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The door opens with a violent swing, and Alfred looks up only to blink at the tall man all dressed in white who strides towards him immediately afterwards.
“Master Damian?”, he calls out, surprise in his voice. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but should you not be somewhere else right now? On an altar, maybe?”
“I should, yes”, Damian admits with a frown, then he sighs and promptly plops down on the floor next to his grandfather’s wheelchair. The old butler smiles.
“Ah, is this a case of what they call cold feet then?”, he teases.
Damian only acknowledges the sarcasm with a huff and leans down to rests his head on Alfred’s leg.
“My feet are adequately warm, Alfred”, he retorts. “And no, I’m not having second thoughts on my marriage, only on the guests list.”
“Is your mother here?”, Alfred asks after a moment of consideration, running his fingers through the kid’s hair - because despite how old and tall he got, that’s how Alfred will always consider him, how he will always consider all of them, for that matter.
“Yes”, Damian sighs. “But Jason’s dealing with her - whatever his idea of dealing with her means, I really don’t want to know - so she’s not the problem right now.”
“Who is it, then?”
“Grayson, of course!”, Damian cries out, throwing his hands in the air. “I knew it was a bad idea to invite him. He was born only to embarrass me.”
“Or you were born only to be embarrassed by him”, Alfred offers with a smile. “Nevertheless, getting married without your best man would be a tricky affair, so I don’t see how you could not invite him.”
“In retrospect, I should have really planned it better”, Damian sighs, rubbing his forehead against Alfred’s knee. “And it’s all your fault anyway, for convincing me to do this thing here at the manor. I wanted to elope, as you may remember.”
Alfred graciously accepts the accusations and pats the kid’s head one more time, while looking up again at the new silhouette standing in the doorframe.
Tim smiles at him before clearing his throat and addressing Damian with a mocking stern tone.
“C’mon, Mr. Kent, time to face the embarrassing shower of family feelings like a man.”
Damian groans at him without even raising his head.
“I’m not going to take Jon’s name, you know that.”
“Yes”, Tim answers, walking towards them. “But it’s still funny.”
Damian scoffs.
“Not as funny as when I proposed for Jon to take the Al Ghul name at the rehearsal dinner.”
Tim laughs, Alfred gives his nephew a reprimand look.
“You didn’t.”
Damian glances up at him and downright pouts.
“I don’t see why I have to be the only one who has to suffer through this misery.”
“I’m so going to tell Jon that you called your wedding a misery”, Tim taunts him, then lightly taps him on his shoulder. “Now let’s go rip the band-aid off, Mr. Kent.”
Damian sighs dramatically and stands up.
“Did Dick stop crying at least?”
“Not a chance”, Tim grins devilishly at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Bruce’s started tearing up too.”
Damian straight out refuses to believe him.
*
Bruce is not crying. Technically.
He stands as fiercely and imposing as ever while he rests his hands on his son’s shoulders, but he’s fooling no one, especially not Damian, who looks up at him (he doesn’t have to raise his head by much, since he’s almost his father’s height, but it’s still annoying) and narrows his eyes.
“Don’t you dare, dad”, he warns him.
He can feel the grins on his siblings’ faces, and he’s aware of the dozens of photos being taken with the sole purpose of being used as taunting material for the years to come, so he’s trying his best to limit the damage. At least for Bruce. He has no pity for Dick.
Bruce smiles as his hands move to straighten Damian’s tie.
“Sorry”, he says. “It’s just. I’m so proud of you.”
Damian frowns.
“I fail to see the reason”, he answers. “Jon and I have been together for years, the purpose of this ceremony is only to put it in legally binding writing so that we can share the social and economical benefits granted by the institution of marriage itself.”
“Marriage is also an oath”, Bruce replies with an indulgent smile, and Damian clicks his tongue at him. He hates when someone in his family seems to see directly through him, especially on things like this one. It’s an oath is exactly what he said to Jon when they started discussing this thing, it’s the only way he could try to explain why it was important to him. Not the ceremony itself, but the action. The promise. The trust behind it.
“Not my first one”, he reminds now to Bruce.
“No, not you first one”, his father softly agrees.
“So you are proud of me for not having commitment issues as the rest of this family does, then?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”, Bruce laughs, and it’s a good laugh to Damian’s to hear. “Then let me rephrase it: I’m proud of the kid you were and of the man you’ve become. I’m proud of being here today with you, and your siblings, and Jon, and his family. And I’m proud of being your father.”
And yeah, there’s no denying the tears in Bruce’s eyes now. The fool.
Damian blinks and discretely swallows the lump in his throat.
“Thank you”, he answers with a wavering voice. “I hope you’re aware that Clark’s heard all of that and he’s going to repeat it word by word in front of everyone.”
Bruce laughs again and leans down and kisses him on the forehead.
“He can’t embarrass me if I beat him to it. Now go on, Jon’s waiting.”
Damian sighs and shakes his head.
“You are really getting old, Father.”
*
It’s not over yet, he knows.
He steps on the extemporary altar and faces the wall of his siblings with equal parts of courage and resignation.
His sisters are wearing long, green silk dresses - the only color they came to agree upon, ironically enough - and his brothers black tuxedos with inserts of the same green. Damian was the only one to consider it tacky, even Jon - the traitor - had called it cute.
“Please, just make it quick and painless.”
They take pity on him and do as he asks. Damian sighs but doesn’t protest the hugs and the kisses and the light teasing and the sexual innuendos, nor the emotions behind all of it. And when Dick hugs him, he actually buries his face in his oldest brother’s shoulder.
“I’m proud of you, kiddo”, Dick only says, voice still wet.
And Damian thinks about Talia standing somewhere in the back of the hall, looking but not speaking, a whole other life staring at him from not so far away, and he nods, eyes close for the briefest moment.
“I know.”
Then he collects himself and turns around only to see Jon enveloped in his parents’ arms, blushing to his ears just like Damian is, and he supposes that’s a good start on this sharing everything till death us do part thing.