing over at the cases where the old costumes are kept. "If you want to be Robin, be Robin and forget whatever Batman, Timbo or your mom has to say about it."

Damian Wayne has posed:
     Damian sits there, looking at the mask that they tossed his way, Tim dared him, and Jason saying do what you want. A scowl growing on his face, everything was so ethereal, which was not what he was used to.

  His brow furrows in thought, and his eyes stare at that mask, it was old, probably one of Dick's. He almost cannot believe it before he grasps it, his face growing softer, his scowl replaces by Resting Damian Face, which for him is simply Teenage Bruce Face. His gloved hands turning it around, placing it on his face. "I guess this means I need to repaint my motorcycle."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman straightens up and some tension slips from his shoulders as Damian dons the mask. "Every decision is a choice. Even doing nothing is a choice. The only thing you can't do... is be indecisive," he concludes.

"I think Alfred's down in the lower levels," he tells Damian and Jason. "Smells like he brought blintzes down. You might go down there and say hello to the others," he suggests to them both. "Or at the least, give Alfred your feelings on British cuisine."

A wry motion threatens to tug the corner of his mouth towards a smile, and without waiting for a response, he knocks a knuckle on the table once and walks away, back towards the command center and the endless data flowing in from around the world.

After all, at least three of the young Batlings have probably had their fill of Batman for the evening, at the very least.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason gives Damian a nod when he puts on the mask. "Good on you," he tells him. "Now just don't die."

He studies Bruce while he goes off to the command centre, then shakes his head and looks over at Damian. "Well, Robin? Shall we go get something to eat?"

He doesn't wait for an answer he just walks towards the stairs to go find Alfred.