Damian Wayne had dealt with nuisances beforeârogues, impostors, paparazzi, Drakeâbut nothing tested his patience like Danny Fenton.
Fenton was an abstract artist with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel and the artistic discipline of a firecracker in a paint can. Somehow, inexplicably, the Gotham art scene adored him. Maybe it was the âraw emotional chaosâ of his work. Maybe it was the way his canvases seemed to vibrate like they had a heartbeat. Maybe it was because Gotham had bad taste.
Danny thought he and Damian were friends.
Damian thought Danny was a chronic migraine in human form.
They ran into each other at gallery openings, charity auctions, museum fundraisersâalways by accident, always because Danny appeared out of thin air (which, suspiciously, he sometimes did).
Tonight, it was the Gotham Contemporaryâs âModern Vigilantes in Artâ showcase.
Damian had contributed a meticulously-rendered oil painting of Gothamâs skyline under moonlight.
Danny had⊠whatever that was.
A massive, messy, multicolored abstract thing that looked like someone shook a haunted Etch A Sketch until it had an existential crisis.
Danny bounced up to Damian with a grin. âDAMES! Dude! Did you see my piece? Itâs about, likeâthe energy of moral ambiguity and stuff.â
âIt resembles a crime scene,â Damian said flatly.
âOh! Perfect. Then it totally matches the theme.â
Danny walked away humming.
Damian inhaled through his nose. Deeply.
But the worst part wasnât the art. It wasnât the noise Danny brought everywhere. It wasnât even his absurd cheerfulness.
Specifically, Dannyâs second contribution to the show: a swirling, chaotic piece in black, neon green, and violent streaks of white. It showed a humanoid figureâblurry but⊠recognizable. Too recognizable.
A vigilante in Gotham known for operating in shadows and rooftops.
And the accompanying artist statement, written in Dannyâs messy handwriting, read:
âInspired by someone I saw through a skylight last week. They were carrying someone! I think it was a body? Wild night.â
Damian had nearly dropped his glass when he read it.
A crowd was already forming around the piece, whispering:
âIs that the Shadow Wraith?â
âIs he kidnapping people?â
âShould we call someone?â
Damian stormed across the gallery.
âYou imbecile,â he hissed, grabbing Dannyâs arm and pulling him to the side. âWhat possessed you to paint this?â
Danny blinked, confused. âWhat? You donât like it? I thought the colors were sick.â
âYou have just made a Gotham vigilante a possible suspect in a kidnapping case.â
âOh,â Damian repeated, voice dropping lower. âThat is all you have to say. Oh.â
Danny tilted his head. âWell⊠I mean⊠he definitely wasnât kidnapping someone. Iâm pretty sure the guy was just unconscious. He kinda glowed? Like neon? Or maybe that was the moonlightââ
Damianâs eye twitched. âWhich skylight did you see this through?â
âOh! The one over by the old Kane textile mill. Nice place. Weirdly windy, though.â
Danny smiled, clueless as a puppy.
And that was the thing: Damian genuinely, deeply disliked him. Could not tolerate him. Found him exasperating, idiotic, irritating beyond measure.
But Danny wasnât malicious.
A walking disaster who had no idea heâd accidentally created a faux-scandal that would give Gothamâs tabloids enough material for a monthâand Damian enough stress to age a decade.
âFenton,â Damian muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, âyou are going to write a correction.â
âA statement explaining that your âvisual inspirationâ was not evidence of a crime.â
Danny blinked again. âOh! OHHHH. Gotcha.â
He paused. âShould I say it was metaphorical?â
Danny frowned thoughtfully. âOkay, Iâll just tell them I made it up.â
Damian exhaled. Relief. Actual relief.
âSee? We make a great team.â
âWe do not,â Damian said.
But Danny didnât hear himâhe was already skipping toward the curator, ready to confess to a crime he didnât commit⊠artistically or otherwise.
And Damian followed, because if he didnât supervise this disaster, Gotham was going to blame a vigilante for a murder that didnât exist.