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"We'll speak on this later. For now, why don't you head up to your room and cool down."
Damian doesn't need to cool down. He's already feeling ice down his spine at the thought that he's finally done it. He's messed up.
And after he's been so careful.
He's painstakingly stopped himself from picking fights with Drake. He's allowed Grayson to muss and ruffle his hair without even trying to stab him. He hasn't spent enough time around Todd to have any pressing issues, as he's been–shockingly–wise and kept his distance from the Manor, even though Damian has deduced–for unknown reasons– that this action affects Father negatively.
He’s even gained a begrudging respect for Father’s manservant, after discovering some backstory which deemed Pennyworth deserving of tending to the Wayne name.
How disappointing that a minor infraction in his schooling would be the straw that breaks the metaphorical camels' back.
One of his schoolmates—Damian struggles to consider the imbecile one of his peers—had been speaking in an insulting manner towards Cain, and Damian had been honor-bound to defend the family name. He'd appropriately reacted, and ensured the idiot would not speak so carelessly in regards to his family again. His schoolmate's parents had been... less than pleased with the threats placed upon them in response, and who had then brought them to the attention of the school's headmaster, who had been alarmingly less than pleased (for reasons Damian did not understand), and who had then brought them to the attention of Pennyworth, who had been frighteningly (confusingly) less pleased than the other two combined (even though Damien had tried to explain that it was all in defense of Cain's reputation, which in addition was in defense of the Wayne family name).
He had thought he had been doing well.
Instead, in a cruel twist of fate, his act of defense in the name of his family, had instead been mistakenly received as an act of offense, and had in turn brought shame upon his family. The Wayne Name was disgraced, and it was all Damian's fault.
Of course father would be the least pleased of them all in the situation, other than Damian himself.
It was well known by Damian that Pennyworth was duty-bound to convey this abject failure of his to his father immediately, as Pennyworth was Father's eyes and ears in the childrearing process. Father would be disappointed, of course, not react in anger, but in shame. He would hopefully be kind, and act gently in the sharing of his displeasure. Damian would need to be in peak condition were he to continue to be allowed to act as Robin, and therefore gain back his father's favor, and recover as quickly as he could.
He had thought he had been doing better.
Damian isn't sure how many mistakes he has left. How many more times can he continue to mess up, before Father will express his disdain in the worst way possible, and send him back to Mother and Grandfather in disgrace. He is under no misconceived fantasy that he will be greeted warmly, and he is unsure of where he will have left to go, once he is excommunicated from the family and determined to be trespassing upon the inherited property. He certainly won't be allowed to stay there.
He obviously will not be allowed to stay here.
He will need to deduce how many mistakes he has remaining, and then plan out how he can avoid wasting them so carelessly in the future.
Damian goes up to his quarters, and begins plotting out a course of conversation that he could use to navigate the tumultuous currents of Father's favor, in order to sail to the most successful explanation of the day's actions.
He sits at his desk, even more woodenly than the chair he rests on.
He hadn't thought he had been doing this badly.
He does not flinch at Father opening the door—he had needed to train that instinct out of himself early on. Few things lost Grandfather's approval faster than showing fear in anticipation of a punishment well deserved. The amount of time spent regaining what was lost will be long enough as it is, without losing more approval and being dismissed from his father's estate sooner than he has to be. He needs to be actively gaining his father's favor back, not losing more.
Father's huge form blocks out the majority of the doorway, ensuring Damian has no exit from the room. How silly, to think he would be so ill trained as to attempt to escape. He has earned what he has coming to him, and he will endure with grace. With experience.
"Damian." Father's tone is gentle. This is to be expected, Father is rarely so loose with his emotions as to show what he is actually feeling in the moment. His grasp on his outward emotions is something Damian looks forward to mastering as well. "Are you ready to talk, or shall we wait?"
"I am sufficiently prepared, Father," Damian's reply comes evenly, and he inwardly sighs in relief that he was able to keep the tremor from his voice. He rises from the chair and turns to face his father with honor. "You may commence with my punishment; I am ready."
Father's face gains a pinched quality, and Damian swallows down the fear at what might be coming, that even Father looks discomforted at the thought.
"Dami," Father begins, hushed. "What do you think is going to happen, here?"
Damian swallows, gaze trained near his father's shoulders, as he knows better than to make an attempt at eye contact, in these situations. Mother had always told him his 'puppy dog eyes' would grant him no reprieve from what was coming, and were he to use that tactic with Grandfather, it would only incur a worse sentence than before.
"I wouldn't presume to know your plans, Father. I have taken the time to reflect on my actions, and while I had believed to be acting in the best interest of the Wayne name, I now understand that my attempt was misguided at best. I... am sorry, Father. I did not mean to bring shame upon the family. I will handle whatever punishment you see fit, and endeavor to react better in the future." Damian is fairly certain none of his words will anger his father more for sounding like an attempt to lessen his punishment. He nods shortly, eyes dropping further to the floor to signify he is done in his defense.
Father looks sickened. Damian feels cold in the pit of his stomach, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes down. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. Damian suppresses a shudder as his father steps closer, a flinch when he sees a hand coming for him, but the fingers are outstretched, not curled under into a fist. The hand makes a soft landing on his shoulder, and before he knows what's happening, Damian finds himself wrapped in his father's strong arms.
What?
He must have said it out loud, as Father's hold tightens. Damian makes a mental note to be more aware of his speech when under stress.
All at once, the hold releases, and Damian—almost—stumbles back, barely managing to catch his balance at the last moment. A stolen glance at his father shows that he appears too preoccupied with other thoughts to have caught Damian's blunder, but he has no doubt that it has been noticed. Father catches everything. The hand returns to his shoulder, but this time Father crouches down in front of him, bringing them closer to an equal height, though now Damian is looking slightly down towards him.
Father looks... bad, for lack of Damian's usual extensive vocabulary. This whole exchange is knocking him off-kilter; it's so far off from any past punishments he's received. Father looks up at him wearily, suddenly looking a decade older. His hand tightens on Damian's shoulder for a moment, and he almost braces himself before realizing, it's just a squeeze. His past research into traditional western family values has indicated that a squeeze to the shoulder is supposed to be comforting, reassuring. To Damian in this moment, it's just more confusing. He catches himself before his brain is able to run off on that train of thought, and brings himself back when he realizes Father is speaking.
"—would never hurt you, Damian, do you understand that? The reason I asked you here was to discuss what happened and how it could have been handled better, not to punish you. I can promise that you will never be purposefully harmed while in my care. Do you understand?"
Damian manages to nod, mechanically.
A lecture. Not even—rather more of a discussion. His father was planning to let him... explain himself? That's never happened before. Growing up in Nanda Parbat there were no explanations, no excuses. But, Damian reminds himself, Father's home is not Nanda Parbat, and it is not the same in many ways.
He hadn't messed up?
Father squeezes his shoulder gently again, giving him a wavery grin. "How about we table this for now, son. Let's go have some hot cocoa, and when we're both ready, we can try again. I'll let you explain yourself, and we'll talk about it, but I promise, I have no plans to punish you. This is all a misunderstanding, and I apologize for failing to make sure you understood the parameters of the situation. Does that sound okay, Damian?"
Father is apologizing to Damian?
Tension leaves his body in a wave, and were it not for his father crouching directly in front of him, he would have been a pile on the floor. As it is, Father swoops him back up into his arms, carrying him as if he were a small child. Normally, Damian would have opposed this kind of babying. This time, he just relaxes into his father's hold, burying his face into his shirt. Into saftey.
They would be having a hard conversation later, but for now, he was content to snuggle into the security of his father's arms.
"It sounds satisfactory, Father."
He doesn't see his father's smile—tired as it may be—as he carries him down to the kitchen.
He thinks he might be doing just fine.