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He’s alone.
Not a strange thing, considering the occasion.
He treats the day like any other. He eats a morning meal at the breakfast bar, and then walks Titus around the grounds. He feeds his animals in the cave and learns that his father has left for an emergency meeting in the watchtower.
Alfred gives him a strained sort of look when he delivers the news. Damian shrugs it off like every other birthday. This was not unusual. Besides, he isn’t expecting anything grand. He’d never celebrated his birthdays, not really. He used to duel with his mother, but that ended when he’d ‘won.’ He sometimes thinks she lost on purpose.
He still treats himself to a delicious lunch. He spends an hour cooking up his favorite meal and then feeds bits to Titus. Alfred the cat isn’t terribly interested in what he cooks, but he claims Damian’s lap when they transition to the dining room. He curls himself up into a ball and purrs. Thoughtlessly, Damian strokes his fur with an unoccupied hand. He eats slowly while he does it, staring at the wall. He has the day off, so he wonders what he should do for the remainder of it.
He makes his choice before he finishes off his plate.
Once the dish is cleaned up in the sink, he heads outside for a while. He strolls with Titus trotting at his heels, stopping only to admire the local fauna.
He plays fetch for a while. Titus might be big, but he can also be slow. He takes his sweet time fetching the ball, trotting back proudly with a slobbery catch. Sometimes, he’ll try to jump mid-air to chomp Damian’s throws. He finds amusement in Titus' antics. His mood lifts a marginal degree, and he entertains himself with his dog's goofiness.
When they head back inside, Damian scrolls on his phone for thirty minutes. He sits himself on the couch and lounges across. The time creeps by slowly, teasing him with a turtle’s pace. He just wants the day to be over, but his phone doesn’t seem to scratch his itch. He turns to the television instead, turning it on for a streaming service. The movie he puts on is one he’d never seen before, but he’s not terribly interested in the first twenty minutes. He thinks about turning the television off so he can do something else. He probably would have if Alfred hadn’t made his home on Damian’s stomach, pressing paws into his gut with loving attention. Damian realizes he’s trapped when Alfred curls up into a little weighted ball, sapping all of Damian’s energy to remove himself from the room. He decides he’ll stay in the living room.
He falls asleep. He wakes up multiple times, but he tries to lull himself back into napping. It makes him feel horrible, but he wants the time to go by faster.
Once evening rolls, he goes back down to the cave.
When he sees his father at the computer, he pauses briefly to digest his presence.
The man doesn’t even look at him.
Damian dresses himself up for the usual patrol. He notices that his father is still wearing his cowl, but his gloves had been discarded. He sees them laying on the side, plopped on top of the other. He decides not to question it. He instead begins his descent to the vehicle deck. He intends to mount his bike, but his father stops him before he can get down the stairs.
“Damian,” he calls out.
Damian backs up so he can turn and look at his father. The man had taken off his cowl.
“Where are you going?”
Damian presses his lips together.
“Patrol.” He explains. “All of my trackers are in working condition and my comm is open for transmissions. I’ll report in hourly, as you requested months ago.”
His father leaves the computer and approaches him. Damian’s eyes follow him until the man stops in front of him. He has to tilt his head back to look up at him.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Father asks.
The question confuses him. Regardless, he keeps his face impassive.
“No,” he decides.
“Hm,” his father grunts, pulling his cowl back on. “I think you are.”
His father retreats back to the computer to pull his gloves back on, and then he surprises Damian. He shoots out an object in his direction, tossing it with precision. Damian catches it before it can hit him. Confused, he opens his palm up to see a singular key. The batmobile’s key.
His eyes dart upward.
“You’re letting me drive?”
When Father nods, the glee Damian feels breaks through his firm expression. He gives a bright laugh and then spins on his heels. He flies down the stairs and pops open the batmobile’s door. He is momentarily surprised to see the seat had already been boosted for him, and that the brakes were higher than usual. It was as if this had been prepared for him, which it most likely had been.
“Do be careful,” Alfred’s voice rings out from the upper deck.
Damian hops in and jabs the key into the slot. He turns it on and grins.
He waits until his father catches up, sitting himself down in the passenger’s seat. He is gruff and serious looking, as if he hadn’t taken joy in seeing Damian’s cheer. Damian knows the opposite is true, considering his father’s increased patience for him.
“Wait,” his father stops him before he could open the ramp door, “here.”
Father pops open the glove compartment and then Damian is offered a brightly wrapped present.
“From Dick,” Father explains. “He couldn’t be here, but he wanted you to know that you matter to him.”
Damian stares at the present for a good chunk of time before he finally accepts it from his father’s hold. He carefully unwraps it in his lap, and his heart beats, in a touched, sappy sort of way, when he sees a photo of his recent excursion with his brother. They’d been standing in front of a local art mural, a sunny looking thing with yellow and pink colors. It’d been painted on a brick wall, downtown where Dick had taken him to see a chalk-art festival, and they were both standing next to each other with different expressions. Dick was smiling the smile he reserved for photos, and Damian was trying hard not to let a smile seep through. It’d failed, judging from the quirk of his lips. The right corner, to be exact.
Damian turns the picture around and reads the message written on the back.
Be ready for me to drop in some time later. We haven’t been to the beach in a while, have we?
He considers at it for a while before setting the picture down. He unboxes the gift it’d been taped to, opening up a set of silver cufflinks. Little tiny knives, he realizes.
Hilarious (he rolls his eyes).
Damian sets the gifts aside in the side of the door and finds himself smiling like a fool.
Were all birthdays supposed to be like this? He was flattered they’d even remembered to begin with.
“Damian,” Father begins, retrieving his attention once more. “This is your day. We’ll do whatever you want to do. Go wherever you want to go.”
Damian’s smile turns into a sharp-fanged grin.
He opens the ramp and presses on the gas. Father doesn’t so much as make a single change in his expression, which is impressive, considering Damian’s wild reckless driving.
The boy shouts out his joy with a resounding whoop.
He puts a dent in the car. Fortunately, his father is feeling extra charitable this night. He lets the incident roll of his shoulders, and he helps Damian barge into an exotic animal trafficking ring. It takes them two hours to tie everyone up, investigate their surroundings, and call the police in to handle the situation. Afterwards, they sit themselves on the ledge of a building. Father hands him a chocolate filled croissant, packed lovingly by Alfred’s paternal hand.
Father crumbles up the brown lunch bag after its empty and sets it to the side. Damian swings his legs like a child, staring out at the cityscape with a chin covered in chocolate. Father must feel that it’s worth attending to. He uses his own cape to clean up Damian’s face.
“Robin, I want to say something before we head back to base,” Father begins after lowering his cape.
Damian stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his treat and makes a noise in acknowledgment since his mouth is full. Father takes that as a positive sign to continue, and thus he does. “I know we’ve had our rough patches, and that we don’t always see eye-to-eye. I’ve said some things that I never should have said, and I’ve hurt you when I should have been protecting you.”
Damian is unready for the sentimentality of the moment, hands falling limp on his lap. His brain goes numb for a second, if only to process what’s happening.
“When we first met, I was critical and unforgiving. I wasn’t much of a father.”
Damian’s eyes float down to the concrete underneath his legs.
“Well, it wasn’t fair to you that you’d been saddled with me,” he murmurs in return.
Father puts a hand on his shoulder immediately after his claim, squeezing it in a heart-aching way.
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Every day, I’m thankful that you’re here. You didn’t have to stick around, but you did. That means a lot to me. More than I can ever convey.”
Damian feels his heart throb.
“I’m proud of you, for all that you’ve done, and all that you continue to do.” Another squeeze of his shoulder. “Happy birthday, son. You deserve more than what I can give you, but I’m glad that you’re with me.”
Damian stares at the ground for another span of time, swallowing his emotions. He tries to keep himself together, but when he looks up to make eye-contact with his father, his composure breaks. He lunges for him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. His father reciprocates the hug, like a claw clamped around the fluff of a fuzzy prize. He encases Damian completely with his larger bulk.
“Thank you,” Damian whispers.
Father’s response is a soft kiss to the head.
Damian's heart flutters.
"You mean the world to me," Father murmurs. "Always remember that."
Damian pulls away, if only to look his father in the eye. With an unwavering gaze, he returns the declaration.
"And I, you."
They share eye-contact for a little longer, communicating more words without speaking. Then, Father is tenderly pulling him back in. His hug is softer this time, gentle and loving. Damian leans into him, more than willing to remain in his arms for the rest of the night.
And he nearly does.