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According to one penological theory, punishment aims to achieve five objectives: denunciation, incapacitation, retribution, rehabilitation, and deterrence. All in proportion to the crime committed. Damian knows these elements well-- Bar rehabilitation, of course, but he doesn’t consider that his problem. Didn’t, at least.
Now, as he assesses the situation, he wonders if paying more attention might have helped.
It’s likely, he’ll admit.
His father lands heavily in the chair before the Batcomputer, not making a sound despite the injuries he’s sustained over the course of the night. They’ve been busy-- an attack on one of Gotham’s police precincts, a spate of jewelry robberies, and a new costumed villain attempting to make a name for herself keeping them occupied-- but Father tries to ensure that Damian rests for a few hours each night.
Damian has been trying to sleep, because he understands that he cannot afford to incapacitate himself by avoiding it, particularly when his father is acting like this. Restless. Driven.
Drake and Grayson are both out of town, Brown is avoiding Father after another fight (one in which Damian believes Brown was justified, though he’s not going to tell her so) and Cain never challenges Father about the treatment of his body… She seems to view it as a challenge, a standard to hold herself to. As for Todd… the less said about him, the better.
Pennyworth enters the cave, carrying a tray with tea and cucumber sandwiches. Privately, Damian hopes that they’re drugged, though he knows it deeply unlikely.
“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Pennyworth greets. And then, “Good morning, Master Damian. A busy night, I see.”
He sets the tray down at the Batcomputer. Damian watches, reviewing his own gear as he always does after patrol. Father normally does so, too, but today he’s skipped it. That means the equipment may fail him tomorrow, especially if they’re required to leave quickly for any reason (as they often are).
“Hn,” his father replies.
“Talkative as ever.” Pennyworth sets a cup of tea at Father’s elbow, then follows with a sandwich on a porcelain plate. Brings another cup and sandwich to Damian, setting it near his gear laid out on the table he’s working at.
“Pennyworth,” Damian starts.
Pennyworth pauses, raising an eyebrow, gloved hands balancing his silver tray. But Father is sitting right there, and though he’ll ignore almost anything like this, it’s unlikely he’ll ignore them conspiring to get him to rest. He’ll only become more obstinate. Damian sniffs at the thought and then coughs.
“Thank you,” he says, instead of anything of merit.
“You’re quite welcome,” says Pennyworth. His face is unreadable.
Damian watches with no small sense of despair as Pennyworth begins to climb the stairs and leave the cave. At least he has the cucumber sandwiches, bland though they may be, to fortify him.
So. Given the (archaic) principles of penology that he’s studied… a punishment may achieve many goals. However, it must suit the crime… Though refusing to sleep isn’t a crime, exactly. Damian will call it an infraction instead. He’ll create a code of conduct and forge his father’s signature on it later, then cite it to him. Yes. With the sleep deprivation, his father may even forget he didn’t consent to it.
Okay. That’s obviously untrue. It’s nice to dream sometimes, though. Even for someone as level-headed and logical as Damian.
He does not stare at the back of his father’s head, as that would be too obvious. Instead, he counts his birdarangs and smoke pellets, works on checking the grapple lines he’s recovered to ensure there are no breakages or other failures.
He could lure his father into an elaborate trap. It's clearly worked well enough for various Rogues in the past. Lock him in a room and give him a riddle and... He'd stay awake until he solved it. He's also had a not insignificant amount of practice by this point... and Damian, quite frankly, does not want to deal with any outrage a villain may feel after he's 'stolen' one of their 'gimmicks'. They blather enough as it is.
Drugging presents similar issues. Ethicality aside, everyone in the 'family' has developed resistances to most common non-lethal compounds. Lethal ones are off the table, for obvious reasons. Father may frustrate Damian, but that doesn't exactly merit the death penalty... ... ... No. It really doesn't.
...Sometimes Damian thinks it should, though.
What if he called Superman? Kent the Elder (and less entertaining) could certainly force Damian's father into bed... He weighs the pros and cons. Yes, his father would take months to forgive him. A potential con, certainly. However, the greater concern is that Jonathan will find out and compare Damian to his father the next time Damian attempts an all-nighter while they're working together. He's already insufferable about 'getting enough sleep every night, not just most nights'. Damian discards that plan of action without a second thought.
Which leaves him with... nothing in that department. ...Fine. He’ll try something else.
“Father,” he says, approaching the back of the chair. He stands behind at parade rest, waiting. After a moment, his father grunts in acknowledgement.
“You haven’t slept in over ninety-six hours.”
Another grunt.
“You ought to--” he starts.
“Go to bed, Damian,” his father interrupts, like he can sense it.
“You go to bed,” says Damian, feeling the way he’s been cast as childish a fraction of a second later. He can feel his father’s disapproval in the silence that follows, his own words echoing in the air.
“...Or else,” Damian mutters, crossing his arms.
“Or else what?” his father turns and faces him finally, face set in a neutral expression. On anyone else, it would be a scowl. Damian knows it’s not actually one and refuses to be disturbed by it. He raises his chin.
“I’ll make you.”
His father pauses. There’s a twitch of his eyebrows. Damian refuses to blink first, holding eye contact with him.
“How would you propose to do that? A nerve strike? Ketamine?” His father’s affect remains flat.
“If I told you, you’d be able to prepare for it. An ineffective strategy. I will not show my hand until the time is right.” Damian sniffs, bluffing as hard as he can.
His father’s posture visibly relaxes, and he leans back, glancing to the side. He’s given Damian this win, but it feels like less of a victory and more of a dismissal. Has he seen through the bluff?
“A strategy that relies so heavily on the element of surprise is unlikely to be effective,” Father says. It’s unclear whether he believes Damian or not.
“In conflict, direct confrontation will lead to engagement and surprise will lead to victory,” Damian quotes.
“Sun Tzu.” His father steeples his fingers, looking at Damian above them. And then: “Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception.”
So he does know.
“Machiavelli,” Damian says. The bluff has failed. Negotiation, then. He tilts his head. “You’re aware that sleep deprivation negatively impacts the formation of memories, as well as cognitive performance.”
“Yes. That’s why you should go to bed. Sleep deprivation has deleterious effects most notably in developing young minds.”
A counter.
“I have been sleeping regularly to maintain peak performance, Father.” On the one hand, Damian appreciates that his father is seated for this. It means they’re very nearly at the same eye-level. On the other hand, it feels a bit like pleading a case before a ruler. Not that Damian is incapable, but. But. It’s not ideal. “Work is more likely to contain errors when sleep deprived and require a second pass. It’s inefficient.”
“I’ve trained to counter those effects,” says his father. A moment of weakness.
“No amount of training can entirely overcome the limits of the human mind.” Damian pounces (metaphorically). His father prides himself on his belonging to humanity, for all that he also attempts to surpass its limitations.
“Hm,” his father grunts, conceding. One point to Damian, though this war is far from over. There’s a shift in Father’s posture, legs moving like he’s about to rotate the chair back into place. Damian can’t let that happen.
“Father,” he says, stepping forward. The scrape of his boots on the metal floor is loud in the cave. The muscles in his father’s legs stop moving. He’s successfully extended the interaction.
Abruptly, a flash of inspiration. Perhaps those movies Grayson forces him to watch are not entirely useless, after all.
“I… have been having trouble sleeping,” he admits, quietly. He has, though it’s due to his father’s lack of sleep keeping him awake as he attempts to strategize.
“Really.” Unconvinced.
Damian flicks his eyes to the floor. Allows his shoulders to droop, though only by a fraction. He’s an excellent actor, though he needs to be perfect to convince his father.
“...It’s childish,” he says, putting his father on higher alert. Father is likely aware that this is a new scheme. The goal isn’t to disabuse him of that notion entirely, but to believe that Damian is truly motivated by his own problems. Father is entirely uninterested in taking care of himself, but taking care of Damian may prove sufficient motivation.
The silence now is expectant.
“Never mind.” Damian begins to turn away.
“Damian.” This time, his father’s voice stops him. His interest has been successfully captured. This operation is delicate, but that’s increased its chances of success significantly.
“Father,” Damian replies, curt.
“What is it,” his father demands, though gently. He’s curious. He wants to know. When Damian had first arrived, this ploy would not have worked. Quietly, Damian glories in his progress. His father values him and his emotions. It is a weakness, but one Damian cannot help but appreciate.
“I.” Damian pauses, trying to build suspense. “I’ve been having nightmares. About… what happened two weeks ago.”
A Scarecrow attack, and one in which Damian had been doused in fear toxin. He had handled the toxin admirably, he knows, but the antidote had only been delivered after he’d begun crying (an involuntary reaction to the gas-- he hadn’t actually been frightened). Still, he tries to channel that fear now, letting himself hunch ever so slightly before straightening. He is a master of manipulation.
“The toxin has had aftereffects? Do you believe the antidote was ineffective?” his father asks, mind visibly working.
“I’ve tested clean. The effects are unfortunately entirely psychological.”
A noise of agreement. His father likely relates to that statement. Damian’s aware that nearly everyone in their little ‘family’ would prefer something concrete and solvable to an issue of the mind.
“However,” Damian begins. He considers pausing again to drag it out, but he doesn’t want to overdo it. Already, it’s been too much. He risks his father having too much time to think or, worse, a notification from the computer about a case. That would risk enthralling his father for hours. “In one of the films Grayson and I watched, I saw that… children share a bed with their parents, in order to address this issue. It allows for the child to sleep despite the fear and provides… comfort.”
Hopefully that wasn’t excessive. Damian makes sure to include that he saw it in a film. He’ll never admit to his father that he used to, on very rare occasions, be allowed a place in his mother’s bed-- that his mother would whisper kind words to him and stroke his hair until he slept. No one was meant to know about that, lest Grandfather discover it, endangering them both.
“You’re certain the toxin isn’t still affecting you?” his father asks. This request, though not directly asked, is beyond the pale for Damian, he knows.
“Yes. The system would have alerted you by now otherwise, I’ve had my blood drawn and tested twice since then.” That assurance should hopefully be enough. If his father decides to go check Damian’s medical records, then he will become absorbed in some other task shortly thereafter. A failure state, if ever there was one.
“I see.” Father looks at him. It’s not clear that he’s decided to cooperate yet. Even with his cowl down, he’s a difficult man to read. Damian thinks he sees something like sympathy in his eyes.
“Alternatively, I could stay awake to assist you,” Damian proposes testingly.
“...I’ll bring my tablet. You haven’t changed yet.” The observation is not without merit-- Damian normally prefers not to change until he’s ready to leave the Batcave. It almost distracts him from his father’s implied agreement with his own implied request. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t give anything away, but he feels a rush of triumph. Premature, certainly. The danger has not yet passed.
“You haven’t, either,” he says.
His father looks down at himself, only just seeming to realize that that is the case. He was certainly aware of it prior to this, but he also tends not to change immediately. It’s one of the reasons Damian doesn’t. His father must have a good reason, after all-- and it is easier to remain focused when he’s wearing the uniform.
“Let’s change, then,” his father stands. He takes the cucumber sandwich with him, likely only just now realizing he is hungry. The tablet in bed makes it an imperfect victory, but Damian thinks he’ll be able to convince his father to part with it and sleep through words alone.
If not… He thinks he can convince Pennyworth to forgive him for spilling his now lukewarm (soon to be cold) tea on it.
Already strategizing, Damian follows his father to the changing area. If he truly sleeps more deeply than usual in his father’s bed, comforted by his presence and the sound of his steady breathing… that is for him to know and no one else to find out.