"Oh… no." The words left him softly before he arranged them. "Oh, fuck. Not Raven. Not again."
He didn't say it loud. He didn't have to. But this was different. The footage and the timetags and the little choices in how doors opened and where people stood told a clear story: this Raven wasn't simply chaos. She was planning. She moved like a queen walking a chessboard she'd drawn herself, not like a tyrant king drunk in his own power and dying to his very whims. This was calculated, and that wasn't good news. Meticulous. Patient. It chilled him more than rage ever had.
There was no AC in the small room he was in, but he was cold to the bone. It was like watching someone like him go rogue and how they'd operate. Especially the way Raven moved not to garner the attention of the Justice League was alarming, which meant that she still had to gather more strength or something before being so bold with her plans. If there was any time to stop her, it was now.
Another footage stopped him cold. He put a hand on the desk and used the other to steady the desk. "Wonder Woman has been compromised?" he asked the empty air.
"Already? How. Why." He stood too quickly, the chair rolling back and nudging the wall. He breathed in and out and sat again because standing hadn't helped.
'Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are our counters.' he thought, making a tight list inside his head, the kind that used to comfort him.
'If Superman goes off the hinges, or mind-controlled like every other Tuesday, they can bring him back. That's always been the game plan. That's the safety protocol. The fucking contingency plan, and now…' He swallowed.
'Barry and Wally have gone to fix someone else's yesterday, or tomorrow, they are not here right now. Martian the Manhunter is off-world. The Titans have been compromised. The tower's patterns are wrong. I can't afford to be here. Can't afford to be caught. I need…' He turned, ready to go.
A face was there in the darkness where no face should be. Green skin. A grin that wasn't hostile but wasn't unsettling.
"What's up, Robin?" Beast Boy asked, cheerful as a morning radio host.
Damien did not scream. He made a sound that only the wall heard. He rarely let fear climb his spine like that; this time, it sprinted. 'How did he??' He exhaled, narrowed his eyes, and slid his pulse back into his chest.
"You saw everything, didn't you?" Beast Boy asked, chin tipping toward the screens.
Damien didn't answer, which was answer enough.
"Even after Starfire warned you about spying on us," Garfield went on, not quite smiling now, "you kept going in secret. I guess you are Batman's partner indeed."
The word partner was a careful decision and something Robin had told the team politely to refer to him as when talking about him and Batman. Sidekick would have been a red flag indicating that this Beast Boy was either mind-controlled or possessed.
But Beast Boy didn't use it, he knew how much Damien hated being called that. And he didn't need to. He had said enough. Sweat cooled on Damien's forehead. His fingers had already found the smoke-bomb capsule and the peppered resin he could throw into the air. Fighting Garfield in a crawlspace was idiotic, the only wise thing to do was counter and run.
"But I'm glad you did."
Damien let his shoulders relax a degree, no more. He waited.
"We need to take down Raven, Robin," Beast Boy said, stepping closer, then stopping when Damien's hand lifted a centimeter. He respected the line.
"She's gone too far. The longer I pretend to follow her, the more I start to believe her. I hate that. I hate how easy it is. I need help. You're the smart one. Make me into a trusted double agent or… something. We have to move."
"How did you find me?" Damien asked, because he needed one answer before he gave any. And answering a question with another question was a Wayne thing to do.
Garfield scratched the back of his head, sheepish and proud. "I was looking for the slimy thief who stole my sandwich from the fridge. I turned into a bloodhound and did a lap of the tower." He winced. "I think whoever took it knew I'd do that and ate it while walking instead of sitting down."
'Of course,' Damien thought dryly. 'Top-tier use of his powers, very Garfield of him.' He kept that part inside and kept his face blank.
Garfield continued.
"Then I heard light footsteps and a panel creak open. I turned into an owl, followed the sound, then into a chameleon right before you opened the panel. I slipped in behind you." He shrugged. "Owls are really cool, their silent flight is sweet! Did you know that?"
Damien arched an eyebrow despite himself. 'He's gotten better even though this was a food hunt in the first place.' he admitted.
Scarily good. No rattle in the ducts. No feather brush on the grate. No breath, he hadn't already counted. Impressive but annoying.
"I see," Damien said. He leaned a hip against the desk, still standing. "You make a good point there."
Garfield brightened. "About the owl? Like I said, did you know that—"
"Not the owl," Damien said, opening a desk locker with his free hand and sliding through neatly labeled compartments. "Your desire to be a trusted double agent."
Garfield's eyes sharpened. He nodded once. "Yeah... That." He didn't like the fact that Robin didn't want to engage him in animal facts now.
Damien found what he wanted at the back: a small, old-fashioned pocket watch on a chain, heavy for its size. It looked decorative to the cultured eye. It wasn't too much.
The pocket watch gleamed under the dim light of the screens, its golden case turning lazy reflections across the small room. Damien Wayne held it up like a judge presenting evidence, his posture sharp even in a space barely large enough for the two of them.
"Sit," Damien said flatly, and Garfield obeyed without argument. He flopped into the chair, green skin standing out against the dull gray, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his pants as if already restless.
Damien let the chain dangle, the weight of the watch swaying slightly in the air. "This isn't magic," he began, voice clipped, precise. "It isn't some cheap parlor trick, either. What I'm about to do works because the mind is fragile. Hallucinations, hypnosis… they're not about bending reality. They're about convincing your brain that it doesn't need reality in the first place. You fuck with the signals enough, and the body follows."
Beast Boy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, trying to follow the lecture but already looking like he was listening to a math teacher explain fractions.
Damien continued, unbothered. "Hallucinations aren't seeing what isn't there. They're your mind recycling its own trash—memories, fears, desires—and stitching them into a convincing lie. Hypnosis isn't control; it's suggestion. A door. You open it, and the subject walks through. Willingly." He let the word hang in the air, his tone cutting and patient. "The trick isn't force. The trick is rhythm, timing, tone. Make them comfortable, make them focus, and their own head does the rest. Understand?"
Garfield nodded, but his lids were already heavy. He caught himself, jerked upright, and tried to grin.
'Good. He's relaxed. That's out of the way. If I remember my teachings correctly from the League of Assassins, my subject should be relaxed before we start. Boring Garfield with facts he'll forget even faster than a gold fish to loosen him wasn't a bad idea.' Damien's eyes narrowed in thought.
"Hey. Wake up, doofus." Damien snapped his fingers sharply in front of Garfield's face.
Beast Boy jolted upright like someone had poured cold water over him. "Ohhh yess, hipposss—hypnosis, I mean!" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Totally following, man. Super clear."
Damien exhaled through his nose. "Of course."
"So are you gonna do it?" Garfield leaned forward, grinning like a kid about to see fireworks. "Is my code word gonna be something like… Blueberry Applesauce? Oooo—maybe Banana Pancakes! Or—"
A firm hand pressed down on his shoulder. Not rough, but final. Garfield shut up mid-ramble.
"Just breathe and relax," Damien said quietly, his voice a blade smoothed by velvet. "Leave the code—signal, trigger, whatever you want to call it—to me."
Beast Boy swallowed, nodded once, and leaned back into the chair.
Damien let the watch sway, back and forth, a pendulum cutting the silence. His voice dropped lower, threading through the hum of the fans.
"Focus here," Damien instructed. "Nothing else matters. Just this. Watch the swing. Breathe in. Hold it. Exhale. Again. Each time you breathe, let the noise in your head drift further away. The jokes. The nerves. All of it. Just air leaving your chest. That's all."
Garfield's eyes tracked the watch. His breaths grew slower.
"Good," Damien murmured. "Every blink feels heavier. Every second that passes, your body wants rest. And you'll give it. You don't need to fight. You don't need to think. You just follow."
Beast Boy's lips parted, his eyelids sinking like weights were tied to them.
"You're still aware. You can still hear me. But your guard is gone. I speak, you listen. I command, you obey. Not because I force you. Because it's easier. Easier to follow me whom you trust than resist."
Garfield gave a sluggish nod, head lolling slightly before correcting.
"That's it," Damien said softly. "Now… listen carefully. You want to help. You want to protect. You want to fix all of this. So you'll remember this phrase—etched into you like a brand. When you hear it, all the noise in your head falls away. You'll drop the jokes, drop the hesitation, and focus like the foot soldier I need you to be. Clear?"
"Yes…" Beast Boy whispered, voice low and dreamy.
Damien let the chain still. The watch hung motionless between them. His eyes sharpened. "The phrase is this: Free pizza is life. Repeat it." Damien almost cursed out loud for picking out such a phrase, but went with it since it's something up Garfield's alley.
"Free pizza… is life," Garfield mumbled, his lips curling into a faint smile even in half-consciousness.
"Again."
"Free pizza is life."
Damien tucked the watch back into his pocket. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a murmur just above Garfield's ear. "And when I say it in the field, Garfield, you'll remember who you are. Not her follower. Not her pawn. Ours. Understand?"
Beast Boy stirred, eyes still closed, but his head bobbed. "Ours…"
Damien leaned back, expression unreadable. "Good."
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