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“Oh, no you don’t,” you announced as you reached out to catch your son’s cape while he tried to streak past you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
When Damian turned around to face you, the redness around his nose was as obvious as the nose itself. “Patrol. It’s mine and Red Hood’s night.”
You quirked an eyebrow up. “Do you really think Jason’s going to let you go out like this?”
“Like what?” he demanded. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Tell that to Rudolph, short stuff,” you scoffed. “You’re not going anywhere while you’re sick. I already talked to Steph and Cass about taking over tonight.”
“I’m not sick! Who told you that?”
“If you’re not sick, why does it matter?”
“I need to know who is spreading these lies!”
“Your father told me,” you deadpanned. “Said I was the only one that stood a chance to make you stay home since Dick and Alfred are out of town. Looking at you, I’m inclined to side with him.”
“I’m still not sick.”
“Even if it’s allergies, habibi, it’s not going to get better if you push yourself too hard,” you explained gently. “Jason’s already upstairs. The three of us are gonna have a quiet night in with Titus and Alfred the cat.”
The eyeholes of his mask narrowed, his arms crossed as he debated on fighting you more. “What are we going to do?”
You smirked as you lowered the hood off his head; you had him right where you want him. “The fireplace is running, and Jason needs some help looking over some casefiles for a thing he’s working on. He said he could use your help, something about a fresh pair of eyes.”
“Well why didn’t you say so?!” he demanded, sprinting off to the lockers to change.
Don’t ever change, you pleaded to whatever gods might be listening as he disappeared around a corner.