Deleted scene from birbs my beloved
Damian Wayne was not a jealous person.
Jealousy was inefficient. It corroded logic, blurred tactical assessment, and reduced formidable opponents into petulant children grasping at what was not theirs. He had been trained—by the League, by his mother, by experience—to excise such weaknesses with surgical precision.
He did not succumb to petty emotion.
If he did—which he did not—it would certainly not be because of Tim Drake and his… raven.
Time had passed since Ghost entered Timothy’s life. Alongside the bird came the boy who transformed into it—Daniel Fenton—and further alongside those two came the new vigilante who assisted Red Robin with his rogues. A being dressed in stark black and white, who could be seen hovering just behind Drake’s shoulder like an enamored wraith.
And all of them—every incarnation—were insufferably devoted to the Drake heir.
The bird perched on Drake’s shoulder during briefings, preening his feathers as though he belonged there. The civilian leaned too close when speaking, smiling in a way that suggested secrets and shared history. The vigilante hovered at Drake’s back during patrol, eyes glowing faintly green as he scanned rooftops before Drake even turned his head.
Damian observed this from the shadows of the Cave one evening as Drake adjusted his cape. The small black bird sat comfortably on his gauntlet.
“You are aware,” Damian said coolly, “that animals are not permitted in the Cave without prior approval.”
Drake did not look up. “He’s not an animal.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “It has feathers.”
“It also files taxes,” Drake replied flatly.
The bird shimmered, dissolving into a swirl of green light. Daniel Fenton stood in its place, hands tucked into his jacket, expression bright and far too pleased with himself.
“Hey, Demon Spawn,” he greeted cheerfully. “Miss me?”
“I do not recall ever expressing anticipation of your presence.”
“Ouch,” Daniel placed a hand over his chest. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
Damian studied him with clinical detachment. Daniel leaned subtly toward Drake as he spoke, as though proximity were instinctual. Drake did not shift away. In fact, he angled slightly closer.
That, above all, was what would have inspired jealousy—if Damian were capable of such a pedestrian flaw.
He did not require a paramour.
He had witnessed the consequences.
Jonathan had practically restructured his existence around his relationship. Richard had endured the humiliating dissolution of his engagement. Romance demanded compromise. Time. Emotional exposure.
Damian Wayne did not need those liabilities.
What he required was efficiency.
And if he were experiencing any flicker of dissatisfaction, it was not romantic in nature.
He wanted a pet he could take on patrol.
He already possessed several animals. They were superior specimens.
Goliath was formidable but far too large for Gotham’s narrower architecture. His wingspan alone would alert half a block.
Batcow, while symbolically powerful, lacked durability against firearms.
Titus was capable, but ultimately mortal—and therefore a vulnerability.
The pets that would not die easily were too intimidating. The ones who inspired affection were too fragile.
The bird could fly silently beside him.
The vigilante could phase through walls.
The civilian form could access restricted areas without suspicion.
And all three followed Drake with unwavering loyalty.
But if he were, he would admit that such versatility was enviable.
During patrol two nights later, he encountered the vigilante form again. Red Robin grappled across Crime Alley, and the ghost followed effortlessly, floating rather than swinging.
“Left,” the ghost murmured.
Red Robin adjusted mid-arc without hesitation.
A gunshot rang out from a hidden fire escape.
The bullet never reached its target. It slowed midair, glowing faintly green before dropping harmlessly to the pavement.
Red Robin landed, efficient and composed. “Thanks.”
“Obviously,” the ghost replied, drifting closer. “You think I’m letting my boyfriend get ventilated on a Tuesday?”
Damian landed beside them. “You rely excessively on external support, Drake.”
Drake arched a brow. “We’re on the same team.”
“Dependence breeds weakness.”
The ghost floated upside down, meeting Damian’s gaze with infuriating amusement. “Or,” he offered lightly, “it breeds trust.”
Damian scoffed. “Trust is earned.”
“Good thing he earned it then.”
The ghost righted himself and drifted back to Drake’s side—not behind him, not in front, but aligned. Equal.
Damian felt that faint, unwelcome tightening in his chest again.
He did not desire companionship.
Later, in the Cave, Damian approached Drake with deliberate casualness.
“If one were to consider,” he began, voice measured, “acquiring a non-corporeal ally for patrol, what qualifications would be necessary?”
Drake blinked slowly. “You’re asking how to get your own ghost.”
“I am not asking. I am evaluating strategic options.”
Daniel, once more in civilian form, gasped dramatically. “Oh my Ancients. You want one.”
Daniel pressed his lips together, visibly restraining laughter.
Drake leaned back in his chair. “You can’t just acquire a ghost, Damian.”
“That’s worse when you phrase it like that,” Daniel muttered.
Damian ignored him. “The creature demonstrates utility. Aerial reconnaissance. Ballistic interference. Intangible infiltration.”
Daniel brightened. “Wow. You make me sound like a Swiss Army knife.”
Damian studied him, calculating. “And your loyalty to Drake—is that transferable?”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay. That’s a question.”
“It is hypothetical,” Damian said stiffly.
Daniel stepped closer, expression softening—not mocking now, but curious. “You don’t need a ghost to keep up, you know.”
“I am not attempting to keep up.”
Daniel tilted his head. “You could just ask to patrol together more.”
Drake glanced between them. “He already does.”
Damian scowled. “I ensure operational competence.”
“Uh-huh,” Daniel said gently.
Damian crossed his arms. “If I were jealous—which I am not—it would not concern romantic attachment. It would concern tactical imbalance.”
Drake’s mouth curved. “You’re jealous of my bird.”
Daniel grinned. “You kind of are.”
Damian’s glare could have frozen magma. “I do not covet.”
