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“‘M not sick.” Damian mumbled into Bruce’s shoulder. Which only solidified Bruce’s suspicions of a fever. Whenever he would try to carry Damian while lucid, he would kick up a fuss about how “demeaning” it was.
“Hm.” Bruce hummed, “If you truly aren’t sick, you won’t mind if I take your temperature will you?” He said as he deposited Damian into his bed. He was gentle, but the jostling must have upset his stomach.
If anything good has come from training to be Batman, it would be his kids and his lightning quick reflexes. In a blink of an eye, he snatched a garbage can beside Damian’s bed and held it under his son’s mouth in the nick of time. As Damian emptied his stomach, Bruce rubbed his back and whispered words of encouragement.
“It’s okay, I got you. Let it out.”
It was violent. Bruce thought Damian was going to pass out several times before the gagging subsided to finally let him breathe. And then it would start up again. Finally, Damian panted as he pushed the bucket away from him.
“Good?” Bruce asked, to which Damian nodded weakly. Bruce rushed the bucket away to the bathroom to dump it and rinse it out. He also filled a glass up with cold tap water, which Damian accepted without a word.
Bruce got him lying down, which Titus took as an invitation to hop up beside his beloved owner. Titus laid his head on Damian’s stomach and sighed as Damian scratched his ears.
“I’ll be right back, I need to get the thermometer.” Bruce whispered, petting his boy’s hair. Damian’s eyes opened, and looked up at Bruce. They plead for him to stay, but Bruce’s room was just down the hall, it would be less than a minute.
But in the couple of months that Bruce has had Damian, he’s never seen him so vulnerable.
He decided that he’ll just text Alfred to retrieve the thermometer and some medicine for them. But as he reached for his pocket, he realized that he left his phone at the breakfast table. He internally cursed himself.
“I’m sorry, honey, I’ll be right back.” He said, kissing Damian’s forehead, before leaving the room.
He stuffed the thermometer and meds in his pocket in a rush, and sped walked back to Damian.
It was like throwing up flipped a switch in Damian. When Bruce returned he was shocked to find Damian eyes wet with tears, his lips sticking out in a pout. Bruce rushed over to his side.
“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?” He cooed. Damian just shook his head and let out the smallest sob. “Do you want me to stay or do you want to be left alone?”
“S-stay.” Damian whimpered out.
“Okay, sweetheart. Do you want me close or just in the room?” Damian didn’t respond to that, only his lip trembled harder. “Okay, I’ll stay right here until you say otherwise, okay?” Damian nodded. “Let’s take your temperature, you’re definitely running a fever but I just want to know how bad.” He took the protective casing off the tip of the thermometer, and requested Damian to open up. Damian obediently opened his mouth and held it there until it beeped.
101.4.
Not good.
“Oh sweetheart. Let’s try at get that fever down.” Bruce helped him sit up before measuring out the kids strength medicine. Damian gulped it down without a fit, still sniffling with tears streaming down his face.
Damian caught a cough within a couple of weeks of being in Gotham. It was nasty, but nothing too serious. But Damian made it everyone’s problem, mostly Tim’s. He initially refused to take kids medicine, calling it demeaning. But Bruce wouldn’t let him have the adult strength, so Damian begrudgingly took the grape flavoured syrup. Every single dose was a fight. Damian was not one to take anything lying down.
So him being this small and docile. It was really concerning.
Maybe he should call Leslie, just in case. Or Alfred would know what to do. He laid Damian back down and stood to retrieve a cool cloth. Damian whined pathetically. “Don’t worry, I’m not even leaving the room.” Bruce squeezed his hand, and swiftly left for the bathroom.
Damian shivered as the cloth was rested on his forehead and Bruce braced himself for the next part. “Sweetheart, we need to bring the fever down. Your blanket is too heavy.” Damian didn’t acknowledge it until Bruce began to peel the comforter away.
“No…” Damian whined, gripping the comforter to him. “‘M cold.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to.”
Damian curled in on himself as he relented to Bruce. Titus seemed to understand that the blanket needed to come off and stepped off before returning to his original position. Bruce replaced the comforter with a thin bedsheet. Hopefully it would feel better than no blanket at all. Damian was crying again, his face red from holding back sobs.
“What’s the matter, honey? Is it your stomach.”
Damian shook his head.
“Is it because I took the blanket.”
Damian shook his head again. And with a deep, shuddering breath, he whispered. “I want Mother.”
And Bruce knew the answer. He just hoped it wasn’t true. It was one of the only things that he couldn’t provide or fix. His heart broke as Damian started to sob. He could only hold Damian tight and reassure him. But what could he do? He learned that family is so much more than blood, that he was no less a stranger to Damian than if Talia left him with a random man.
At least Damian didn’t want him to leave earlier. That was a good sign, right?
Bruce managed to maneuver both him and Damian into bed, he was sitting up against the headboard with Damian curled up on his chest. Bruce held him close and kissed his head as he allowed Damian to cry. Eventually, the cries turned to sniffles, which turned to slow breathing. Damian was fast asleep.
Although the circumstances were less than favourable, Bruce still felt affection bloom in his chest.
This baby was his.
His other kids, he had always been keen on not replacing their biological parents. That’s how he preferred it with Alfred, although he does now consider him a father.
But with Damian, he didn’t need to worry about that. Although he doesn’t know if he’ll ever form the same bond with him if he was there from birth. But he didn’t care. Damian is his baby.
He heard the door creak open and Alfred peak his head in. Bruce sent him a sad smile as Alfred walked over.
“How is the lad?” He whispered.
“He has some sort of stomach bug and a nasty fever.” Bruce whispered back. “And he’s not acting like himself, which worries me.” Alfred rested his palm against Damian’s flushed face.
“Poor boy.” Alfred cooed.
“And he misses his Mother terribly.” Bruce laid another kiss on his head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Bruce didn’t know if Damian would grieve for his mother, since she is still very much alive and able to visit. Although very rarely due to her betraying Ra’s and working to create a new League.
But it was still such a big change.
Before they could say anything more, Damian lurched from his arms. Thank god Alfred had fast reflexes too.
This bout was just as bad as the last. Only now Bruce could feel how Damian’s body tensed after every gag, how he shook when he finally leaned away from the bucket. Alfred rushed off to the bathroom while Bruce tended to Damian.
Bruce plucked a few tissues from the box beside Damian’s bed to wipe his son’s mouth clean. Damian whined and wiggled his face back into Bruce’s chest.
“Mama.” He whimpered. “Mama.”
Bruce couldn’t stand it. But there was nothing else he could do but rock Damian back and forth.
Bruce didn’t dare move Damian off of himself as Alfred and him discuss their course of action. Since Damian could hold anything down, it would be best if they tried to manually keep his temperature down. Meaning a cool cloth on his forehead, some ice packs and no blankets.
Luckily, Damian slept for most of the morning. Only woken up to be given water or Powerade. Only to wake up not ten minutes later to puke it up. It got to the point where they decided to give him an IV so he wasn’t so dehydrated. As for Bruce, Damian wanted to be held a lot, he was basically stuck in bed with his son.
Oh no. How dreadful. To be stuck bonding with his youngest and catch up on some well needed sleep.
He called Lucious to tell him that he won’t be able to come in or work from home. Lucious questioned him, rightfully so since he also met Damian and they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. But eventually let up when their phone call was interrupted by retching in the background.
The day slugged on. By lunch time Damian’s fever had gone down a few degrees, and he was getting somewhat lucid.
Fortunately, not enough to push away Bruce’s affection.
That was such a selfish thought. Bruce scolded himself. His son is sick and he’s happy because he’s not being himself.
But he was well enough to try and get something down.
“I don’t want chicken broth!” Damian whined.
“What do you want then, baby?” Bruce asked. Not bothering to scold him for his demands. The kid’s sick, he’s allowed to whine.
“I want Mother’s congee!” Damian huffed.
“Okay, that’s okay. Alfred can make you that.”
“No! I don’t want his congee! I want Mother’s!” Damian pouted.
“I know, sweetie, but we can’t. Do you want to try Alfred’s?”
Damian reluctantly agreed.
When it came, Damian picked at it.
“Can you just take a bite, bud? I just want something in your stomach.”
“Tt. Mother’s was never this consistency.” Damian sniffed.
“I know. But it’s the best we could do.” Bruce comforted.
Damian took a shaky spoonful into his mouth. He frowned. “It tastes different.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Mother makes it with chicken.”
“We can do that next time.”
Damian swallowed heavily. Bruce was ready to take it away. Perhaps this only made him more homesick. Until Damian took another bite.
“It’s passable.” He muttered.
He only got a few more bites before he pushed it away. And a few minutes until he threw it up.
“Mother’s never made me sick.” He groaned before heaving again.
Bruce tried not the chuckle as he rubbed Damian’s back.
Afterwards, Damian didn’t want to sleep. Bruce understood. If he knew anything about 10 year old boys is that being confined to a bed is hell. But Damian definitely wasn’t well enough to do pretty much anything. So Bruce brought him his sketchbook and put on a documentary. Damian soon abandoned his sketchbook in favour of lying on Bruce’s chest and watching the documentary.
The documentary was about robot animals spying on actual animals. It was interesting enough, amusing to watch the animals form some sort of bond with the robots.
Damian sighed as they watched a monkey comfort the robot baby monkey after it fell from a branch. “I miss mother.” He said, so small and quietly.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“She used to stay with me when I was sick.” Damian buried his face into Bruce’s chest. “Or come home from missions. And she would sing to me.”
Bruce hummed. “You know, when I was little, my mother, your grandmother, would chop up onions and put them in my socks when I ran a fever.” Damian lifted his head to look a his father with a bewildered stare. Bruce laughed. “It was supposed to bring down a fever. My father knew it didn’t work, but he didn’t stop her.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think it was because she would do anything to help me feel better. Even if didn’t make much sense. But now when I smell cut up onions, I think of her.”
“That’s a weird association.” Damian said.
“Yeah, sometimes that’s just what happens though.” Bruce shrugged. “When you lose someone you see them in almost anything.”
“Mother isn’t dead though.” Damian whispered.
“No, but you don’t see her as often, right?” Damian nodded. “When things settle down, then I’m sure she’ll make time for you.”
“Sometimes…” Damian hesitated. “Sometimes I don’t miss her. And then I feel like I’m betraying her when I don’t.”
“I understand, that’s how I thought too.” Bruce rocked him, “But I guarantee you that your mother wants you to be happy here. That’s why she needs you here. To be happy.”
“I was happy with her.”
“I know. But it’s okay to be happy here too.”
Damian didn’t respond, only letting out small sobs. Bruce felt tears soak through his shirt.
When Damian’s breathing evened out and the sobbing stopped. Bruce pulled out his phone and texted a Hail Mary. It was a long shot he would even get a response.
Two minutes later his phone pinged her answer.
Damian, despite his best efforts, was in and out of sleep again. He still ran a fever, though not as high as it was. Bruce dare not say they were out of the woods yet though, he knew better than to test fate.
Later on, Alfred (the cat) sauntered in. She hopped up on the bed, purring. She meowed at Damian, making biscuits on his arm “Shh!” Bruce scolded quietly. “You’ll wake him up.” Alfred looked at him like he was an inconvenience to her. “Look at Titus. He’s not bothering him.” He pointed at Titus curled up at the foot of the bed. Alfred continued to look at him until he started rubbing his face on Damian’s.
Damian groaned and put an arm around Alfred, which seemed to quell her. He sighed as he readjusted with Alfred in his arms. Alfred purred in satisfaction, like, well like the cat who got the cream. “Don’t look so smug.” He told her. Alfred just blinked slowly and laid his head down beside Damian’s, purring happily.
Wasn’t purring supposed to speed up the healing process? Does that work for a virus or just broken bones?
Alfred was content until Damian had another wave of nausea. She skittered off the bed as Damian gagged. Only stopping at the door to see if she’s was in any true danger. A couple of minutes after Damian was lying back down, she returned to the bed. But decided to snuggle up next to Titus. Probably to stay out of the line of fire next time.
Supper time rolled around and Bruce pushed Damian to try and eat again. Damian was adamant that he was not hungry. Bruce decided to keep that particular surprise for later.
“That’s okay sweetheart. I messaged your mother, and she sent you something. Damian perked up and watched as Bruce opened the voice recording.
Talia’s voice filled the room. A rare tone that Bruce only heard her use in the most tender of times. She sang a lullaby softly.
ﻨﻳﻧﻲ ﻴﺎ ﻤﻮﻤﻮ
ﺤﺗﻰ ﻴﻃﻳﺐ ﻋﺷﺎﻨﺎ
ﻮ ﻻ ﻤﺎ ﻄﺎﺐ ﻋﺷﺎﻨﺎ
ﻴﻃﻳﺐ ﻋﺷﺎ ﺠﻳﺭﺍﻨﺎ
Talia wasn’t a singer, but the way her voice rasped and the notes swayed. It was perfect.
ﻨﻳﻧﻲ ﻴﺎ ﻤﻮﻤﻮ
ﺤﺘﻰﺘﺟﻲ ﻋﺩﻣﻮ
ﺒﻮﺒﻮ ﻔﺎﻠﻣﻳﺩﻳﺔ
ﻘﺎﻗﺎ ﻔﺎﻠﺻﻳﻧﻳﺔ
أحبك
Damian sniffed as tears fell down his face. “Can we…” he cleared his throat, “can we listen to it again.”
“Of course, honey.”
They probably listened to it 10 times before Damian asked, “Did your mother ever sing to you?”
“She did.”
“What did she sing.”
“Oh, lots of stuff. But my favourite was ‘You Are My Sunshine’.”
“What does it sound like?” Damian asked him, looking up with big sad eyes.
Bruce cleared his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he sang, much less a lullaby.
“It… uh… it goes like.
“You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey…”
His was much worse than Talia’s, but Damian didn’t seem to care much as he closed his eyes.
As Bruce finished the song, he waited to see if Damian was awake. When he didn’t move or say anything, Bruce gently removed himself from the bed. Using all of his Batman skills, he sneaked from the room.
He made his way to the kitchen, where Alfred was storing away the leftover congee.
“Asleep?” Alfred asked, without turning his back.
“Hopefully for the night.” Bruce confirmed. One good nights rest would probably do wonders. Alfred placed a bowl of congee in front of him, which he gratefully accepted.
He hummed as he took a bit.
“Chicken broth.” Alfred said.
“Sorry?”
“Miss Al Ghul makes hers with chicken broth. Made from the same chicken the meat comes from.” He collects the containers and puts them in the fridge. “Unfortunately, I had to resort to store bought broth, due to the time restriction.”
“I’m sure Damian won’t notice.” Bruce said between bites. He’s barely eaten more than his son today, so he was ravenous.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to assume. Although I used his mother’s recipe, I can’t reproduce her love.”
Bruce supposed Alfred had some experience with that.
After his meal, and a dose of immune boosters, Bruce was left with a decision. Stay home with his son, or go out as Batman.
During the early years of Batman, this would be a no brainer. Go out. Alfred would take care of it. Dick would be upset during the thick of the virus, but forgive Bruce shortly after. He understood that Batman needed to be out there to prevent what happened to the both of them.
Jason didn’t care much for being looked after. He’d much rather look after himself. As he grew though, he was more receptive to help. For Bruce to lay a cold cloth and a kiss on his forehead.
He could never forgive himself for not doting on him more after he died.
Once he got his head out of his ass, he was more willing to stay home from a patrol or two. Although he would be worried sick for his team out there.
But they were more than capable. And Damian needed a parent right now.
He took his tablet and returned to Damian’s room. He got under the covers beside his son, careful not to wake him. Titus and Alfred accommodated him easily into the bed. He watched the patrol for about half an hour until sleep dragged him under.
Damian and him rested well that night, with little to no interruptions.
Bruce woke up the next morning to Alfred the cat kneading his shoulder, purring loudly. Bruce lifted the cat off of him, placing him on Damian’s empty space. Bruce didn’t register that his son was gone until he wondered who had the shower running. He shot up and saw that the IV had been removed.
Logically, he knew that Damian was fine. Just taking a much needed shower. But the image of his son, collapsed on the floor as water pelted him. He had to check on him.
He knocked on the door gently. “Damian?”
“Yes, Father?” Damian echoed voice responded over the spray of the shower.
Bruce sighed with relief. “Nothing, just making sure you’re alright.”
Damian didn’t respond, so Bruce left the door. He made himself useful by stripping the bed of the sweat covered linens. Alfred and Titus gave him dirty looks as he kicked them off. He heard the shower turn off by the time that he was tossing all the soiled blankets in the corner of the room. He hurriedly opened the linen closet.
By the time that Damian came out, his bed was covered with fresh sheets. Damian must’ve still felt under the weather because instead of get dressed for the day, he was changed into a fresh set of pyjamas. He slipped under the clean sheets without a word.
“Good morning.” Bruce said, kneeling beside Damian and running his hand through his hair. “How’re you feeling today?” Damian mumbled and shooed Bruce’s hand away. “Let’s take your temperature, to make sure your fever has gone down.”
“I don’t have a fever.” Damian said more clearly this time.
“Let’s just double check.” Bruce was sure Damian didn’t have a fever too, but better safe than sorry.
Damian took the thermometer from Bruce to place it in his own mouth. A couple minutes later, it beeped out its reading. “97.5. Perfect.” Bruce placed it aside, and turned back to Damian. “But how do you feel?”
“Fine.” Damian insisted.
Damian, like Jason, would probably downplay his illness. Probably to not seem weak or incapable.
“Okay.” Bruce lied, he really didn’t think that Damian was feeling “fine”. But he worked with what he was given. “I think you need one more day in bed, though.”
“That’s not needed, Father.” Damian eyes were already closing. “I… I can go to school.”
Bruce hummed. “You were really sick yesterday. Even if you’re not sick, your body needs time to recover.” Bruce leaned down. “And you want to be your absolute best, right?”
Damian nodded sleepily. Bruce smiled and kissed his head.
“Are you up for some breakfast?” Damian shrugged, which Bruce took for a yes.
Damian fell asleep waiting for his meal, but opened his eyes when Alfred placed the bowl of Congee on the bedside table. He took a big whiff of the bowl.
“Is that…”
“Your Mother was kind enough to share her recipe.” Alfred explained. “I hope that a served her justice. Would you like to try a bite?” He offered the boy a spoon.
Damian gladly took it and took a bite. He’s face scrunched up for a moment, like he was going to cry again. But he quickly composed himself. “It’s significantly better than yesterday’s.” He settled on. “This better not make me sick again.” He took another bite.
He finished about three quarters of the bowl before putting it aside. Which is more than Bruce could hope for.
Seeing as Damian was back to his normal self. Bruce wasn’t welcomed back to hold his son. Which was bittersweet, but Bruce reminded himself that it means that Damian is getting better. Seeing how clingy Damian was, however, made Bruce hesitant to leave him. So he called in from the office to work from home. He sat at Damian’s desk to work on his laptop. Damian stayed in his bed, alternating between napping, drawing in his sketchbook, and watching art restoration videos on YouTube.
Bruce watched a video with him during lunch (chicken noodle soup). Damian commented on the techniques that the previous conservator used with disgust. “How egotistical can you be!” He growled, as the current conservator gently wiped away the gaudy over paint. Bruce couldn’t help but smile at him. “What?” He asked.
“Nothing. I just love you, kiddo.” Bruce said.
Damian seemed to tense a bit. He turned away, but Bruce could see a dusting of blush on the tips of his ears.
And then Bruce realized.
Has he really not said that he’s loved Damian during the months he was here? Bruce wanted to shrink in on himself. He knew he had a problem saying it, but he thought he was getting better. Did Damian hear him saying it to the others but not to him? He certainly tried to show Damian he loved him. Taking him to Art Gallery’s, and Gotham Zoo, to show him he saw his interests and appreciated them. He bought all the art supplies he could ever want. But Bruce knew that actions can only go so far, children Damian’s age needed to hear it.
“I love you, son.” Bruce said again. Making up for all the times he never said it out loud.
“Tt.” Damian responded. It might take him awhile to accept it, as did Jason after becoming Red Hood, but he’ll just keep saying it until he believed him.
The day flew by much the same, until it was time for bed. At least for Damian.
“You’re sure you’re okay if I head out.”
“I’m not a child, Father. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know. But do you want me to stay?” Bruce asked him again.
“I’m fine.” Damian sighed.
“Okay.” Bruce accepted. “I love you, bud.”
He didn’t expect a response, but maybe it was wishful thinking. Right before he closed the door behind him, he swore he heard Damian’s faint voice.
“I love you too, Father.”