Respawn-12

The cold Gotham wind brushed past as you crouched on a rooftop, scanning the quiet streets below. Too quiet. Your hand hovered near your utility belt when you heard the soft thud of someone landing behind you.

"Relax," a voice drawled, calm and almost amused. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have announced myself."

You turned, already recognizing the voice. Respawn. He stood a few feet away, posture casual, his mask concealing his face.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken tension. You weren't sure why he was here, but there was no immediate threat in his stance. Respawn, on the other hand, was lost in his own thoughts.

He didn't understand you. More specifically, he didn't understand what you saw in Damian. Irritation simmered beneath the surface—mixed with something he couldn't quite name, something uncomfortably close to jealousy.

Damian had everything: privilege, a family who loved him, and now… you.

Respawn's jaw tightened beneath his mask. He could still hear the harsh commands of the League, the relentless training that had been his entire childhood. No praise, no rest, no hope. Unlike Damian, who was treated as a potential heir, Respawn was a backup—trained harshly, with no regard for his emotional or physical well-being.

He'd learned early that his survival depended on his ability to endure pain and fight harder than anyone else. Where Damian had a mother—albeit manipulative—and eventually found his father, Respawn had no one. He was isolated, his worth measured only by how useful he could be to Ra's plans.

When he looked at Damian, all he saw was an entitled brat who didn't realize how privileged he was.

And yet, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he and Damian weren't so different after all. They'd both survived the League, carried its scars, and now, it seemed, shared the same taste in lovers.

Finally, Respawn broke the silence,"So, you're the one patrolling tonight? Guess Gotham's standards are low