Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keep low to the ground. Move when your target moves. Stay in the shadows. Don’t let the moonlight glint off your weapons. Silence your breathing. Calm your heart. Watch. Wait.

Damian slowly inched his face around the corner of his hiding place, keeping all of his lessons to heart. The sound of combat echoed dully around the alleyway before him. 

His father was a brutal fighter. He had trained among the league and then some. Watching him seamlessly mix martial arts to destroy his enemies. It sent a thrill through his body, making it a genuine effort to slow his heartbeat. How he longed to jump into the fray. Prove his worth. But no, not yet.

Always do reconnaissance before approaching a target.

Suddenly the shadows stilled, and Damian ducked back. The air was far too still and quiet. Damian slowed his breathing to be nearly non-existent.

The Bat spoke, giving somebody the location of this street outside the alley. Then with a zip and a flutter of fabric he knew he had left.

Still cautious Damian peered back out, moving slowly, silently. He stepped around broken bottles, trash, and a mess of twisted limbs and collapsed bodies. But none of them were dead. Giving one man a slight nudge with his foot he sighed and crossed his arms. Why did his father bother sparing such worthless maggots? He didn’t understand. But surely he had his reasons. If he kept watching, he’d learn. He’d understand. Then maybe it would be easier to approach. To start the conversation he’d been sent here to have.

Fear is an unacceptable response. You will learn to push past it.

No he was not afraid. Only a bit… nervous.

Clearly his Father was every bit the brutal man he had heard in stories growing up. In reports on his crusade in Gotham city. His fathers kingdom he supposed. His kingdom someday too, perhaps. The Bat, and the Billionaire. He knew of both of his identities. Had watched him day and night. And still had yet to approach him. 

Once again taking stock of the criminals at his feet he was failing to learn anything of value from their spared lives. Surely his Father would be disappointed in him if he approached now. So instead he turned to the wall and scaled it silently. Finding footholds in the old bricks and windowsills.

Once at the top he peered over, eyes scanning the horizon for a shadow or a flutter of cape. But he saw nothing. Which was unfortunate as he’d have to once again scour the city for his Fathers presence. Though sometimes it was easy as following flashing blue and red lights and wailing sirens.

Damian pulled himself up the ledge and perched there for a second before he stood and began to pace the roof. There was wind to his back and it felt good against his grimy sweaty clothes. He hadn’t had the opportunity to bathe or change clothes in days. Weeks even. It was almost disgraceful.

Closing his eyes he took it in for a second. Then the breeze abruptly halted. And Damian realized his mistake too late. He’d stepped into the moonlight.

You failed. Do it again. 

Drawing his blade in one smooth motion he whirled around on one foot to slash low at the target's knees. Knock him off balance, gain the upper hand. Instead his arm was caught, nearly crushed in a huge hand. With a twist Damian grunted and was forced to drop his blade. Then another hand came up to grab the neck of his tunic and he was shoved up against an air conditioning unit.

Wide green eyes met white unblinking sockets. Damian was stunned. Nobody had gotten the drop on him like that for years. But then again if anyone would notice him, it would be the Bat.

“What is a league assassin doing in my city.” Batman growled. Damian’s eyes were all that were visible wrapped up in the green scarf his mother had given him before sending him away. It was wrapped around his head and mouth, the only color on his otherwise black outfit. And he quickly schooled his surprise into a scowl, narrowing those matching green eyes.

“I was sent here to meet you.” Damian would not let his voice shake. Would not let his hands shake. 

Fear is unacceptable.

This time Batman’s mouth flexed into a frown, his hold loosening at the sound of his voice.

“A child?”

Batman dropped Damian, who landed nimbly on his feet.

“I am not a child. I am an assassin.”

You are not a child Damian. You are Heir to the Demons Head.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Batman’s body tensed again, watching Damian’s every move. He felt the slightest twitch of muscle would be seen as an act of aggression so he simply held perfectly still. He was good at that, standing next to Grandfather as he sliced off a man’s head.

But he did not dare to look away or lower his eyes, not ever.

You are an Al Ghul. We do not bow our heads.

“My name is Damian Al Ghul.” And at that declaration Batman’s entire body went still. Damian could hear his breath pause at the revelation. But he continued. Slowly reaching up to pull the scarf down from around his head and mouth. Then he stared defiantly into his Fathers cowl.

“I am the Grandchild of Ra’s Al Ghul. Heir of the Demons Head.”

The Bat stood still, eyes clearly analyzing the face before him. The face Damian had been told many times resembled his Mother by the league members. But told he resembled his Father by his Mother. 

Slowly reaching out a hand he tilted Damian’s face left and right. Damian kept his eyes on the Bat even as his head was moved around.

“Who are your parents?” The question was soft. Hesitant. That wasn’t right. Shouldn't it be obvious? Was this a test? 

“My mother is Talia Al Ghul. And my Father is-“ he pushed his face against the hand turning his chin to again stare him head on, “-Bruce Wayne. The Batman.”

His hand seemed to flinch, fingers twitching as he drew them back inside his cape. Then they stood there. Damian was unsure what to do now. Was he waiting for more? What else could he say? He searched the stoic unchanging face for any sort of hint. He must want him to keep talking.

“Mother said… you would protect me. That I must find you, and have you protect me. I have a letter-“ As he reached for his tunic to pull the letter out, the Bats entire posture changed to defensive and Damian froze. Then he slowly raised both hands up to show he was unarmed.

“The letter is on the right side of my tunic.”

For a moment his Father didn’t move. But slowly a hand reached out and Damian tried his best not to flinch or snap when the hand snakes into his clothes and snatched away the letter he had held onto like a lifeline. That he had guarded like his life depended on it. Because it did.

The Batman read it silently despite the dark. And Damian wondered how he could read it, the moonlight was barely enough. And could he see the little smudges in the ink from where Damian had cried-?

He was looking at Damian again. And Damian stood rigidly before him. Other than his raised hands it was the posture he adopted before Grandfather. Back straight. Eyes forward. Wait for orders. Or a reprimand. Or punishment.

“Follow.” An order. His head jolted up in surprise and he watched his Father for a second as he moved to the edge of the roof. Then he looked back at Damian and opened his mouth as if to repeat himself.

Do not make me have to repeat myself, Damian.

He rushed after him, only stopping to stoop and grab his blade, but kept a few feet distance. Then his Father turned away again and began running over the rooftops. And Damian followed in silence, keeping up with ease. As they leaped and scaled and bounded across gaps, Damian felt that same rush he’d felt watching Father fight. He was running next to his Father. Allowed to stand beside him for the first time. And he noticed the more round about ways he took, gaps he could’ve crossed with his grapple. But he opted for the longer routes because Damian could not follow. Eventually they scaled down a fire escape and they stopped in front of a big black vehicle. Damian had never been able to get close to the car. But now that he was, he was in silent awe of it. Sleek and beautiful like a powerful horse his Grandfather had owned. She had a dark black pelt and was magnificent in every way. And Damian had never truly cared for machinery like this, for once he could appreciate it.

“Get in.” The Bat opened the back seat and Damian wanted to pout and claim he’s not a child. But he already felt he was pushing it tonight. So instead he climbed into the backseat, arms crossed and face forward.

“Seatbelt.” Damian looked at his Father and blinked. And the Bat stared back. The pair seemed to be analyzing each other. Damian not understanding the problem. But also unable to voice his confusion.

Don’t ask me meaningless questions. You are an Al Ghul, figure out your own mistake.

His eyes searched the vehicle next, there were some kind of devices in the seats. A little hole with a button of some kind. He pressed the button but nothing happened. His Father seemed to start at this display, head tilting to follow his movements and mouth turning again to a frown. With a sigh the man reached forward and Damian’s entire body locked up in fear.

Fear is unacceptable, an Al Ghul faces their punishments head on.

Click!

A belt was secured around his body. He followed the line of it up from the buckle to where it had been hidden tucked up behind his shoulder. Well how was he supposed to find that! His displeasure showed on his face for a second, screwed up in disdain. But he wiped it off his face when he saw his Father staring at him again.

“When the vehicle stops you press that button to release the belt. Do not press it until the vehicle has completely stopped. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” The use of that title made the Bat start again. His frown deepening. And Damian wondered what he had done wrong. But the door was closed, leaving him in darkness. 

For just a moment he saw his Father lean against the car. And he recognized the breathing techniques the league had taught him to use, particularly in the case of torture

The ride was silent. Neither party bothering to make conversation. Damian had watched the back of his Father's head. His Father had watched Damian through the mirror.

When they pulled up at the cave Damian clicked the button like was taught, as soon as the car was turned off. Then glanced at his father in the mirror. Waiting for… something. Approval? Confirmation? Disappointment? 

His face didn’t change. And he got out of the car. Damian copied his stoicism, and followed.

“Master Bruce, you’re early.” An elderly voice spoke up. With an accent, English. 

“There was a… complication.” Batman replied, glancing back at Damian. And when he looked around Father he saw the man who had spoken. An aging gentleman in a black three piece suit. Damian brought up his hand to tug the scarf up back over his mouth. And he eyed the man suspiciously, his gaze sweeping over his stiff posture for any sign of a hidden weapon. He saw none which meant he was either unarmed or skilled enough to hide them from even an assassin's eyes.

“Has the Batman started kidnapping now as well as assault?” The stiff man hummed and Damian scowled in response. How dare he insinuate Damian would be weak enough to allow himself to be captured?!

He was distracted however by Batman reaching up and-

His Father. Bruce Wayne. Staring down at him. And he saw what his mother meant. He had her eye color, her nose, her high cheekbones and her skin tone. But he recognized his lips, the shape of his eyes, and his brows, in his Fathers face. 

“This boy is…” Father started, pausing and narrowing his eyes, unsure how to respond. Was he waiting for Damian to introduce himself?

He turned to the stiff man and stood up tall and proud like a prince should.

“I am Damian Al Ghul. Heir to the Demons Head.”

And again he glanced to his Father for some kind of response or reaction. Again his Fathers face was blank. Instead Father looked at Alfred and passed over the letter.

“He is… Talia’s son.” Bruce informed him and Damian glanced at his Father at the half truth. The stiff man however looked up from the letter with a scowl.

“He is your son, according to this.”

“… I won’t know that for sure without a DNA test.”

Sighing through his nose, the stiff man turned back to Damian.

“It’s wonderful to meet you Master Damian,” somehow Damian felt the man was insincere, “my name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am Master Bruce’s butler.”

A butler was a servant right? Then the man did not deserve a response. With a click on his tongue he turned away from the servant and instead to his Father and saw- 

Disappointment? His unchanging face had turned into a small scowl while he was looking away. What had he done wrong?

Damian’s brows twitched downwards and he resisted the urge to look at the floor. Instead he steadied his stance a little and glared back at the disappointed look. Grandfather would appreciate the lack of fear. 

Father however just sighed and reached out to place a hand on his back, guiding him further into the cave.

“Alfred is going to take your blood. But first-“ He motioned to a table next to a massive computer with way too many screens.

“Deposit all of your weapons here.”

Damian looked at him, looked at the table, looked back at him and back to the table. Damian hated being unarmed, especially in an unknown place with unknown people. Taking a second to glare at the table like it personally offended him he began with his knives. There were some strapped to his belt, some hidden under his clothes. He had two big knives, some small thin throwing knives, shurikens and kunai. They made a small pile on the table. There was still the one in his boot but… he’d just say he ‘forgot’ if it got discovered.

You are not a child. Do not behave childishly.

He also had a dart gun, a few darts filled with tranquilizers, one or two darts of poison, and a grappling hook. Damian set these all down as well. 

Last was the sword. Damian was hesitant to part with it. He unsheathed it just a little to look down at his reflection in the green tinted blade. 

A few years ago, he had his first successful kill. Grandfather was so pleased. For the first time in his life on his upcoming sixth birthday, Damian was given a present from his Grandfather. The sword represented his family, his place by Grandfather's side as his heir. His hand shook for only the briefest moment before he deposited the blade, oh so gently, on the table as well. He hoped Father didn’t notice his weakness.

The hand returned to his back, it was uncomfortable. The touch light yet ticklish. Nobody had ever guided him around like that. His Mother hadn’t even hugged him since he was five.

It felt weird.

Damian was told to sit down on a stool next to a white bed, so he did. At the command to roll up his sleeve, Damian only paused for a second before rolling up his sleeve. Then he sat his arm down beside him on a cold metal table.

“Hmm. He’s dehydrated. That will make the blood draw harder.” Pennyworth hummed, taking hold of his arm and twisting it left and right slowly to examine the veins. His touch was gentle but he hated the fact a mere servant dared to touch him anyway. Then he moved away and went to the small refrigerator in the corner that seemed to be holding blood bags. When he returned he had a plastic bottle filled with chilled, clean, clear water. He then placed it on a little table next to Damian.

“Master Damian, please drink slowly but as much of it as you can manage.” Damian’s eyes narrowed. Was that an order? From a servant? He looked at the bottle defiantly and glanced at his Father who once again was frowning at him.

“Do as Alfred says.” Father commanded. And Damian blinked several times at this surprise. Right now he was being viewed as lesser than some lowly servant? But he was- he was-! …

Really thirsty.

Damian snatched the bottle and unscrewed the lid, downing half the water in a second.

“You’ll make yourself sick, child, slow down.” Alfred chided and Damian slammed the bottle back down on the table. A bit of water spilled up past the rim with the force.

“I am not a child! I am an Al Ghul.” He tried to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach just like Pennyworth had said would happen.

Alfred stood up straight and fixed him with a look he couldn’t read. It was uncomfortable. A gaze as scrutinizing as Grandfathers.

“If you are not a child how old are you, Master Damian?”

Don’t hesitate. Don’t show fear. Don’t let your voice shake.

“Eight.”

Father stumbled slightly in the corner of his eye and he quickly turned his head. He looked pale, one hand on his mouth, and he stared into the distance as if remembering something. Damian quirked an eyebrow. Such a blatant show of emotion from his Father was unexpected. 

“And when… did your training begin?” Father had to steady himself on a nearby white countertop when he asked. Damian tilted his head, not understanding.

“From birth. Formal combat training at around three years of age.” He sniffed a little and sat up straight, his Mother and Grandfather were proud he was such a prodigy. But when he looked at Alfred and Father all he saw were pale blank faces and dropped jaws.

“My poor boy.” A hand on his shoulder, Damian flinched visibly for the first time. So shocked by their horror that he forgot to mask his own emotions. Pennyworth drew his hand away at the motion and Damian felt his body still and breathing slow on instinct. A mistake. He waited for the reprimand, staring ahead.

“Damian? Are you-?” Father stood suddenly and approached, watching him closely.

“We won’t hurt you. You’re safe.” But Damian didn’t move. What did he mean he was safe? He should be reprimanded for showing his fear so blatantly. And to a servant no less.

“Damian. Breathe.” Damian did as commanded, even though it hurt less if he slowed his breathing. Or at least it felt like it. Damian took in a breath that only shook slightly. Then exhaled. He repeated that motion when Father looked pleased.

Once Damian had sufficiently breathed they moved on to the DNA test. Damian’s mouth was swabbed, and his blood was taken. The first wipe on the crook of his elbow came away filthy, so it was wiped again just in case. The servant Pennyworth also combed through his hair and took a few samples of that as well. He was a little ashamed of the greasy tangled locks but he kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

“Master Damian, when was the last time you bathed?” 

Damian screwed up his nose at being addressed by the servant again. His old aides had never spoken to him even when they brought him meals or filled his tub.

“I haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. I had to infiltrate a ship to make it to America without the league finding me.” But Damian only looked at Father when he answered.

“I see… we’ll have to fix you a meal and get you a bath. You must be tired after your journey.” Pennyworth praised him. He wasn’t sure why but it made him feel warm.

Damian sat up a little straighter, chest swelling with pride.

“It was nothing. I am an Al Ghul. I can handle any challenge thrown my way.” Damian's voice was filled with pride. It had been a long journey. It had been a really hard journey. All alone. But he couldn’t show that, not in front of his Father. Perhaps once he was alone he could let himself rest. But not now.

“Alfred, we don’t know yet if this is a trick. He should stay down here where I can monitor him.” His Father spoke, sounding tired. Looking tired. And refusing to meet Damian’s eyes again.

“Nonsense. I won’t allow an eight year old boy to wallow in filth for even a second more.” The servant was opposing Father?! Damian’s calm expression was gone, eyes going wide. Remembering that brutal fight in the alley. Pictured fathers strong hands being turned on this man. His body tensed in preparation. He hated witnessing punishment as much as he hated receiving it. 

But instead something so much more shocking happened. Father sighed and relented. Giving a short nod. Though he did pass a device over to Alfred, some kind of small button looking thing. Alfred returned Fathers gift with an unimpressed look.

“I don’t require a panic button when dealing with a chil-… the young Master.” Pennyworth turned to smile at Damian. Damian found the slight upturn of his lips unnerving, like that smile didn’t belong there.

“Come along Master Damian, let’s get you something to eat.” 

Again Damian looked at Father, who was still avoiding his gaze. Now what had he done?

“Listen to Alfred. Behave.” 

“Yes, Father.”

Again Fathers face turned into a scowl and Alfred smirked in response.

“Well, you seem to be settling into the role quite nicely, Master Bruce.”

“Hrn.”

Damian got to his feet, surprised as dizziness nearly overtook him. Pennyworth moved as if to hold him but paused and thought better of it. Damian managed to right himself. But he still felt a bit queasy.

“That can happen when you take blood. Perfectly natural.” Did he look distressed or something? Alfred seemed to have some inane desire to reassure him.

“I’m fine. I’ve certainly lost more blood before than that measly blood draw.” Damian huffed. Alfred face seemed to pale a little although his expression remained unchanged. And Father… Damian froze solid. Fathers brows were knitted together, his eyes looked dark, and his entire body was tense. Father turned and left the room first, cape whirling behind him. Damian’s body had equally tensed, unconsciously preparing for a fight or for pain. For his Father to strike him at least. 

Pennyworth tutted and telegraphed his movements to slowly rest a reassuring hand on Damian’s shoulder. His brain screamed to pull away, run, hide, get his knife from his boot and stab-

“It’s alright. He isn’t angry with you.” Damian narrowed his eyes suspiciously, in disbelief.

“He is angry because you were hurt.” That was even more confusing. Of course he was hurt. That was the punishment for not killing his opponent faster.

“He’s angry because a child was hurt.”

“I’m not a-“

“Not a ‘child’. Yes I know. But you are his ‘child’.”

Damian paused at that, lacking a retort. It was technically true, he was the son of the Bat. Father was truly angry on Damian’s behalf?

Your father will protect you.

Pennyworth guided him with a soft hand on his shoulder. Carefully escorting him to a stairwell in the cave. Damian paused at the bottom of the stairs to glance at his Father. Who was waiting by the computer with his hands folded under his chin. Watching the progress of the DNA and blood results. Damian let himself be led away upstairs, eyes only looking forward once Father was out of sight.

They exited into a small room. Well it wasn’t tiny per say. It had some couches, a fireplace, and a big wooden desk. Turning he saw Alfred shut the magnificent clock behind them.

He narrowed his eyes and examined the clock and the seam where it met the wall. 

“Later we’ll show you how to enter the cave as well. Now come along.” Alfred started off ahead of him and Damian didn’t even have a chance to react to the servant once again addressing him so casually before he was hurrying after him.

The Manor was like a maze. Not unlike the twisting halls of Nanda Parbat and other League hideouts. The narrow passageways and sudden turns were designed to be confusing for their enemies. This must surely be a similar design. 

Eventually they stepped through an archway into a very clean kitchen. It had a homey feel and wooden accents. And it smelt nice, like spices and sugar. 

Alfred motioned for Damian to sit at the island counter. But he refused to do exactly as told by a mere servant so he sat one seat over from the suggested one, scowling at Alfred. The butler merely responded with a slight twitch of his lips. Almost a smile. It made Damian glower harder as if to get across his distaste for the man. Alfred paid him no mind and got to work instead pulling a plastic wrapped plate out of the fridge.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions, Master Damian? Religious or otherwise?” 

Damian pondered this, eyes narrowed to slits as he thought and a hand came to rest on his chin. Honestly he’d never liked consuming meat. But it had never been an option not to before. Perhaps this was a test? What answer would be correct? 

On a mission you’ll never know where your next meal will come from. Do not waste food.

The sight of him seemed to give Alfred pause, but he merely shook his head and resumed reheating the plate of food.

When a warm bowl of risotto was placed in front of him, steaming, Damian’s empty stomach growled. He scowled at his traitorous body. Alfred handed over a spoon which Damian snatched away with another suspicious look. 

Then he hesitantly scooped a tiny bit of the rice onto the end of his spoon. Without breaking eye contact with the butler Damian brought it to his lips. And his eyes widened involuntarily at the intense flavors on his tongue. Whoever made this meal surely surpassed even Ra’s Al Ghul’s personal chefs.

Unable to hold back, especially with his traitorous body screaming for more, Damian began to scarf down the food as quickly and as dignified as he could manage.

Once he finished it was time for a bath. What a relief.

As they started up a grand staircase, Damian let his eyes wander around. The chandeliers above the massive foyer glittered and covered the room in gold light. Expensive artwork decorated the walls and vases and statues lined the halls. When they reached the landing Damian paused to look at the portrait there. Featuring a man who looked a lot like father, but a little older. A woman with a kind smile and beautiful pearl necklace. And a young boy, who looked too much like himself. Except that boy was smiling brightly like the world was a wonderful place, and not the living nightmare Damian knew it as.

“Master Thomas, Madame Martha, and of course Young Master Bruce.” Alfred informed him, stopping at his side to also admire the painting.

“Your Grandparents and your Father when he was a boy.”

Damian looked again. Thomas and Martha Wayne. Mother had mentioned them once.

“They died.”

“Yes. That is correct.” Alfred gave a slow nod before turning his gaze to the boy. But Damian didn’t let any emotion show on his face, even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smiling boy.

With a hand once again on his shoulder he was led upstairs through another twisty path until they reached a hallway lined with doors. Large oak double doors sat at one end of the hall. And one door down from that the butler led Damian and opened the door for him to step inside.

It was a marvelous bedroom. Old. Even Damian could admit the furniture was dated. There were some cardboard boxes sitting in the corner. A mural of animals was painted on the accent wall. The rest of the walls were a soft baby blue.

“This was Master Bruce’s room when he was a child.” Alfred informed him from behind his back. With a start he realized he’d been mesmerized by the mural of animals and left himself exposed. He blushed at his childishness but quickly turned to glare at the man who simply ignored his looks to open another door.

“This is the bathroom. Some of Master Bruce’s old clothing should be in those boxes somewhere…” with a hum he started to open boxes and rummage around.

His guard was lowered, he could take his knife and-

“Aha.” Alfred‘s small pleased noise snapped him out of his murder plot and he came around to look at what he’d found.

Alfred pulled out a few articles of clothings that were certainly close to Damian’s size. An ugly yellow sweater and some loose dark blue pants.

“These will have to do for now. I’ll buy you proper clothing tomorrow.”

Then he started off somewhere else in the room and Damian, unsure of what to do, followed like a little duck.

“This is the bathroom. I will fetch Master Bruce’s soaps for you to use for now. Then I will go and wash these clothes. Will you require my assistance in the bath?” The question made Damian cross his arms and his nose scrunched up as he huffed.

“Of course I can! I am neither an imbecile nor an infant!”

Alfred paused and watched him queitly for a moment after his outburst before smiling down at him in an infuriating way.

“But of course Master Damian. Should you require my assistance I shall return swiftly.”

He turned his body slowly and silently to watch Pennyworth leave and exit the room. And Damian didn’t enter the bathroom until the footsteps receded down the hallway. Shutting the bathroom door silently he examined the room. It had a large shower and an even bigger bathtub in the corner. Again the design was old and dated. The mirror was huge with an ornate frame and as Damian approached the sink he stood on his tiptoes to examine the face in the mirror.

He was a clear mess. Dirt smudged his cheeks and his hair was rigid with grease and grime. Thinking back he truly couldn’t remember his last bath. It all happened so fast. One second he was asleep in bed the next his mother was pressing a letter to his chest and getting him dressed. He still felt the way her tight grip made her nails dig into him. Clawing him like she was afraid. His mother afraid? How ludicrous.

Fear is an unacceptable response.

He rubbed his bicep lightly like he could still feel that vice around his arm. Mother would be ashamed of him for his disgraceful appearance. He looked like a little urchin that was rolling in mud and filth. Damian scurried away from his disgusting appearance in the mirror with a cringe. Hating the thought that he was bringing dishonor to the Al Ghul name by staying filthy a second longer. But before doing anything he carefully removed the green scarf from his neck and folded it on the counter. He didn’t want it to get wet. Then he moved swiftly to the tub, stopping the drain up and running the water. On hot full blast.

A knock on the door startled him from the almost dazed way he watched the water level rise. Immediately he backed against a wall, spine coiled and fists raised.

“Master Damian?” Alfred called loud enough to be heard over the water.

“Would you prefer I come in or leave the soaps here?”

“Leave them there.” He snapped loudly, and then waited at the silence. Watching the door for any sign of forced entry. When nothing happened for several minutes he turned to the tub, which was over half full now, and shut it off. The deafening silence after the crashing sound of the water made his stomach drop.

No he wasn’t afraid. 

Marching right up to the door he wrenched it open to find- an empty room? The soaps were left on the floor, a towel on the bed which had been stripped of it’s old bedding. Walking over he snatched the towel and grabbed the soap on his way back before closing and considered locking the door.

Don’t seal your exits in case you need to make a swift escape.

On one hand he’d feel safer with it locked. On the other he’d feel trapped with it locked. He left it unlocked.

The tub was steaming, fogging up the mirror and filling the room with humid air. Damian breathed deep, feeling it in his sinus’ and finding the warmth relaxing. Then he peeled himself out of his filthy tunic, dropping it to the ground with a gross thud and a cloud of dust. 

Now the bath. The water was hot. And he struggled to get over the side, huffing a little as he stood on his toes and swept his other leg over the side of the tub. It was too hot. It burned. Damian got in anyway, cringing in pain, expressions he’d never show if others were around. With a yelp his foot gave out and he slipped down into the scalding water.

“Master Damian? Everything alright?”

Damian froze. Somebody had heard a cry of pain from him. That was unacceptable.

“I’m coming in, alright?”

“That’s unnessa-“

But the door was already opening.

“Good heavens child! How hot is that water?!” With Alfred rushing over to him, Damian floundered for a weapon that wasn’t there. But Alfred simply ran to the tub hissing as he reached in and pulled the plug then he turned on the cold tap to cool the water.

Damian however leaped out of the tub as he did this, growling as he backed up against the wall like a cornered dog.

“Are you unharmed?”

“What? It’s just water!” Damian scoffed and rolled his eyes. But his toes felt a little numb and his skin had reddened from the heat.

“Yes, but it was far too hot. And I heard you slip.”

“An Al Ghul does not slip!” He immediately hissed back. Alfred, very respectfully was not looking at him.

“Maybe not normally. But a very tired Al Ghul may very well slip.” 

Rest is important, habibi.

With a huff he had no come back for that and merely hunched his shoulders up embarrassed.

“Do not tell Father.”

Alfred perked up a little at that, tugging off his glove to test the water now that it was a more manageable temperature. In his haste to empty the hot water he hadn’t removed his coat or gloves. He was soaked up to his elbow. Damian couldn’t make sense of it so he chose to ignore it.

“And what should I not tell Master Bruce, precisely?”

Opening and closing his mouth a few times Damian seethed and huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“That I… made a sound!”

Alfred pondered this with a slight tilt of his head.

“Are you not allowed to make a sound, Master Damian?”

“It’s not that.” It is but he’d never admit it. “I am an Al Ghul.”

Alfred was doing something to the bath water, adding liquids that bubbles up and filled the tub with suds.

“Everyone makes involuntary noises when they are injured.” Alfred told him, trying to reassure him. It just made fire surge in Damian’s chest.

“Not me. It won’t happen again.”

He had only let it slip because he thought he was alone. He should have locked the door.

At least Alfred doesn’t disagree again. Seeming overly focused on whatever he’s doing to the water. Padding forward a few steps Damian peers over the tub side. It smells delightful and he closes his eyes for a second as the desire to relax his tense muscles hits him like a wave. But he perseveres, shaking his head and choosing instead to fix Pennyworth with another glare.

“I regret having left you alone before. Please allow me to assist you this time.”

“And you will not tell Father?” Alfred finally looked at him. Most of Damian was hidden by the edge of the tub he’s peering over. But he still felt the urge to sink down behind the porcelain tub. He doesn’t of course. 

“I will not tell Master Bruce. I do not need any sort of agreement or bribe. If you do not want Master Bruce to know yet I will not tell him.”

‘Yet’ being the key there. At least he’s bought himself time to escape punishment. If he proves himself before he finds out.

Alfred helps him into the tub, Damian’s body goes tense when he feels the steadying hand helping to lift him over and into the water. He braces himself for burning again but finds instead nothing but pleasant warmth. Any sharp remarks he had died on his tongue as his body slumped into the citrus scented suds.

“I have also added epsom salt to the waters. It helps aid sore muscles. Your Father uses it quite often.” Alfred informed him. It did feel good on his muscles. Damian slumped down and nearly sunk right into the bubbles and disappeared.

Alfred grabbed a washcloth and applied some soap to it.

“May I? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?” He asked and Damian looked at him through heavy eyelids. He made a vague gesture with his hand some sort of affirmation and Alfred moved in to gently begin wiping his face.

As the dirt was cleaned from his face Alfred inhaled and paused.

“You’re truly his spitting image.” And Damian flushed a little at that, sinking again into the bubbles in lieu of ducking his head. Alfred helped wipe down the upper portion of his body, the water swiftly became reddish muddy brown. Alfred was gentle around all of his scars, as if they were still hurting him somehow. Sometimes they did but not often enough to warrant such care. The touch to the criss crossing marks on his back were so light he’d wondered if he got clean at all.

“Lastly, your hair. Tilt your head back, if you’d please sir.” Damian didn’t know why, maybe the nice warmth soaking into him was making him compliant. Without any complaint Damian tilted his head back. Alfred filled a cup with water from the tubs spout instead of using the dirty water in the tub. Very gently he moved his fingers through his scalp, untangling knots as he lathered it with soap. Damian felt a growing tightness in his chest. It threatened to rise up from inside him, an inexplicable feeling. He choked it down, and somehow it burned to stifle it like that. Instead he just let his mind wander back to home. To the mountain range. To the castle carved into it’s walls. Meditating, training, Mothers praising, Grandfather’s almost approval. Good memories.

The warm water cascading over his head and back reminded him of something. The intense care and affection he had only felt once. Someone had brought an illness back from a mission. Half the league was ill and weakened. Damian had caught it too. The water reminded him of Mothers hands, checking his temperature, carding through his hair. Humming to him. Caring for him. 

The burning knot in his chest returned twofold and he dug his nails into his palms to distract himself with the pain. They were quite long after his journey.

“All done Master Damian. Are we ready to get out and get ready for bed?” 

Damian blinked slowly at the butler, letting the words register in his head. Everything felt fuzzy. He would have been punished for letting his guard down this much back home. But it felt a lot like that time he was sick, he just wanted the warmth to keep going. 

Giving a sleepy nod Alfred helped him stand in the water, grunting a little as he wrapped him with a towel and lifted him out of the tub.

“Seems you’ve brought an entire desert with you on your journey.” That comment actually got a small exhale of a laugh out of Damian’s nose.

“That’s impossible…” He mumbled, snuggling into the towel around his shoulders and watching the tub drain after Alfred unplugged it. There did seem to be a fine layer of dirt and sand coating the bottom. It made Damian stifle a shudder to think that had all come off of him.

Reluctantly still content he let Alfred dry him off. The towel mussing up his hair left it all natural waves and sticking up in spikes. It was longer than he would’ve liked.

Alfred next helped him into the fuzzy yellow sweater and comfortable pants. Normally he would’ve been hissing and putting up a fit about being too old for this. But the pain in his chest wouldn’t go away, and he felt so tired and sleepy he wasn’t sure he could manage it. And Alfred seemed to want to help anyway.

Alfred led him back to the bed which had it’s bedding change at some point. If he was more awake he’d wonder how the butler had time for any of that, but right now he could hardly stand. Nearly a month of near constant stress, and a life of pain, the comfort was overwhelming.

Pulling back the covers Damian crawled into the softest bed he’d ever laid on. He was a prince in the league so his bed there had been nice. But this bed, especially after sleeping in crammed storage containers, dark corners, and abandoned buildings, was like a cloud. With a flutter his eyes shut, and Damian was out like a light. Distantly he heard a voice.

“Goodnight Master Damian. Welcome home.”

Alfred made his way to the cave, hands behind his back and expression solid as a rock. When he rounded the stairs he found the silhouette of his ward still as he left him. Hands folded under his chin and staring at the computer.

“Master Damian is asleep.”

“Hm.”

Ignoring the rude lack of reply Alfred came to stand beside him.

“And the verdict sir?” Even though he could see the results and had seen the boy himself. He wanted Bruce to say it.

“It’s a match. He’s my-” Bruce took in a breath like he needed it to keep talking, “-my son.”

“Indeed. He has your eyebrows.”

Bruce turned to raise one of those brows at Alfred.

Alfred smirked just a bit, letting it rest on his face, before he frowned and the air turned more serious.

“He’s been abused, Master Bruce.”

Bruce started at that, sitting up in the chair with wide eyes, that quickly changed to his signature glare.

“League training is merciless. But surely Talia wouldn’t- to our own son-!” Rising from his chair Alfred took a step back. Recognizing his need to pace his anger out.

“Not much we can do about it now, except keep him here where he’s safe.”

Now Bruce paused like a deer in the headlights.

“I don’t know how to be a father, Alfred.”

Alfred considered this with a hum and approached Bruce calmly to place a hand on his shoulder to anyone else Bruce looked his regular calm self. But Alfred could always tell.

“I had no idea what to do when you were left in my care.” Alfred told him softly. Bruce’s head perked up a little at that. 

“All I know what that there was a very hurt and frightened little boy who needed me. Just like Master Damian needs you.”

Bruce turned around fully to face Alfred. A small rare smile came to his lips and he nodded.

“He’s safe now. I won’t let anything else hurt him again.”

Alfred gave a nod of approval and stepped back. Then he clapped his hands getting Bruce’s full attention.

“Now I suppose I will have to remind you on your on lessons of safe sex.”

Bruce blanched giving an incredulous look.

“Alfred! That was eight years ago.”

But still the Butlers stern look made Bruce relent, sighing and taking a seat in his chair as Alfred began his long lecture.

Chapter Text

Damian's eyes snapped open and the covers flew off. The magic spell from last night had worn off and Damian was officially wide awake. It was far too early for most, the sun hadn’t even risen. But his league training instantly kicked in. While his whole world was flipped upside down he knew one thing that would right it, his morning routine.

First things first, he needed the weapon he’d forgotten in his boots in the bathroom. Slipping out of the bed on silent feet he crept to the bathroom and found his shoes, tilting the switch blade out and into his hand. He tucked it into the waistband of his pants. 

Next his face, he always washed his face and brushed his teeth. He didn’t have a tooth brush yet but he at least splashed water on his face and rinsed out his mouth. Next meditation. He cursed himself for missing his nightly meditation. He always took time at the start and end of his day to meditate, practice breathing techniques. It was one of the few times in the league he felt any semblance of peace.

Sitting down on the carpet Damian shut his eyes and focused his mind. Tried to empty his thoughts. But it was like his mind was buzzing; he had so many thoughts. Shifting slightly into a more comfortable position he tried to focus entirely on his breathing and to ignore the voices in his head that sounded like Mothers scolding and Grandfather's lessons.

In this state his awareness was always heightened, he felt too vulnerable to not be. In this case it was the sound of a door opening that made his eyes snap open. It wasn’t his door, but footsteps down the hallway made him jump up though his body remained in a low crouch. His hand darted back to grip the switchblade and he stared at the door. The footsteps stopped, Damian slowed his breathing. They stood there for a beat before continuing.

Damian exhaled slowly and rose back to his feet. The sun was just beginning to peek out and cast its rays through the large window of his room. Damian turned to it with a grimace and shut the curtains. 

Now he’d normally eat a light breakfast and head straight to the training hall, but he was unsure if there was breakfast yet and unsure if Father would return his blade so he could train. What could he do instead? 

Know your enemy better than you know yourself.

Perhaps this could be a good opportunity for reconnaissance. He hadn’t had the chance to observe Father in his own home, at ease. 

He’d watched the Bat patrol, and he’d watched Bruce Wayne at Wayne Enterprises. But never just Father existing as himself. 

Still soundless Damian crept to the door and opened it just a crack. Peering out he saw nobody, but Fathers door was open. Now there was a thought. Bruce Wayne’s private sanctuary. If he was caught it would probably be bad…

But then again he was an Al Ghul. He just wouldn’t be caught. 

Slipping through the small gap of the door he left it ajar and crept for Fathers room. Then with a glance behind himself he scurried inside. 

It was dark in the room, the only light came from the sliver of a crack between blackout curtains. It shot across the room like an arrow, straight across Fathers' dark sheets. Honestly the room was… normal. His bedspread was some kind of black silk, and was twice the size of Damian’s already giant bed. The rug appeared to be a deep wine color. There wasn’t much on the end tables, a clock and lamp, a more casual photo of Thomas and Martha Wayne. That’s it. 

Using his sleeve he opened the drawers to find tissues, painkillers, and- actually let's close the drawer that was too much information. He didn’t know exactly what those were for but felt awkward seeing them somehow. Feeling a small rush of embarrassment he turned and left the room. 

There weren’t any secrets in Batman’s bedroom. Well not anything real or interesting. He was sure the cave had security and Alfred had yet to make good on his promise of showing him to open the clock so that was out. He supposed next he’d have to find the man himself. In this maze of a manor.

With his next mission decided Damian stepped down the hall keeping to the carpets or edges near the walls to minimize noise on the old hardwood. He peeked around corners and through doorways, dashed across open spaces, and took advantage of shadows and closets. It took a minute of searching down corridors but he found the grand stairwell again and knew he could find the kitchen from here. 

But there were also noises coming from the floor below. Father and Alfred were most likely awake by now, he’d have to tread carefully. The stairs would be another challenge, it would be difficult to know which step would creak without trial and error. It was too high to jump from without injuring his legs and the sound of him jumping would be hard to muffle.

Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow he thought about another solution. The bannister. Could he control his speed enough to slide down without noise or crashing? Examining the bannister he felt confident in his ability, and climbed up on the railing. Keeping one toe on the ground and taking a second to peek and make sure nobody was around he deemed it all clear. Then he pushed off, feeling the wind as his soft pants provided little friction and he slid down with ease landing nimbly on the landing and dropping into a crouch.

He examined the foyer from here, peeking through railings. Then he slid down the next section. This time however he picked up too much speed and gave a silent gasp as he launched off the banister. In an instant his well honed catlike reflexes kicked in and he tucked into a roll. The thud of his fall was quiet but still a sound. Damian scurried to his feet and dashed into a nearby closet to wait with bated breath to see if he’d been heard.

He waited two, three, five minutes. Then he heard them, very faint footsteps. His heart was thundering in his chest as Alfred walked into view of the crack in the closet. He didn’t stop however and continued up the stairs.

Damian waited until he could no longer hear the butler's soft footfalls. If it wasn’t for his training he’d probably never have been able to hear him. That man must surely be a trained warrior as well.

Slipping back out of the closet Damian crept his way back down the hall Alfred had come from. A delightful smell filled the air and his mouth began to salivate. No, no. Don’t get distracted. He had to remind himself he was on a stealth mission. 

Slipping into the kitchen Damian’s eyes swept over the room. Seeing a figure by the table he ducked behind the island counter in front of himself, then waited to see if he’d been seen. When there was no sound Damian slowly poked his head out the side of the island.

Sitting at the small kitchen table by the window was Father. He was dressed in a suit and reading a newspaper. He had dark circles under his eyes despite having gotten off patrol early yesterday. Deduced from his prior observations and Pennyworths comment.

Father flipped another page but his brows suddenly furrowed. Damian’s brows furrowed in turn as he wondered what he was looking at to suddenly change his expression. Bad news?

Then his face relaxed and he leaned back in his chair again.

“Good Morning, Damian.”

Damian would have gasped in shock if he was anyone else. Instead his eyes merely widened for a second before he shot up from his hiding place. He brushed himself off and held his arms behind his back. Of course, how could he expect to remain unnoticed by the Bat?

“Good Morning, Father.” He replied as if he hadn’t just been skulking behind the kitchen counters like some kind of burglar. Fathers eyebrow twitched again at the title but he didn’t comment on it. Damian wondered if he was doing something wrong again however.

Father folded his paper closed and sat it next to his plate and then fixed him with a kind smile. It made him profoundly uncomfortable. His muscles tensed in turn. People didn’t look at him like that. It felt insincere at best, deceptive at worst.

Trust nobody. Except family.

Damian forced himself to relax. Father was family. He could trust family. Ignoring of course… the tests his Grandfather and Mother sometimes surprised him with. It left him wondering if one from Father was coming up.

“Did you rest well?”

“Indeed. It was adequate.” 

Father nodded in approval and motioned to the seat in front of him. Damian hesitated, not visibly as he tried to make it seem like consideration instead. But slowly he made his way around the kitchen island to come and sit at the table. Looking Father up and down he subtly copied his body language. Sitting straight up and folding his hands over each other before crossing his legs. Father raised a brow but appeared amused by the little smirk on his face. That felt more genuine than the eerie smile from before.

“Are you hungry?” Father asked. And Damian considered his answer carefully. He truly was hungry, but he couldn’t seem desperate. He had his pride to uphold.

“Perhaps, a bit peckish.” Was that enough of an answer? Fathers brow quirked up again and Damian tensed. Watching.

“What would you like to eat?” Was Fathers next question.

“I normally just have some fruit or rice for breakfast,” was Damian’s reply, “-something easy on the stomach before training.” His hands twitched at the itch to train. To grip his sword in hand again. He felt so exposed without it on his back or resting by his side.

Father nodded slowly, as if understanding.

“You don’t need to train today Damian. I want you to rest. Nanda Parbat is a long way away. How about you treat yourself to a proper breakfast?” Father said it like a suggestion but was it a suggestion? This must be the secret test. Unable to hide the suspicion in his tone Damian spoke, “no. Thank you.”

Sitting back Father looked at him for a moment, face blank, before giving a short nod.

“If that’s what you're comfortable with, we won’t push.” Damian’s eyes narrowed to slits for a second. For some reason the phrasing made anger spike in his chest. Maybe it was the suggestion that Damian was even remotely able to relax in this situation. He hadn’t been ready to face his Father, but his Father had caught him and forced him to face him. He would’ve liked to know more about his Father, about what expectations he might hold for him. Nothing about any of this was comfortable.

Alfred soon appeared in the kitchen after that, Damian spinning in his chair and shifting his position to leap up as he only heard the man as he approached the doorway. 

“Ah, Master Damian. I had just gone to fetch you for breakfast. I’m glad you were able to find your way on your own.” Alfred minutely relaxed, his stiff shoulders moving down a tick. Damian wasn’t sure, however, if he was being praised or insulted so he opted for silence. Seeing Alfred’s relaxed posture Damian relaxed his defensive stance. Then he spared an anxious glance at Father from the corner of his eye. Father however just watched him silently, eyes studying but not judging or angry. That must’ve at least meant Father didn’t notice him let Pennyworth sneak up on him. Or else he’d surely be disappointed that he let a mere servant surprise him. 

“Now Master Damian, what would you like for breakfast?” Alfred asked, moving over to the kitchen and getting out utensils and bowls from various cupboards.

“Just some fruit would be preferred.” Damian said and turned to face his Father at the table again. They looked at each other. Not saying anything. Just staring. Both of them with intense blue and green gazes and strong brows.

Alfred cleared his throat and the pair of them startled, sitting up from where they’d unconsciously started to lean towards each other. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask Master Damian, your old uniform seems beyond saving, but that scarf I could salvage. Would you like me to wash it for you?” He said while peeling and chopping fruit to arrange them in a bowl.

“Don’t-!” His voice raised for a second and he bristled like a cat before glancing at Father who looked alarmed. Damian swallowed and sat back in his chair, tone lowered but still angry.

“Do not touch it.” Then he avoided Fathers analyzing gaze, turning his head slightly to the window.

If it was washed it wouldn’t smell like her perfume anymore. Even at it was now it was muffled by the smell of dirt, sand, Gothams streets, and even faintly blood. If he breathed deeply he could still catch the hint of her perfume. And it was his last connection to home.

Suddenly a bowl of fruit was sat in front of him and Damian blinked his thoughts away.

“Whipped crème on top or on the side?” Alfred asked, holding up a spray can and an empty tiny bowl.

“I-what?” Damian was so bewildered he let his jaw hang open like an idiot. Alfred merely smiled and sprayed some into the bowl and set it next to his fruit.

“You can see if you like it first.” Alfred told him and then went to resume his place in the kitchen to finish Fathers meal. Damian stared at the fruits, varying kinds arranged in a sort of pattern. Strawberries were cut in half and layed around the rim, kiwis were peeled and sliced. There were some apple and orange slices, and even honeydew and watermelon. Damian blinked wildly.

“I meant like… a singular apple. What is this arrangement?” But as if entranced he picks up his fork and tentatively spears a strawberry.

“A fruit salad, Master Damian. I hope it’s to your liking.” Damian merely glanced at Pennyworth in response before his eyes turned back to the bowl like it would disappear.

“Try it with the whipped crème.” Father motioned to the bowl and Damian gave a short nod before dipping the strawberry in the foamy substance. Then he bit into the fruit. Sweet and sour collides in his mouth in a unique way. The crème was rich and the fruit cool and crisp. He hadn’t eaten something this enjoyable in awhile now. Except the rice from last night was also delicious. He’d have to make sure to perform extra well in combat so he can keep having such extraordinary cooking. Could he eat like this every day from now on?

Damian kept his pace measured and his face neutral to his best of his ability as he ate.

But when he glanced at Father he thought he saw his eyes twinkle.

“Do you like it?” Father asked, a small smirk back on his face.

“It’s acceptable.” Damian nodded swiftly before he continued eating. 

Alfred served Father next and the pair ate in comfortable silence. Once Damian finished he placed his fork in his bowl and then waited for Father. He didn’t have anything else to do, and he had been taught to wait to be dismissed when he shared a table with Grandfather. He assumed it was to be the same here. When Father finished his meal and saw him still sitting there he sat up and sipped his coffee.

“Right. Uh…” The unsure tone Father used made Damian tilt his head slightly.

Speak with purpose and intent. Pronounce your words properly.

“I took some time off of work today,” he started slowly and seemed to be watching Damian closely, “so that we might get to know each other. Last night was a very sudden way to meet. And I still don’t know anything about you.”

Damian pondered this for a moment, clasping his hands together and placing them on the table while sharp green eyes focused on Fathers body language. Trying to guess what he wanted from Damian.

“Alright. If there’s anything you would like to know, you may ask.” Damian had nothing to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. At least that was the lie he told himself.

“Sure, then… will you tell me about what growing up in the league was like?” Father asked and Damian suddenly felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. He wasn’t sure why, but his back burned with a sting he hadn’t felt in at least a month.

“The League was strict. But I excelled.” Except when he failed. “And I lived lavishly, I was the Demons Heir, after all.” Except when he was punished and comfort was taken away. “I became skilled in stealth and assassination.” Except for the hesitation he feels when cutting down an innocent beast. “I spent several years in different compounds on away missions.” And how he missed his mother, missed home. “Other than that I spent most of my time by Mother or Grandfather's side.” Who regarded him coldly, without interest or love.

Father seemed to be considering his description and gave small nods. Occasionally something he said made his gaze darken or brought a look of knowing to his face. His last sentence seemed to grab his attention the most.

“Your Mother, how is she?” Father asked, suddenly interested. Damian let a little smile onto his lips, similar to Fathers little smirk. But then it was gone and he let out a tiny exhale.

“When I left she was not faring well.” Damian admitted and Father tensed.

“Does she need my help?” He asked. And Damian snorted. He couldn’t imagine Mother ever needing help.

“She would not accept it if you offered.” And that was the truth. She didn’t need it and she didn’t want it. Father seemed to understand and nodded again sitting back in his chair.

“I suppose you must have some questions for me?” Father guessed and Damian did. But was he allowed to ask them? But Father was the one who made the suggestion so it must be okay.

“Why… why do you spare your enemies?” It was the question that bothered him the most. Damian had been taught to kill. That his enemies will come back if you let them go. That it would be better for the league and the world if they were dead. Father looked surprised this was his question and he folded his hands gently on the table suddenly looking far away. Not at Damian just distantly.

“Because killing is wrong.” Was his simple answer. And Damian scoffed, squinting at his Father as if he was lying or joking but Fathers eyes refocused on him and he knew he was serious.

“That is not what Mother and Grandfather taught me.” Damian told him watching Fathers face for a misstep. “They told me that you must never show mercy to your enemies. Or else they will return to stab you in the back.”

Fathers lips tightened in a fine line, trying really hard not to scowl. But the way his stomach dropped informed Damian that he had messed up. Was he going to be punished? 

Father inhaled and said, “I am not the league. Gotham is not Nanda Parbat. As long as you are in my city you will not kill anyone. Understood?”

And Damian straightened like the little soldier he was. “Yes, Father.”

And Father exhaled in… relief? Damian could do his best to follow the rules.

“Anything else?” Father asked, eyes narrowing again, a habit he was noticing that meant he was thinking hard. Damian had other questions.

‘Why did you leave Mother? Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you ever come find me? Are you happy to see me?’ But he bit his tongue and shook his head.

Use your words.

“Alright.” Father sat back again. Once again they were left just… awkwardly staring. The silence crawled by in minutes, unbearably. And Father started to tap his finger on the table.

Father cleared his throat and spoke again.

“We will have some legal things to sort through. Your Mother didn’t exactly give me a Birth Certificate or any paperwork. I’ll have to manufacture something. Then of course there’s your debut in society, enrollment in school, the newspapers will have a hay day with this story. I don’t want you to get surprised by the paparazzi.”

Damian blinked several times in bewilderment.

“I do not understand.” Damian said cautiously, leaning away from his Father. All of that sounded immensely unpleasant and unnecessary. 

“Well. I should announce you as my son if you're going to be staying here.”

“For what reason?” Damian’s brain was screaming to stop talking, that he was overstepping and would be punished. But all this information was alarming to him.

“Well… because you’re my son. And you should have a life.” Father was unexpectedly calm while explaining to Damian.

“But it’s unnecessary,” and Father raised a brow, urging him to continue, “I will return to the league as soon as Mother has deemed it safe for me to return.” And that must have been the wrong thing to say because Fathers entire posture changed, shoulders squared and face hard. Damian froze in response and stared straight ahead.

“I see.” But he didn’t sound angry. Damian spared a glance at Fathers face and the dark-tense body language was gone.

“How about this,” Father suggested, reaching a hand across the table to touch Damian’s hands, “you try living with me for a bit. If later your mother comes back you can decide for yourself who you want to stay with.”

Damian’s hands were warm. Fathers hand was big and calloused. Father was touching Damian kindly, not hurting him.

“O-okay.” And Damian’s voice was suddenly so small as he bit his lip and resisted the urge to tear up with all his strength.

Father smiled at his response and slowly pulled his hand back, much to Damian’s disappointment.

“Now how about we do something together today. Get to know each other?” It was a question but Grandfather also liked to frame his orders as questions sometimes. Damian eyed him suspiciously. It must finally be time for the test.

“Will we spar?” He asked, excited at the prospect of seeing Fathers fighting style up close. But Father shook his head and Damian deflated a little, hunching his shoulders up to pout.

“Let’s hold off on sparing for now. Maybe another day. I was thinking more like a game. Do you know any?” His tone of voice was annoyingly gentle. Perhaps Father forgot since he wasn’t armed and dressed in his tunic but there was a powerful warrior in front of him. Not some little boy.

“Shogi.” It was a game Grandfather played. One of his favorite memories was learning Shogi with Grandfather. It was one of the few times he was allowed to make mistakes without punishment. He was allowed to lose because there was no way he could possibly win against a master like Grandfather. And he got to sit with the person he admired most in the world and get to feel like he actually mattered to him. 

“Shogi? That game is pretty advanced for a boy your age-“ and Damian scowled at that sentiment so Father changed tracks, “-we don’t have any Shogi boards in the manor. But we do have chess.”

Damian leaned forward a little again, “Chess.”

“That’s right. Have you played?”

And Damian shook his head slowly. So Father smirked.

“Would you like to learn?”

Chapter Text

Today Damian was going to start ‘Grade 3’. And he was already over this entire situation.

The last few weeks Father finalized his Birth Certificate. His room was tidied and decorated and his wardrobe filled with a vast amount of colorful clothing. Though Damian was still partial to his Fathers old yellow sweater and tended to wear it. His room was starting to look like a real room and not a dusty storage closet. 

Pennyworth had asked him, “would you like to repaint the walls?” And Damian had stiffened and replied, “we may leave them as they are.” Not wanting to admit that he loved the cutesy cartoon animal mural.

Father continued on patrolling every night. Damian wanted to get back into the cave and retrieve his weapons or try to accompany Father on patrol, but Pennyworth and Father had still neglected to teach him how to get inside. Damian had been working on finding out himself, however any time he attempted to hide in the office and watch, Father caught him and sent him off to bed. At least he wasn’t punished for sneaking around. Or for failing to sneak around.

Now he was going to finally attend ‘school’ with other ‘children’. And the entire idea was simply ludicrous.

Still Damian let Alfred comb his hair and he slung a leather book bag over his shoulders, refusing any of the cute cartoon ones the pair offered despite how much he wanted the kitty cat one with the ears. As he walked down the stairs to Father waiting down by the door, he felt his eyes on him. It made Damian stiffen when he finally stepped off the last step to stand before him. Father looked down at him and reached out to adjust his tie.

“Do you remember the rules?” Father asked and Damian glared at him because of course he remembered the rules.

“I am not to engage in any form of combat that might comprise my cover and by extension, your cover.” Damian stated and Father slowly lowered down to one knee.

“That’s not exactly what I said but… yes. And Damian I would like you to try and make friends with the kids your age.”

“I am not a child.”

That response made Father sigh and Damian watched him warily.

“But I will humor you for the sake of our agreement.” How hard could it be to make one measly little ‘friend’?

Damian left the manor sulking, but Father didn’t comment on his childishness. Instead he waved him off with that lying insincere smile and wished him a good first day at school. He got into the back seat of the nice shiny black car, Father was fond of black cars, and Pennyworth drove him to school.

It was a private elementary school in Gotham proper, not in Bristol. But on the nicer side of town. The building was old and the school was well respected. Damian reached into his bag and absently flipped his new phone open and closed. They had given him this phone in case of emergencies. Damian had been given burner phones on missions before, but never actually had to use one besides Mothers occasional updates. But this one was ‘permanent’ and Damian was told to be careful with it so he stopped fiddling and waited for the car to pull up to the school doors. As he unclipped his seatbelt and placed a hand on the handle Pennyworth spoke up.

“Have a good day at school, Master Damian.” And Damian looked at him with a sneer.

“Hardly.” And got out of the car, carefully slamming the car door just enough to convey his displeasure.

As Damian walked into the building with the children he let his eyes sweep around. Everyone was in uniforms though not everyone took their appearance as seriously as him. Some had unbuttoned shirts or rolled up sleeves or had foregone their ties entirely. Some of the girls had exchanged their skirts for the boy’s pants styled uniform.

Damian inhaled and exhaled, using his breathing techniques to lower his racing heart rate. There was no reason to be nervous. Even though Damian was starting in the middle of the year it was a new semester at least. And Damian had excelled on the tests Father gave him only struggling a little on English which was his second language anyway. But he was still far beyond a Grade 3 level in all subjects. Father deemed it appropriate to enroll him in school and establish a civilian identity as soon as possible. Apparently if he became a public figure it would be harder for someone to outright assassinate him. Which he found ridiculous, the league assassinated public figures all the time.

Then again they had never operated in Gotham before. Because of the Bat. Because of Father. So perhaps there was some reasoning there. If he was fully acknowledged as his son maybe the League couldn’t reach him.

As his thoughts were occupying him he had found his locker, stashed his school bag, and made his way to class. As Damian walked in all eyes were on him and he froze. He wasn’t used to being seen, truly and completely in the light. His heart hammered in his chest and he turned that terror into anger, glaring at his classmates and teacher.

“You must be Damian.” The woman said, giving him a smile. Another insincere uncomfortable smile.

“Indeed. Damian Wayne.” Fathers last name felt both strange and exhilarating on his tongue. The woman motioned for Damian to step inside and with narrowed eyes he did, standing at the head of the class.

“How would you like to introduce yourself?”

“I just did.” Damian scoffed with rolled eyes and the teachers smile became strained.

“Why not tell us about where your from?”

One of the rules was to not talk about the league. But another was to listen to his teachers. Ah. He was starting to understand this test. Give contradictory rules and discover a way out of the corner. How clever of Father.

“I am from…” Damian paused and glanced at the class and turned to face them.

“I moved around to several different countries growing up but primarily returned to my home in Nepal. Although my family is originally from China.” That was close enough to the truth. Nanda Parbat wasn’t exactly in either of those places even if those countries were in the general vicinity. 

“Wow, that must have been incredible to see the world at such a young age.” Damian perked up, pride having his chest swell.

“Indeed. I have even scaled the Himalayas.” And that was the truth.

A couple of his classmates began muttering to each other, some impressed, some jealous. Damian let himself smirk when he caught the glare of a particular boy who looked two heads taller than the rest of the students. 

Damian took his seat and got out his notebook and pencils to begin the lesson proper.

The bell rang at lunch and Damian followed his classmates' example, picking up his books and pencils and then following the river of students down to the cafeteria. Stopping only for a moment to grab his bag with his lunch from his locker. Pennyworth had packed him a vegetarian lunch since the school's options for his diet were rather lacking. Funny, he hadn’t even ever mentioned to Pennyworth his preference. Alfred had simply just started giving him the option. Huh.

Ignoring that he sat down at a table by himself. He had a view of at least three different exits.

Never let yourself be cornered. Plan multiple escape routes.

A few students sat around him, and started asking questions out of the blue.

“What’s it like having Bruce Wayne as a dad?” 

“Fine.”

“You brought your own lunch?”

“My butler made it for me-“

“What was China like?”

“I uh-“

“Where's your mom anyway?”

“That’s-“

It was all too much. Damian shot to his feet and made some kind of excuse about being needed elsewhere before fleeing like a coward. From children.

No. He just needed a more advantageous position. An assassin wasn’t meant to work in the light like this. Infiltration undercover missions besides the point. But Damian didn’t have enough experience with those to know what he was supposed to do. So instead he strode out of the cafeteria and started pacing the empty hall. He reached into his leather bag to fiddle with his flip phone again. Damian wanted to call his Father. This phone must be another mental trick. Surely Father knew Damian could never actually call him. He was supposed to resist the urge to call through all this emotional torment. Father would be busy at Wayne Enterprises anyway.

Damian stopped to run a hand over his face. Why Father insisted he try ‘School’ would forever baffle him.

“New kid!” Damian looked down the hall where a tall boy stood surrounded by a group of four other boys. He was missing his blazer, his tie was loose, and his shirt sleeves rolled up. His friends were dressed in a similar fashion. No respect for the ‘dress code’. But he recognized this boy as his classmate, the one that had been scowling at him. Damian stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at the boys.

“Yes?”

“You're Brucie's kid, right?” The leader asked as the boys surrounded him. It took Damian a moment to remember Fathers ridiculous civilian nickname.

“… Bruce Wayne is my Father, yes.” Damian was surrounded on all sides. A position he didn’t like to find himself in. Especially since Father made it clear he was not to engage in combat. Damian turned to one side, angling his back towards the lockers.

“What country did you say you crawled out from?” The question caught Damian off guard, especially the snide way the other boy spoke and sneered.

“Excuse me?” He was blinking a few more times as if the shock would go away. Nobody had ever spoken to him this way before. Damian was always treated with respect, even when he was punished. He was the honorable Demon's heir. 

“Ah, sorry. English must be hard for you right?” And the group laughed at him. Damian felt his cheeks heating up as fire swelled in his chest. If anyone had spoken to him like this at the league he would have been justified in cutting their heads off.

“I am fluent in at least five different languages. My English is impeccable you-“ A sudden blow to the face cut him off. Damian growled, hardly reacting to the sting as the other boy shook his hand out. It hadn’t been a hard hit, Damian had worse and this kid was only nine or ten. But the insult left him snarling.

“Oooh he’s mad.” Someone laughed and Damian fixed them with a glare before turning back to the leader.

“Do you think you can get away with this? I am Bruce Wayne’s heir.” It was the first time he had referred to himself as such, and claiming that title made a strange swell of pride surge through the fire in his chest.

“Please, you're just his bastard! My dad told me about your type. You think you can just waltz in here and pretend to be one of us?” 

Damian let a small smirk appear on his face and he squared his shoulders as he looked the other boy up and down, “Hardly. I am clearly superior. You can’t even tie a tie.”

That earned him another hit, to the stomach this time, and he gasped a little in surprise doubling over. It didn’t hurt as bad as the blows the league traded during training but he was caught off guard.

“You’re just some little urchin your mom is using to get Brucie's money. You and your peasant mom should just go back to whatever-“ 

Damian straightened up, seeing red, and grabbed the boys shoulders. He jerked the boy down and kneed him right in the stomach, hard. The other boy crumbled to the ground, gasping and crying and Damian looked down the bridge of his nose at him.

“Never speak ill of my Mother again, filth.” 

How dare they? How dare they? How dare they? Damian had his switchblade in his shoe. It would be laughably easy to slit their throats. He wanted them dead. Nobody spoke of his Mother that way. But Father wouldn’t want that. 

Damian couldn’t stay here, his hands shook with bloodlust. If he stood here a second longer none of these boys wouldn’t survive his wrath. Damian turned and ran. The group was too shocked by Damian’s retaliation to give chase.

Damian just kept running, slamming through the school doors and taking off full tilt down the street. Once anger wore off fear kept him running. Father would be so mad, he was definitely going to be punished. And he still didn’t know Fathers preferred punishment. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he couldn’t see where he was going. He could feel the pavement under his feet however so he focused on that and let instinct carry him away from that terrible place. 

When Damian was finally out of breath he stopped where he was and leaned against something cold and metal. It made a clinking noise as he leaned back against it and felt it give just a little against his weight like a net.

Taking deep breaths he choked back his tears and tilted his head up to try and keep them in his skull. If Father caught him sniveling and crying on top of everything who knows how bad punishment would be?

“Are you okay?”

Damian did not scream as he jumped off the chain link fence and spun around. It had merely been a cry of surprise. The girl on the other side smiled and giggled a little but stopped when she saw that he was crying. She had big glasses that swallowed her small face, that was covered in freckles. Her hair was tied in twin braids and was bright red and she wore a purple headband on top of her head. 

“I… I’m fine!” Damian spat and wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. Something so undignified he wouldn’t dare do normally but he didn’t want her to see his tears. She eyes his uniform and hummed, sticking her fingers through the fence and leaning forward to nearly press her face into the mesh of metal as well.

“You’re pretty far from Gotham Academy. What are ya doing down here?” She asks, tilting her head.

“Here?” Damian sniffled, looking past her at a run down looking playground, the monkey bars were worn and the old metal slide had hardly any paint. The wooden structures looked splintered and painful to touch but kids were playing on it regardless.

“I uh…” Damian’s eyes moved to the building on the far side, old and built out of weathered red bricks. 

“This is Gotham Elementary. Y’know public school?” She chuckled lightly teasing and Damian looked at her confused. 

With a glance behind her the girl muttered a soft ‘hang on’ and scaled over the fence with impressive speed. Damian raised a brow and stepped back, glancing away as she reached the top since she was wearing a skirt. Then she dropped down beside him and smiled. Pausing for just a second she pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over to Damian and then grabbing his wrist firmly she marched away from the playground behind them. Her grip on his arm was grounding and it was like he could see clearly for the first time since he started running. She dragged him away from the school and Damian wiped his face as they walked into a nearby park. The trees felt like shelter and there was a pond with ducks swimming in circles and diving under the water to scavenge for food. Damian watched on with interest, feeling his shoulders slump and relax at the sight of the animals.

“Feeling better?” He had almost forgotten she was there. Looking at her he saw his wrist still gripped in her hand and he snatched his hand back. She let go and raised her hands placatingly but had a small smile still on her face.

“Why were you crying?” She asked softly, not touching him again but taking a step closer so her shoulder nearly brushed against his own. Damian allowed himself to duck his head and hide his puffy red eyes, Father wasn’t here to witness it anyway, lip jutting out in a pout. He’d never behave this way in front of Father but somehow it felt safe here. And he didn’t want her looking at his face, sticky with snot and tears.

“They insulted my Mother.” The confession came out sharp and angry but the girl didn’t flinch from his tone or his snarl. She just smiled kindly, encouraging him to continue.

“So I hurt them. Even though Father explicitly told me not to fight anyone.” Damian sniffled again, and felt his fingertips starting to go numb. Trying to keep present he wiggled and flexed them.

“N-now Father will punish me for sure. I don’t-“ 

Her arm returned to his, this time on his bicep. 

“Does he hurt you? My daddy’s a police man. If he’s going to hurt you I can call him and he’ll protect you.” Her little face looked so serious. Why did she want to help him? She didn’t even know him. At his confusion the girl smiled again.

“I’m Barbra by the way! Barbra Gordon. You can call me Babs if you like.” Letting go of his arm she stuck it out flat for him to shake. Damian hesitated before he took her hand and stiffly shook it in a way that made her giggle.

“Damian Wayne.”

And at the last name Barbra’s eyes went wide.

“Oh! You’re Mr. Wayne’s son? I thought you looked familiar.” Barbra hummed and took a step back to fully examine him. Damian fidgeted nervously under her gaze for some reason.

“You look just like your dad! I’ve only saw him once but you really look just like him!” 

Damian scoffed, clicked his tongue and turned his face to the side, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks and the swell of pride he felt at her comment.

“Do you have a cell phone?” Barbra asked suddenly and Damian’s head snapped back to her, wide eyes.

“I… do… why?” He spoke slowly, eyes narrowing again.

“Well, I also have a cellphone. Let’s trade numbers!”

“Why?”

“So we can be friends!” Fishing into her skirt pocket she brought out a phone and flipped it open. Damian hesitantly reached into his bag and took out his own. Damian wasn’t sure how to use it besides calling Father so Barbra showed him how to input a new contact. And then she sent a ‘text’ saying ‘hi its babs!’. Damian sent one back that took him several minutes with the inconvenient way of typing. ‘Hello.’ Was all it said but Barbra looked overjoyed and Damian even found himself smiling back.

“Now we’re friends.” Barbra told him, the pair sitting on the bank of the pond and watching the ducks. And Damian was relaxed. The last month had felt like trying to diffuse a bomb. To figure out the puzzle before it blew up in his face and everything was destroyed. Right now, for a moment at least, he could put the bomb aside and just relax. 

“Damian Wayne!” A deep, furious, voice sent chills down his spine. Distantly he recognizes Fathers voice. But it sounded so different from normal that for a second he wondered if it wasn’t one of Gotham's criminals, come to rob them blind. Damian scrambled to his feet and stood stiff as a board. Bruce Wayne stood at the entrance to the park, ominously framed by trees with his shoulders hunched. The bomb had finally exploded.

“It only took you one day. One second without supervision and you-“ It was only as he approached that he noticed the girl getting to her feet, eyes wide in alarm. For a second his face spasmed like his first instinct at being caught by a civilian was to smile. But it was already too late for that, he had shown his anger so he settled for a more neutral expression.

“Aren’t you Commissioner Gordon’s daughter? What are you doing out here?” Father asked and Damian was momentarily relieved to have those furious eyes turned on somebody else. But then a thought occurred, what if he hurt her? No, Batman would never hurt a civilian. 

Right?

Damian took a small step between them and Fathers eyes landed on Damian again.

“Well, Dami was really upset.” Barbra began, unphased by the clearly enraged, at least six foot, adult man in front of them.

“Dami?” Both Bruce and Damian said at the same time and glanced at the girl, shared expressions of confusion on their identical brows.

“Yep. Dami was really upset and crying. I snuck out of recess because he needed help.” Damian’s eyes widened in alarm, and he looked between Barba and Father, heart beginning to race. This stupid girl! Didn’t she know punishment would be so much worse if Father knows about his weak-

“You were crying?” Fathers voice was soft, surprised, and Damian looked at him with wide green eyes. He should answer, he was supposed to answer when asked a question. But he couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t tell the truth. His mouth opened and no sound came out. Father was staring at him, his gaze was burning Damian’s face, or maybe that was the flush of his cheeks. And suddenly Father was down on one knee, expensive pressed pants getting wet from the damp grass.

“Are you alright?” And Damian’s breath caught in his throat. The last thing he ever expected was sympathy. Fathers eyes were searching his face for something but Damian was struggling so much to find the words he just shut his mouth and stared back.

Father sighed, patted his shoulder, and stood. Anger seemed to have drained out of him and left Fathers limbs and shoulders drooping.

“Thank you, Barbra, for helping my son. But shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Uuuuuuhm…” The girl awkwardly kicked a pebble and avoided eye contact.

Just then her cell phone rang in her hand. She had been just showing Damian the art of text messaging so it was still flipped open. She brought it up to her ear as she answered and then sheepishly spoke.

“Hi daddy.”

After a tense conversation asking what Bruce Wayne was doing with his daughter, the commissioner was surprisingly understanding. If a bit exhausted. Damian wondered how often she pulled stunts like this for her father not to sound even surprised. His form of punishment must not be very effective.

Bruce walked her back to the school at Commissioner Gordon’s request. Then father and son turned to leave and Damian felt dread settling in his stomach like hot coal. Father opened the backseat of the car and Damian got in without a word. It felt like climbing into the back of a hearse. Damian let Father buckle him up and ignored how trapped it made him feel.

“I’ll save my judgment until after I have reviewed the security footage from the school.” Father told him, and Damian stared straight ahead keeping his face carefully blank even as his fingers started to feel numb again.

“Yes, sir.”

Damian was waiting in his room. Kneeling on the ground with his fists balled up on his knees. The position left his back sore and stiff and his knees burning. But still he stayed there like that. It would be nothing compared to whatever punishment Father would inflict. Right now at least he could focus on the subtle aches in his body. 

Damian heard the footsteps before Father even approached the door, listening to the sound of his dress shoes clicking on hardwood closer and closer. Until they were right outside the door. Then a hand knocked on the old oak and Damian’s shoulders hitched up an inch higher. Why was he knocking? Why wasn’t he coming inside? 

Biting his lip he took a second to steady his voice before he spoke.

“You may enter.”

Damian stared straight ahead as Father entered but his gaze was focused on nothing. Staring blankly even when Father stopped in front of him where he was kneeling on the cold floor. 

“I reviewed the footage from school,” Father started and Damian remained silent, “I’m sorry.”

Damian’s head snapped fully up with wide eyes taking in his Fathers face. Father looked just as surprised at his sudden movement before his expression settled back neutrally. Then Father lowered himself to the floor and sat in front of Damian, cross legged.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I overreacted.” That explanation didn’t help whatsoever. This was a test, surely. Damian’s eyes turned away from Father to stare at the door he had left open when he entered. Was it a taunt to leave the door open knowing Damian would not be allowed to run away? It wasn’t like he could outrun Batman.

“I broke a rule. You very explicitly told me, under no circumstances, was I to engage in combat.” If this was a test he was going to pass it. Damian wasn’t an infant, he could understand what he’d done wrong and accept the punishment.

“What I specifically said was not to start any fights. And not to use any league training against any students or teachers.” Father explained calmly, no hint of anger. Eyes searching Damian’s face for something again. It was always such a struggle to hold his expression neutral when Father studied him like this.

“I did use league training however. I should be punished.” Technically he learned all forms of combat from the league.

“You did bruise that boy's ribs,” Father said softly, “but the video footage clearly showed self defense. We’ll get it sorted out.”

His chest began to feel tight and he breathed in deeply through his nose.

“No. I should be punished.” Damian’s voice shook a little now, but not with fear. His fists curled tighter and his nails felt like little pinpricks in his palms. Inhaling again deeply he turned his eyes on Father and held his gaze. Father’s brows were raised and then they slowly narrowed to match Damian’s determined look.

“Why are you fighting me on this? Do you want to be punished, Damian?” Fathers question rang in his head and Damian wanted to scream ‘ Yes! Yes!’ Because then things would finally make sense. Instead Damian undid his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Damian what-?!” But Fathers sentence stopped short as Damian’s shoulders were bared. He folded the shirt and sat it beside him before resuming his previous position. 

“I do not appreciate these mind games. If you would just get on with it already.” Damian’s tone was rude, trying to hide the fear behind disrespect. At least that might tick Father off enough to stop this charade and begin the punishment. 

Father rose to his feet and slowly circled around Damian to his back. This was it then. It was finally happening. Damian squeezed his eyes shut and waited. For a second he thought he felt the air above his marred skin stir like Fathers hand was there. But no sting came, not a whip or a hand or a weapon touched him. Then he felt Fathers presence on his side sliding down next to Damian who opened his eyes again, head turning minutely to glance at Father at the fringes of his vision. He was sitting on his knees like Damian now, face contorted in an expression he couldn’t name. It was almost like pain, almost like anger. But the look on his face made Damian’s heart ache. Was this the punishment?

“Did the league do that to you?” Father finally asked after a few moments of silence. And Damian’s balled up fists slowly relaxed as he turned his head to fully take in the look on Fathers face.

“Yes?” He seemed surprised by his scars. Hadn’t Pennyworth told Father what he had seen his first night here?

Then Father swallowed and brought a hand up to run in over his face.

“You think I’m going to hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. There was a look of understanding in Fathers eyes. He’d finally figured out the puzzle, and the picture was horrifying him. But Damian didn’t understand why.

“Aren’t you?” And his question came out so small and confused that he didn’t think it had been him who spoke. It sounded like some frightened child. Not Damian Al Ghul.

“No!” Fathers loud tone startled him and he jumped before Father raised his hands and tried again softer.

“No Damian. I am never going to hurt you. I am not the League, and I will never hurt you like they have.” Fathers voice was suddenly soft, and firm all at once. Gentle but certain. He had never heard him speak like that. Never heard anyone speak like that to him before. It made him believe it.

Immediately Damian’s eyes began to blur and a strange sound came from his throat. It was what Damian could only describe as a whine. But surely that sound didn’t come from Damian. His damp cheeks said otherwise. 

Then Father slowly leaned towards him, arm extended. Damian’s head whipped around to follow the arm over his shoulders and Father wrapped it around his shuddering body. Then he gently tugged Damian out of his uncomfortable position and tucked him against his side.

“You’re okay. Shh. You’re okay.” Father was stiff in his attempt at comfort. But to Damian it was like nothing he’d ever experienced. The warmth surrounding him squeezed more unintentional noises out of him. And Damian tucked his face into Father's side to press his face into his suit jacket and sob. Fathers arm on his shoulder gently rubbed circles into his arm. He seemed to be avoiding touching Damian’s back.

The way Damian whimpered and whined you’d think he was a beaten dog. Not a proud assassin. And distantly Damian was mortified. But this was the first time in years he had ever felt warmth like this. The first time in his life he had ever felt safe. Damian let himself be greedy for the first time too.

His shifting around made Father lift his arm for a second, looking uncertain. Damian would laugh at his bewildered expression if he himself wasn’t in a much worse state. Moving closer Damian climbed up into Fathers lap, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pressing his face into his chest. Father inhaled slowly, he felt his chest rise with the small gasp of surprise. Then just as slowly two powerful arms came around him, encasing him in the warmth and safety. And Damian exhaled a long held sigh. A sigh he might have been holding for years. Father rocked him like a baby, and Damian didn’t protest, letting the gentle swaying and indistinct humming lull him into complete peace for the very first time since long before he’d even left Nanda Parbat. Tension left his body completely and he snuggled into Fathers chest until there was nothing but darkness and the deep sound of Father humming. 

At some point they had transferred from the floor to the bed. He could tell even with his eyes closed because he could feel the softness under his body, the light blanket tucked around him. Fathers chest was against his head and the powerful thud-th-thud-th-thud of his heartbeat lulled Damian back into the safe-warm darkness of sleep.

Chapter Text

That night when Father held him while he cried had changed things between them. And Damian hated it. 

First of all Damian had been suspended from school. Not that he truly cared about that but for some ungodly reason Father had been working from home. Meaning that despite his best efforts to avoid seeing him after his embarrassing display, Father always seemed to find him and ‘check on’ him. Asking him questions about how he was feeling . Damian would simply answer ‘acceptable’ and Father would sigh and nod like he understood before Damian awkwardly excused himself to find a new hiding place.

Father was also making more of an effort to spend casual time together. Inviting him to watch boring infantile movies Damian had zero interest in, or the infinitely more interesting chess or checkers game. During these bouts of Fatherly affection Damian would just have to bide his time until patrol came around and he could finally, blessedly, be left to his own devices. 

Damian was still unsure what exactly will happen when he does get in trouble. Father wasn’t great at elaborating on finer details.

It left Damian feeling like he was sitting on a precipice and he was sick of it. Of waiting for something bad to happen. If Father wasn’t going to tell him what punishment would entail he would just have to find out for himself.

It started small. Damian would sneak into Fathers office and take things. He took several pens, a stamp, a watch he had left on the desk, and even a document right from under his nose. It was small things, mostly inconvenient. 

While sitting in his room Damian fiddled with the broken watch, trying to see if he could get it to tick. When he heard the familiar footfalls of his Father walk up to his door and pause there. Damian had left the door open on purpose so that Father would see and know exactly what he had done. Father stared at him, stared at the watch Damian had fixed to his wrist, the origami crane that had once been an important document, the pens scattered around the floor, and sighed. Then he just left. Turning and stalking back down the hallway he had come from. And Damian went back to fiddling with the watch, a smirk slowly coming to his lips. 

Next incident was a little bigger. Damian stood with the remains of a very large and expensive vase scattered around his socked feet. The sounds of footsteps were more frantic this time, dashing up the stairs from Fathers office after the sound of the crash. And Damian stood still with his arms crossed in the center of the disaster.

“Damian?!” Rather than anger, Father sounded alarmed. But Damian merely returned an unconcerned look and eye roll.

“Are you hurt? Don’t move, I’ll come to you.” Father stuck out a hand, ordering him still and Damian’s body unconsciously followed the order, tensing and straightened in response.

“Tt, you are being entirely over dramatic, Father.” But Damian held still as Father began picking his way through the ceramic shards. Father carefully moved to Damian and then reached down.

It was so surprising he just let it happen, Father scooped him up from under his armpits and then balanced him against his hip. Damian unconsciously clung to his father’s sweater, gripping the fabric on either side of his torso. Then Father carefully made his way back out of the mess and set Damian down a few feet from the disaster. Before he could kneel down and ask again if Damian was injured the boy swiveled and took off running down the hall.

“Dami-!“ But Damian ducked into his room and slammed the door shut, cutting him off. Father did not pursue.

No matter what Damian did, Father would merely react with a sigh and let him be. Damian ran up and down the halls, stomping on every board to make as much noise as possible while Father was working. Right above his office. Father had poked his head up the stairs to check on him and Damian froze mid stomp. All he got was a sigh before Father retreated and Damian resumed his mischief.

Damian stole snacks right before dinner after Pennyworth explicitly told him not to. Then left the evidence of it on his face in the form of cookie crumbs and smeared chocolate chips. But even Pennyworth merely sighed and looked at him with something warm in his eyes that made knots twist up in his stomach. It did however make eating dinner more difficult as Pennyworth had previously advised.

Damian finally even made a mess in the garden. Heading outside he trudged through Pennyworths roses and tulips and marigolds. He stomped in mud left over from the morning rain. Kicking splatters onto the pathways and trudging over plants. Then he marched inside and tracked mud through the back door, down the hall, into the bathroom, back out again, up the stairs, into the library. Where he plopped himself into an antique chair in front of the fireplace. 

It took around 30 minutes, distantly he heard a quiet but clearly enraged voice coming up the stairs, following the mud trail. Two pairs of footsteps stopped in the library. Damian found his hands wringing nervously. 

This was it. The moment he was waiting for. 

Turning in the chair he saw the two men standing there, looking at him. Alfred’s face was red. Damian had never seen the patient man look like that before. But his eyes were not fixed on Damian. Instead he was looking at Father, motioning expectantly. Father looked to Pennyworth and sighed, motioning back to the boy and to the mess. The pair seemed to be having a conversation without words.

“Master Bruce. I cannot help you with this. You are his parent. You must actually parent him.” And with that Alfred left in a huff.

That left Father stranded in the doorway rubbing his neck and looking anywhere but at the mud and Damian.

“Okay.” He said it breathily, like it took a lot of effort to muster out the word, before moving across the room to sit next to Damian on the now ruined furniture.

“Why did you do this?” Father asked and Damian looked away to the fire.

“I do not know what you mean.” Keeping his voice perfectly level. 

“Damian. I know you know better than this.” Father reached over, a hand hovering over his shoulder for a second before drawing back. And Damian held in a sigh of relief when no blow came. Instead he focused on the fire, flexing his muddy arms and legs subtly, but enough that the dirt drying on him cracked and crumbled making more of a mess.

“Look at me.” Father stated the order firmly and Damian immediately snapped to attention, head turning to meet Father steely blue gaze. He was angry. But his voice didn’t raise, his body language remained open. He was doing everything in his power to convey ‘ not a threat ’.

“Did you think I was lying? That I will hurt you if you make enough trouble?” And at being found out Damian felt profoundly childish. His cheeks flushed with heat and his eyes glanced to the side. Father merely sighed like that was all the confirmation he needed.

“I will not hurt you. But Damian, you haven’t just caused trouble for me. You’ve caused trouble for Alfred too. Do you understand?” And Damian nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes a bit as he considered it.

“What you did wasn’t very nice to Alfred. He loves his garden very much. And he keeps the manor clean for us. You’ve made a lot of work for him.” And Damian chewed his lip at this information. Distantly he knew that. It was Alfred that had swept up the vase. Father had tried to help but been utterly useless without Pennyworth telling him where the broom was and teaching him how to wipe up the small shards with a paper towel. Damian had watched the spectacle from the crack of his door.

“So Damian, you will need to be… to be reprimanded.” Father said the word slowly after some hesitation. It seemed like he was watching Damian’s reaction, ready to pedal back at a hint of distress. Damian didn’t react visibly. But he knew that was just another word for ‘punishment’. Still Father seemed to think they were different and since he was so hopeless at clarification Damian would have to ask for it himself.

“Not punished?” Damian finally asked, one brow raised.

“No. But if you hurt someone, especially someone who cares about you, you make it up to them. That’s why after you take a bath you’re going to go to Alfred, apologize, and offer to help clean up.” Father instructed and Damian’s jaw dropped. This was much worse than being punished.

“You would have me doing servant work?!” Damian squawked, incredulously. And Father shook his head.

“Alfred isn’t a servant. He’s family. And you're going to make it up to him.” Damian was flabbergasted. His mouth opened and closed and several gibberish sounds came out of his mouth before he managed to hinge his jaw shut and stop floundering like a fish.

It seemed counterintuitive to have a bath before he would be getting dirty again. And he voiced this complaint no more than three times while Father patiently explained that he would continue to flake mud all over the house until he washed it off. Which was regretfully true, somehow it was even behind his ears. Father ran the bath for him and then waited outside. They had started doing that ever since his first time in the tub. Though usually it was Pennyworth who would mull about the room, preparing things he’d need for bed and pretending he wasn’t monitoring Damian. Father was infinitely less subtle.

Now scrubbed clean Father gently nudged him in the direction of the stairs. Damian winced a little when he exited the hallway to see the streaks of mud he had trudged through the halls. It was really bad. Following the sound of scrubbing down the staircase he came across Pennyworth, already half done cleaning the stairs. Damian awkwardly cleared his throat to get the older man’s attention. The butler paused, seeming to take a second, before standing up straight to be eye level with the boy a few steps above him.

“Yes, Master Damian?” And there was a stiffness to his tone that made Damian shift from foot to foot.

“I was told that I have caused you harm. That was… that was never my intention. And I apologize.” Damian searched Alfred’s face for a hint of anger. Instead whatever neutral expression he had been holding onto cracked just slightly and a sad smile came to his lips.

“Thank you, Master Damian. The apology is accepted.” Then before he could kneel down Damian sucked in a breath to quickly get out, “Allow me to assist.” Before he could regret the words and let the anger of his hurt pride show on his face. 

“Father said that I should ‘make it up’ to you.”

Alfred straightened up, considering this, before nodding and turning around. When he turned back he had a bucket and a wry smile on his face. Damian blinked at the bucket in near disbelief, almost hoping Pennyworth would have refused his help. But an Al Ghul is anything if not determined. So taking the scrub brush Alfred also passed Damian rolled up his sleeves and got to work. These stairs would be so spotless when he was done he was sure even Pennyworth would be impressed. So he took the challenge head on.

Damian was going to impress everyone with his stair polishing skills. He had never polished stairs before, but he was going to impress everyone nonetheless. Failure was unacceptable.

Damian scrubbed and scrubbed, little face scrunched up in concentration. By the time he reached the top of the stairs he noticed that the hallway was already cleaned. Damian’s head snapped back down to refocus on his task. When he was finished he wiped his brow and stood, stretching.

“Splendid work, Master Damian.” Damian paused mid stretch and looked up to see Father and Alfred both smiling at him. Well as much as they both ever ‘smiled’. Looking between the pair he stood straight up with his arms folded behind his back.

“Naturally. An Al Ghul is always perfect.” And now their smiles were a little tense. Why did Damian always end up saying the wrong thing? 

But Alfred didn’t miss a beat as he spoke again.

“I think you deserve a reward. I happen to have just made a fresh batch of blueberry muffins.”

“A reward? But I-“ Damian tried to protest but Alfred was already ushering him back down the stairs reminding him to be careful of the drying spots.  

The trio then made their way to the kitchen and Alfred dramatically revealed the muffins he had covered with a cloth and left on the counter. He pulled it off like a magician and Damian leaned forward at the deliciously warm, sweet, smell of muffins. But he recoiled just as quickly and glared at the pair.

“Everything alright, Master Damian?” Alfred asked with a slight incline to his head.

“This is some kind of trick.” Damian looked between the pair and then to the muffins. Scrutinizing them like they were poisoned.

Father and Alfred looked to each other slowly, frowning. “What makes you think it’s a trick?” Father asked him, leaning down just a little to stare very intently at Damian’s face. He hated how transparent he felt whenever Father examined him like this.

“I was just punished.” Damian explained and Father’s brow twitched at the term. Then surprisingly sternly replied, “No, not punished. Reprimanded.” As if they were different. Damian clicked his tongue but didn’t have an actual retort. “Besides. You already made up for it. You apologized and were forgiven.”

And that he supposed did make a bit of sense.

So very slowly he untensed and slumped into the chair by the island. Father took a seat next to him and carefully brought an arm around Damian’s shoulders. Holding him loosely in case Damian wanted to try and get away. The light hold was appreciated, so Damian didn’t pull away. 

Alfred served him a muffin on a plate. And Damian picked it up gently in his hands prepared to bite down when Father spoke up again.

“What about mine, Alfred?”

“Well, sir. This is a reward for our hard work. I don’t remember you scrubbing the staircase until it shone. Correct me if I am mistaken.” Father blinked and stammered for a second before settling on a scowling pout. Damian hesitated mid bite and looked at his own muffin. Before he could overthink it Damian was pushing the plate over in front of Father.

“Dami this is yours. I couldn’t-“

“Accept my gift Father. I will not ask for it back.” 

And Father blinked at him, before a small warm grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Looking at Damian with such warmth and was that pride? What on earth had he done to deserve such an expression? It made him shuffle in his seat uncomfortably and look away to hide the burning in his cheeks.

When he blinked another muffin was set in front of him and he looked up to find Pennyworth with the same expression on his face. Alfred gave a nod towards his treat and Damian finally picked it up to take a bite.

It was sweet, slightly moist. The berrys had been fresh from a farmers market and they tasted like sunshine and spring.

And Father seemed to be enjoying his as well, arm still loosely draped over Damian’s shoulders while he ate it with his other hand. 

“Would you like another, Master Damian?”

“That would be agreeable.” Damian said softly, nodding very slightly as Alfred slipped another one onto his plate.

That night Father once again dragged him off to watch another juvenile film for infants. They sat down together in the living room with the largest tv and Father started shifting through the stack of dvds that he had purchased since the night Damian first cried. 

“How about this one Damian? Do you like animals?” Damian perked up ever so slightly at the mention of animals. Father seemed to take note of his reaction and nodded, putting the movie in. Then he settled on the couch next to Damian.

The film opened to a beautiful watercolor forest. It looked old, the one about the princess and the small men had been old like this. He had recognized the ‘Snow White’ fable having heard the story before. But this one was new. No princess’ or singing. He could appreciate the gorgeous backgrounds, more so than the cartoonish characters.

It was a story of a prince. Who lives with his mother and his friends in those beautiful backgrounds. Frolicking in flowers and sunshine and joy. It makes him scoff at the ridiculousness. It was so childish. 

Then something changes. It’s winter now. The backgrounds feel like they’ve lost their light. They feel hollow and empty. Fathers grip tightens just slightly at the sound of the gunshot, and Damian flinches as he hadn’t even noticed his arm back around Damian’s shoulders. Too enraptured by the scene. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the screen as the little forest prince cries for his mother, left alone. Lost and scared and confused. The way the little demon prince had been. He sees himself reflected in the little deer and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it. His breathing has gotten strangled, gripping his legs to his chest and choking back tears desperately.

Al Ghul’s don’t cry. Al Ghuls don’t cry. Al Ghuls don’t-

“Damian? What’s wrong?” 

The movie isn’t real. The little forest prince isn’t real. His mother wasn’t really shot. So why does his chest hurt so bad? Why are his eye blurring and his fingers going numb and-

Father is in front of him now, two hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe Damian. Talk to me.” The instruction is slow, inhale, exhale. League training kicks in and he immediately begins breathing those same calming breaths that Father had used the night they’d met.

“What’s wrong Damian? You’ve never reacted to a movie before.” Damian hadn’t even been interested in a movie before. But this one had captured his attention inexplicably. 

Father looked at him expectantly. Damian felt the desire to snarl and yell and run. To stuff all his feelings deep deep down.

“Mother.” He said instead. Quietly echoing what the character had screamed. “She is in danger. I cannot help her. I-“

And Fathers face crumbled for a moment. It was rare when he expressed his sorrow so openly. But he also steadied himself, squeezing Damian’s shoulders in a grounding way.

“I understand. I understand that feeling of helplessness. How it feels to miss her. But Damian, your mother is strong, and smart. She’s going to be just fine.”

“I know!” Letting some of that frustration bubble up he snapped at Father. Then he recoiled, expecting a blow for his insolence. None ever came. Oh, right. Father won’t hurt him. Relaxing again Damian uncurled just a little, opening himself up just slightly.

“But I-“ this was a vulnerability he was told never to voice, it was hard to get the words out and he choked mid sentence, “-I miss her.”

Fathers hands moved down to his arms and then back up. Rubbing warmth back into Damian’s cold limbs. But he doesn’t say anything, despite the look in his eyes saying he very much wants to. He doesn’t know what to say, Damian realizes.

“Her letter.” Damian says after finding his voice again, no longer choked or strained.

“What?”

“I want it back.”

The room is silent and still for a second before Father pulls back and nods. Then he stands and starts to leave, Damian trailing behind him.

The pair make their way to the study through the twisty halls. Damian can find it blindfolded now, having studied the manor exstensively in his weeks staying here. He knows where they’re going as soon as they leave the den. They’re going to the cave.

Finally.

Father enters the room and doesn’t stop until he is in front of the clock. Seems to take a second to really consider this, before moving the clock hands and opening the cave door. Damian watches and notices the time, 10:48 pm, the same time the watch he stole is stopped at.

The pair slip down into the dark stairwell, the air shifting from the warm manor to a distinct chill. There’s moisture in the air and their footsteps echo down stone stairs. Until finally it opens up to a dim light. 

Damian is just as taken with the cave as the first time he entered it. Father however doesn’t slow, so Damian quickens his own pace. Only able to glance around as Father made his way to a room filled with locked cabinets. The room was labeled ‘evidence’.

Moving near the back he unlocked a drawer and pulled out it’s only content. The letter looked more rumpled than he remembered, clutching it for comfort during long sea rides and dark nights all alone.

Father handed it over with some hesitation and Damian held it to his chest. Like this it felt like his Mother was close to his heart. Then he pulled the envelope away to look at the writing on the front in loopy fancy cursive.

Beloved.

Mothers nickname for Father. Then he opened the envelope and carefully pried out the letter, smoothing it on a nearby cabinet and letting his eyes scan her words again. They were curt and to the point and almost cold. Yet he could see the love in it all the same.

Dear Beloved,

The child I have sent truly is your blood. I know you will run your tests and come to that conclusion as well. His life is in danger. I cannot trust the league. You are the only person I can send him to at present. I will come to collect him once the danger has passed. Keep him safe.

Damian I know you will read this letter as well. Listen to your Father’s orders. I love you, I’ll see you again soon.

Talia Al Ghul

Running a finger over the ‘I love you’ he huffed out a small sound, folded it up back into the envelope, and tucked it away inside his shirt. Close to his heart.

“Acceptable.” Damian told his Father with a nod, and Father nodded back.

“Would you like to go back upstairs? We can watch something else.” Father suggested but Damian shook his head.

“Isn’t it about time for you to patrol, Father?” Damian asked, and Father hummed slightly in affirmation. He looked Damian up and down before he said, “You're more important right now.”

And Damian blinked rapidly a few times to crush down the immediate surge of tears that threatened to fall. 

“Gotham can wait a little longer.” And with a hand on his shoulder Damian was led back to the stairs. Oh well, he knew how to get inside now. He could come back later to explore. Right now his Father wanted to be with him. And Damian wanted to let him be there for once.

The pair settled back on the couch. And Damian started running a hand over the letter tucked against his chest. Father had suggested they watch something else but Damian scoffed and rolled his eyes insisting he ‘wasn’t an infant’ and could handle a movie intended for them. 

And really Damian had actually liked this one. He wanted to see how it ended. For the first time he saw himself in the character. Who next went to live with his Father and grew up to become the benevolent king of the forest.

Would that be Damian one day? The brave protector of Gotham, like his Father? 

Those were the last thoughts he had as he dozed on the couch when warm arms scooped him up and Damian settled his forehead against a broad shoulder. His little hands fisted into his fathers sweater while the gentle and light footed rhythm of his steps lulled Damian into sleep.

Chapter Text

“Using the trowel, dig a hole several inches deep.”

Following Pennyworth's instructions he let the small shovel stab into the earth. The trowel had numbers engraved so it was helpful in digging a big enough hole. The dirt was loose and easy to burrow in and felt warm through his gloves. He widened the hole with his hand as well. The earth beneath the topsoil was slightly chilled and damp.

“Very good, lad. Now we’ll remove the flower from its nursery pot and loosen the roots.” Pennyworth explained before demonstrating how to loosen the roots and handing the little plant over to Damian to try. Then he was instructed to place it in the hole and cover the roots with the surrounding dirt. 

This time it hadn’t been required for Damian to ‘make it up’ to Alfred. He had actually suggested it himself. To help repair the garden he had destroyed just the other day. Pennyworth had seemed delighted. Damian didn’t tell Father, the thought of it made his stomach churn and face burn. This whole situation still made him feel strange. Hopefully doing this whole ‘making it up’ thing would make the bad feeling go away like it had before. The rare sun on his shoulders certainly helped. It was nice to be outside for once.

The gardening lesson was interrupted by a ringing sound. The sound of a telephone. And the buzzing it made in his pocket. Taking off a glove he pulled it out and flipped it open to look at it expecting Fathers name across the screen. His Fathers was the only call he expected to ever receive. Instead it said ‘Babs’. 

With a blink he looked to Pennyworth and the butler inclined his head towards the phone before resuming working on planting the new flowers. Damian pulled off his other glove and hit the green button.

“Hello, Damian Wayne.” He said stiffly with the phone pressed against his ear.

“Hi Dami! Sorry I couldn’t call sooner. What are you up to?” 

“Barbra.”

Damian took a second, surprised it was genuinely her somehow. The day he’d met a young girl that had taken him to the park and calmed him down seemed so far away with the week he’d had.

“Gardening.”

“Gardening? Do you… like gardening?” She sounded skeptical and Damian rolled his eyes.

“It’s not unpleasant.”

“Oh, okay cool. So um-“ Her voice didn’t waver but the pause sounded like hesitation and Damian listened more attentively in response. “-did your dad end up, you know uh… punishing you?” 

“No.”

“No?” She sounded relieved and even exhaled a little.

“Father assured me that he would not punish me. My actions were deemed self defense.” And Damian had held back. He could have killed every one of those boys for their insolence but instead he left them alive. Regrettably.

“I on the other hand got super grounded! I wasn’t allowed tech for a week, including phoning friends. Hence only calling now.” 

Damian hummed in response. Unsure what to say to that.

“How about you invite Miss Gordon to visit the Manor. Tomorrow afternoon perhaps?”

He did like Pennyworths suggestion. Wanting to see the girl again. He tilted his head slightly in consideration before relaying the idea to Barbra.

“Pennyworth suggests you visit the Manor tomorrow. Does that work for your schedule?” 

“Hmm should I have my people call your people?” Barba asked with a small snort.

“What people?” Damian’s brow scrunched up. Did she mean her father or something?

“Huh no just- never mind. I’ll ask my dad if I can come over tomorrow.”

And Damian couldn’t keep the small smile off his face.

The next day Damian was pacing the foyer. The room was large so he could easily move ten steps and back and ten steps and back. A friend was coming over. A friend his age. Another child. And he wasn’t just expected to hang out with her he was encouraged to. 

Alfred had taught him ‘proper gentlemanly etiquette’ and Father had scoffed and said, “It’s only a play date, Alfred.” But seemed worried nonetheless. 

So he’ll remember to be polite, and hold the door, and pull out her chair, if only so Father didn’t worry.

When the knock finally came Damian swiveled out of his pacing smoothly and walked to the door, opening it with a greeting on his tongue. Before he could get the words out though he startled at the sight of a man standing there instead. With graying auburn hair and a bushy mustache.

“Who are you?” Snapped out instead and he could hear Alfred sigh from where he was hovering in the hall. 

“Jim Gordon, Barbra’s father.” The man informed him, his mustache twitched slightly in what he assumed was a smile. 

“Hi Dami!” Barbra popped out from behind him and Damian visibly relaxed.

“Miss Gordon.” He greeted and she groaned.

“Damian, at least call me Barbra.”

“Very well… Barbra.”

Stepping back he welcomed the pair into his home. Father and Pennyworth both stepped up to take over talking to the adult.

“Gordon. It’s good to see you.” Fathers smile was bright. Less like the ridiculous grin he gave reporters and the public but not his true self either. Still he regarded Gordon differently than most and Damian took note of that.

“Bruce, how have you been?”

The adults exchanged handshakes and pleasant smiles. Damian and Barbra stood on the side. Once greetings were finished Alfred suggested tea in the drawing room. Father hesitated, hovering over the kids for a second.

“Damian, if you need us we’ll be right here.”

“Of course Father.”

“Of course.”

“This is our house, Father.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes a second before his lips twitched in an almost smile.

“Of course.”

The adults moved on, chatting pleasantly. Damian turned to Barbra and Barbra smiled back.

“Would you like a tour?”

And her polite smile turned to a grin.

Damian showed her the first floor. Fathers office, the library, the main den, the kitchen, and motioned out the kitchen door towards the garden.

“You planted those?” Barbra asked, pressing up to the glass door. Damian felt a swell of pride and puffed up.

“Yes, those small flowers there in an impeccable row.”

The rest of the first floor was just the garage and then the public wing for balls and galas and whatnot and those weren’t that interesting. Upstairs Damian showed her to several other living rooms all with massive tvs. There was also a private gym. Then they moved on the bedroom wing.

“That door is Fathers bedroom.” He motioned to the large double doors of heavy oak. Then he motioned to his own, equally ancient door.

“This room is mine.” 

He opened the door, allowing her to step in.

“Oh wow. Your room is like the size of our apartment.” Barbra mumbled and he wasn’t sure if she intended him to hear her or not. He watched her pace around the room, investigating. He had a chest of toys, unused, tucked near his bed. A bookshelf filled with storybooks he didn’t read sat near the far wall. The desk was mostly unused but right now a school notebook did sit open on it. Barbra leaned over curiously.

“Wow, did you draw this?” Barbra asked and pointed to the notebook. Damian hummed and came over to see what exactly she was referring too. 

The page was covered in drawings of the flowers he had seen yesterday, scribbled with the pens he had taken from Father. Drawing in the blues and blacks and reds of various ballpoint pens

“Yes. These are the petunias and peony’s that Pennyworth and I planted together.” He flipped the page to a whole page of roses draw with red pen.

“These are the roses. I didn’t help with the roses.” Damian hummed and let his eyes scan the page.

“You’re really good Dami. These look pretty accurate too.” Her praise made his cheeks go warm and he turned his face away to stare at the opposite wall. Barbra giggled a little in response.

Damian showed her more of his drawings. She asked questions about the various plants and animals, where he saw them and why he drew them. He smiled a little at the drawing of a squirrel he showed her, regaling her with the story of the battle between it and Pennyworth as he chased it off of the bird feeder. Imagining the prim and proper man all flustered over a rodent made the children both giggle, Damian huffing out a little laugh.

A knock on the door had Damian’s posture stiffening. Barbra turned around from where she sat in the desk chair.

“Master Damian, lunch is prepared if you two are hungry.” 

“Thank you Pennyworth.” Damian looked at Barbra when he spoke, the girl nodded back at him.

“I could eat.”

The children entered the kitchen, Barbra talking all about her latest endeavors on the computer. Damian making her promise to show him sometime soon. His training in hacking hadn’t fully begun when he left the league. He needed to familiarize himself more with technology like that.

“You two seem to be getting along. I’m glad.” Father spoke up from the breakfast nook. Damian stopped talking almost immediately and Father sighed out of his nose in response.

“I’m just saying, I’m glad you’ve made a friend, son.” And Damian slowly, warily, nodded.

The kids sat down and Alfred handed them each a plate with several small squares sandwiches of varying types. All of Damian’s were vegan. At this point his aversion to meat was completely respected although nobody had talked to him about it. They didn’t question him or force him to eat meat. Grandfather would have scoffed and said he needed the protein for muscle growth or something. Or punished him for being picky.

“What did you two get up to?” Gordon asked, nibbling awkwardly on his own sandwich.

“Damian was showing me his drawings.” Barbra replied and Damian stiffened, carefully fixing his gaze on the wall.

If you have time to waste on frivolous hobby’s you have time to train.

But the familiar sharp reprimand didn’t come instead Father leaned slightly forward.

“Damian’s drawings?” He asked the girl with a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Yeah, he’s really good.”

“I see… you should show me these drawings some time, Damian.” 

And Damian sat up a little straighter. A pit in his stomach said it was a trap, even if his heart soared at the idea of Father wanting to actually see his work.

They ate their sandwiches. Damian was quieter in the presence of the grown ups, but he made sure to acknowledge whatever Barbra was saying with a hum and a nod. When he glanced over Pennyworth seemed to be giving Father a ‘look’. It seemed positive this time however, and Father rolled his eyes and replied to it with a simple hum. In the same tone that Damian had just used to respond to Barbra but lower pitched. Gordon sputtered, nearly spitting out his coffee and all heads turned to him. The man straightened like nothing was wrong but shook his head slowly.

“I can’t believe there’s two of them now.”

After lunch Damian showed Barbra the gardens. The pair spent the rest of the visit there, enjoying the only slightly overcast skies and otherwise warm weather. Damian pointed out plants Pennyworth had shown him yesterday.

After that it was time for Barbra to leave, regretfully. The visit had been rather short today. 

“Thank you for your company Miss Gordon. I hope we may do this again soon.” Damian made sure to keep his posture perfect. Alfred’s eyes wrinkled at the corners with a look of pride.

Barbra giggled and shook her head. 

“Babs is fine Damian. And I was happy to spend time together!”

“It was good catching up with you Wayne. I’m glad you’ve been doing well.” The senior Gordon spoke up, placing two hands on his daughter's shoulders. Something about the look he gave Damian was almost challenging, narrowing in suspicion. But Damian was never one to shy under scrutiny and merely squared his shoulders. Gordon broke the look first to smile at Father.

“Yeah, it was nice to catch up Jim.” Father agreed, nodding with something warm behind his eyes Damian hadn’t really seen from him before.

Alfred walked them out and Damian sighed letting himself relax. Only to turn and find Father examining him closely again.

“Damian,” Father began and Damian’s shoulders squared up once again, “do you like art?”

The surprised puff of air he exhaled caught both of them off guard. 

“I do.” He huffed with a small nod of his head.

“May I see your drawings?” 

Damian fidgeted nervously. It was one thing to show Barbra. He valued her opinion of course, but not nearly to the extent of Fathers. What if he dismissed them the way Grandfather had? But well… Mother had liked his drawings. It wasn’t like he could show her often; she was so busy. But the ones she had seen she praised him over with a light touch to his shoulder and a smile.

Damian hesitatingly nodded and went upstairs to get his notebook. When he returned Father was waiting attentively, normally he’d pull out his laptop or some case file from who knows where. Clutching the book to his chest, Damian stood at his Fathers shoulder and set it down next to him on a table.

Father waited for Damian to nod at him before opening the cover. Then he stopped, taking in the flowers that coated the page.

“Ah. So that’s where all my pens went.” Father smirked, giving Damian a little wink. Damian blinked back at him before scoffing and rolling his eyes to hide how he wanted to smile.

Father turned the page, scanning it like he did case files. Searching for something in his childish scribbles.

“My mother used to have an art studio.” He suddenly hummed, looking thoughtful. “Maybe you’ve inherited her talents.”

That felt kind of nice. He’d never got to meet a grandmother. He wondered if she would have been nicer than Grandfather. 

Father suddenly stood up and started walking away, still flipping through the notebook and humming occasionally. A little confused, Damian began to follow, leaning over occasionally to see where they were going. It was down one of the lesser used wings, one he hadn’t bothered to show Barbra since they didn’t go down there. This part of the building was a little darker and gloomier, but instead of feeling unnerved Damian felt himself relax in the shadows.

Father stopped in front of a door and glanced back to see if Damian was still there. Damian arched a brow in response and Father smiled, opening the door and letting light spill into the hall. 

The room was a little dusty, Pennyworth hadn’t been in here as often. Everything was covered in sheets. It looked like a graveyard of ghosts. Damian stepped in and Father followed, approaching the first sheet and pulling it off. They both made a face at the dust and Damian sneezed before looking up to see a well loved art easel. Paint coating the wooden frame in various colours.

“The studio.” Damian assessed a little breathless. Father went to the cabinets and started to rifle through them.

“The paints are old. But the pencil and charcoal might still be usable. I can buy you more paint tomorrow. Along with anything else you might like to use.”

Damian looked at Father with wide eyes.

“You're saying I can use this room?”

“Yes. You’re free to take anything out of here as well.” 

Coming over to Father he looked at the art supplies he was pulling out of drawers. He pulled out a set of coloured pencils and chalk pastel.

“Here.” 

When Damian looked up at Father he was holding a black covered book with no distinguishable features or title. And Damian opened it to find it blank.

“It’s a sketchbook. There’s no lines on it to get in the way of your drawings.”

And Damian smiled, full on, no scoff or click of his tongue. He hugged the sketchbook to his chest, tight.

“Thank you, Father.”

Damian had been given probably the greatest gift in his entire life. And he wanted to finally return the favor to his Father. There was only one problem.

“I would like my weapons returned.” Late that night Damian had snuck into the cave, instead of going to bed like he was told.

Slowly, Father turned from his place at the computer. “No.”

“And why not?” Damian would stand his ground. He would not back down. Father would not hurt him.

“Those are not things that children should have.” Father said simply, and turned back to the computer.

“If my age implies incompetence then I assure you I have been extensively trained with all of my tools.” Damian argues but Father ignores him, fingers dancing across the keyboard and eyes scanning the words as he types faster than anyone he’s ever seen. Feeling a surge of irritation Damian stalks forward and reaches out to grasp Fathers wrist. And Father stops, slowly turning to Damian again.

“How am I supposed to assist you with no tools!” And Damian gestures to the suit, to the car. Father blinks once, twice, then spins in his chair to face Damian.

“You will not be assisting me.” Father says and places a hand over Damian’s, carefully prying the hand off of his wrist.

“Father, I have trained for this my whole life!”

“With the training the league gave you, I wouldn’t want you out there anyway.”

And Damian flinched. That stung, although he didn’t understand exactly why. It was offensive to the league, yes, but that wasn’t exactly what he had a problem with.

“But-well-you-you trained with the league as well!” And Father was a fantastic fighter. Did Damian just not have enough experience? 

“The difference is I know what training to use. What training is harmful. You’re too young to realize that yet.”

And Father turned back to the computer, content to ignore Damian again since the matter was settled in his mind. Damian seethed, let out a little growl of frustration, and stalked away. 

“And he won’t allow me to help with his work.” Damian huffs over the phone. It was late, neither of them should be up. But Damian found himself calling Barbra with Father behaving irrationally. She actually saw sense.

“Hmm. Grown ups don’t like it when kids try to butt into their business.” Barbra informed him. She was better at this whole ‘understanding other people’ thing. And she was a person whose intellect he could respect, a mind that rivaled his own.

“Truth is sometimes I help my dad with police work.” Her voice grew suddenly hushed as she whispered this. And Damian pulled the bed covers over his head in turn in case the secret came through his phone too loud.

“He would never accept my help normally. So I just help him secretly.”

“Secretly…” Damian hummed at the idea. Sure he had been caught following Father before but that was after he tailed Batman for three days. Perhaps he could do it again, then find an opportunity to show off his prowess to Father.

“An interesting idea, Barbra. I shall take up your suggestion.”

“You can really call me Babs, Damian. But I’m happy I was able to help!”

Chapter Text

Damian took supper in his room that night. He had never done that before and fretted that Father and Pennyworth would stop him. After all that had only ever been allowed for him In the league when he was severely injured. Surprisingly they allowed it, and assured him it was alright to be nervous about going back to school the next day. Honestly school had completely slipped Damian’s mind but he was grateful for the excuse and hid away in his room.

As soon as he was shut away in the safety of his room he set the plate down on his desk and hurried to change into all black clothing. A dark hoodie covered his head. And with only slight hesitation he grabbed his mothers scarf to tie around his mouth and further hide his identity. Then he rushed back out of the room.

He was now an expert at navigating these halls in total silence. It was more difficult than the stone floors of Nanda Parbat. It was important to keep in mind where to step and how long. Hoping quiet squeaks would be mistaken for the old house settling.

Damian also no longer needed to use the dangerous and unpredictable method of sliding down the banister, skipping over the stairs that creaked the loudest. 

Finally he found himself in Fathers office. Father always finished his meal before Damian and would patiently wait until Damian finished his own meal. So Damian kept a mental note of Fathers meal time average without him and he’d likely finish up in about ten minutes. Damian quickly opened the clock door and leaped down stone stairs. 

First things first. Where was Father going? The computer held his case files. As he wiggled the mouse he bit his lip at the blank password box revealed to him. So that was out. Damian knew a little bit of hacking and coding from the league but his training had still just begun in those fields. Briefly he played with the idea of trying passwords. Maybe Damian’s name or Mothers name or birthday. But no, any password attempt would likely alert Father immediately, he knew how paranoid his Father could be. Knowing him it was probably changed monthly if not weekly or even daily.

Instead Damian turned his eyes to the weapons room. Various tools were held here, including an entire rack of Batarangs. Damian pilfered two from the empty end of the rack and hoped Father didn’t notice like he’d noticed the pens. They folded neatly and fit in his hoodie pocket. Next he faced a large metal cabinet, his blade was visible glinting dangerously through the metal slots. With time and tools he could break into it. He was sure he could find the tools around here somewhere. But a subtle shift in air pressure and very near silent sound of something shifting upstairs alerted him that his time was up. Even though he should have five minutes or so left, Damian bitterly noted. Father must have rushed through his meal without Damian there. Grabbing one last item he fled the weapons room, dashing into the shadows and ducking behind some strange pile of canisters that read ‘cryo-something’ on the side. Luckily they seemed empty. Father had all sorts of junk down here he didn’t understand why he kept any of it but at least it made for good hiding spots.

As he watched between the gap in the metal he picked up Father and Alfred’s voice echoing in the cave.

“I just hope he isn’t still upset.”

“And whatever did you do to upset the young master?” 

Father fixed Pennyworth with a blank look that Damian was learning to read as exasperation. But he didn’t refute the blame placed on him.

“We had a disagreement. He seems to be under the impression that he needs to do… this.”

Father motioned to the display of the suit.

“And you refused to let him?”

“Of course.”

“And he accepted that?”

Father paused at that, eyes drifting over the batsuit. “He will.”

“Oh. Like you did?” Alfred replied, a small smile on the corner of his lip especially after the way Father scowled at him.

“He takes after you Master Bruce. Not just physically, but his personality is similar as well.”

“What are you saying?”

“He is stubborn. Just as bull headed as you I’m afraid.” Alfred muttered the second half almost under his breath but Father seemed to have heard him by the way he stared at the man.

“So what do you suggest? I let him out there?”

“Whatever you decide to do will be in his best interest. However you must actually talk with the boy, make your intentions clear.”

Father didn’t answer him after that, stalking away to get ready for patrol while Pennyworth sighed, muttering ‘these boys’ under his breath.

Damian digested this information. Father didn’t see him fit to receive his legacy. Damian would just have to prove him wrong tonight. 

But his only shot of getting out undetected was sneaking out of the Batmobile exit. He had seen the proximity alarms around all of the manors windows and doors. He assumed the same for the fences and the gates. And the point of this was to prove his stealth abilities to Father. 

So diving from cover to cover he made his way down the cave to the closed metal door. It was a huge steel thing that spanned the entire rock wall and was painted with yellow stripes to make it extra visible in the dark. He’d have one shot at this and if he messed it up the huge heavy door would probably take off his head or crush his legs.

Damian’s body tensed as he crouched behind cave rocks nearby. He could feel the rumble of the engine through the stone and he placed a hand on the cool surface to track it’s journey towards him down the tunnel. The door began to rise with a metallic cha-clunk ! His muscles felt wound like a spring as he waited. It would be safer to go first but Father would undoubtedly catch sight of him in the headlights. 

Wait. Watch. Still your breathing.

Wind ruffled his hair and sent his hood flying off his head and would have knocked him over had he not been braced against the ground.

Damian dashed forwards, pouncing like a panther cub. The metal door made a whiiiish sound as it rapidly descended behind the car. And Damian ducked low, sliding out like a baseball player. 

Slam! Inches away from his head the door had shut behind him. He was outside the manor. And Father didn’t know. He was going to be so proud!

Damian hadn’t seen the car and it had been an hour journey, trudging through Bristol to Gotham. At least it was dark between the manors, it was easy to slip past streetlights and remain undetected. The bridge across the water had been the most annoying part of the journey. Brightly lit and very loud. But he made use of the new item he had taken from the cave, holding it up in the light overhead. A grapple gun.

Damian had taken a couple of minutes to experiment with it outside the bat cave. Resulting in some painful scrapes and splinters on his arms and legs. Luckily nobody was around to witness his initial failures as he crashed into branches and brambles. 

But eventually he figured out its basic function enough that he could confidently swing from the bridge's support beams. He stayed low in case he fell, swooping to land on top of vehicles stalled in traffic and pushing off them into another swing. As soon as he landed in Gotham proper he booked it into an alleyway, stashing the gun on his belt loop as he weaved around corners.

Now the hard part. Well sometimes anyway. Finding Father. 

A pretty foolproof way was to follow the police sirens. Fathers patrol route was always different and he didn’t leave it lying around the manor or the cave. He assumed those plans were on the computer he couldn’t hack. So old fashioned way it was. 

Find crime. Find Batman.

Aiming his grapple gun he zipped to the top of a nearby building, overshooting it slightly to roll across the gravel rooftop with a groan. Father made it look so easy.

Popping back up to his feet he looked around from his new higher vantage point. Listening for just a second before running off to find where his Father had gone.

Crime was abundant in Gotham. Everywhere he looked, every corner, had shady people passing tiny packets of something, ladies barely clothed, or someone running off with something that didn’t belong to them. From up on the rooftops they were easy to avoid. It wasn’t any of his business he had to find Father first. But a high pitched cry startled him, and he changed direction towards the alleyway beside the building. He stepped up to the ledge and crouched down. There he saw a group of 4 people standing around a little curled up creature. The creature was whining, high pitched and pained. Damian came to the realization that it was a dog. 

One of the people sipped from a bottle in their hand and then threw it at the pup, shattering an inch away from it’s shaking form. The dog yelped and the gang laughed. Damian sucked in a slow breath, steadying himself after the anger swelled up in his chest. He tried to stamp it down and move on, but every sound the poor creature made pulled at his heartstrings. This would not stand.

Slipping a Batarang from his pocket he twirled it and opened the wings so it took on it’s signature bat shape. Then with a flick of his wrist it buried itself in the stone between the group and the animal.

“It’s the bat!” Someone cried and they scattered like cockroaches, running down different pathways. 

Chuckling softly to himself Damian leaped off the roof to land on the dumpster, then to the ground next to the animal. The dog jumped and let out a pathetic little growl, ears back and teeth bared. Damian got down on one knee and stretched out a hand.

“I mean you no harm.” Damian spoke in a soft voice, and the dog sniffed his fingers. Finding no threat the puppy darted forward and pressed itself against Damian’s leg, whining. The boy carefully ran his hands over the brown coat of the puppy, still covered in downy baby fur. It was unharmed as far as he could tell, just some broken glass caught in its fur that Damian carefully plucked free.

“There now, you're safe.” As he stood up, grabbing the batarang, and tried to walk away he found the pup following one step behind. Damian stopped and so did he, big brown eyes pleading up at him.

“You wish to accompany me?” The animal didn’t answer but Damian seemed to find one in its gaze nonetheless.

“Very well. I am looking for my Father.” He told the animal who tilted its head curiously. He took the questioning look as incentive to keep talking.

“My Father is The Bat, the most incredible warrior I’ve ever seen,” Damian spoke as they walked, as if the little animal could understand him, “he is everything I strive to become. Someone with nothing to fear. Someone with the strength to protect anything.” Words he could never bring himself to speak out loud flowed freely. Damian knew the puppy would keep his secrets. Mother had been right in most of the stories she told Damian about his Father. Except that his behaviour was a little confusing at times. He still didn’t understand why Father doesn’t let him train or insists on doing childish activities together. Mother had never babied him like this.

He thought of his Mother. He wondered where she was right now. Nobody ever explained anything to him, it wasn’t fair. All he knew was that she hadn’t trusted the league to keep him safe. And she was likely in danger. Looking at the little dog at his heels he saw himself in the lonely little beast. Weak and small and soft despite having teeth and claws to defend itself.

“I assume you're all alone as well?” 

The animal gave a little yip and Damian raised a brow and nodded in understanding.

“Very well Father shall be pleased. I have made a second companion.” Dogs counted right? TV shows and movies called them ‘man’s best friend’ after all.

With the dog following after him his pace was slowed and he couldn’t take to the rooftops. Damian felt a little exposed. Like a hare on the moore watching the skies for hawks. But the danger in Gotham wasn’t in the skies, unless you were a rogue or a thug. No, the danger came from empty streets and dark alleys. And the street the pair currently walked was in fact both empty and dark. The yellow streetlights above flickering ominously. It added to the twisting feeling in his guts. Something was wrong. 

At his side the pup began to growl and Damian followed his gaze to the mouth of an alleyway. Right before he heard a scream from the dark.

“No! Don’t hurt me!” A woman cried. 

He should ignore it. It was none of his business. But… something in him wouldn’t let it go.

Damian rushed to the alleyway, hand in his hoodie pocket. The dog was at his heels.

Inside a woman was being held against a wall, her purse being pulled away from her but she held onto it in a death grip. The man had a gun pressed to her midsection, finger lightly brushing against the trigger.

“Give it back! Fuck you!” She screamed in rage despite the tears smearing makeup all over her face. Gothamites just had to act tough even if their lives depended on it. 

Damian took the opportunity surprise gave him. Rushing forward he grappled the man’s arm and pointed it at the ground as it discharged. For a second he couldn’t hear anything but ringing. Until sound came back all at once with the man screaming and something growling. Looking down the puppy was digging his sharp little fangs into the man’s leg. Shaking its head to try and rip the skin. 

With a smirk Damian pulled the man to the ground and slammed his arm down to disarm him, tossing the gun behind them and into the trash somewhere.

Then he leaped back, scooping the dog up and away from a kick that would have connected. Now standing between the girl and the thug Damian scowled and took out a Batarang with his free hand, twirling it ominously. The man looked like he was about to retaliate but one look at the weapon in his hand and the thugs grimy face went pale. Instead he turned and scurried off.

“What the fu-?!” 

Before she even finished talking Damian took out his grapple and zip lined away.

“There’s a baby Batman…” She muttered to nobody.

Damian had spent the night running around some place called ‘Park Row’. Thoroughly distracted by playing vigilante. 

It was the most exhilarating feeling in the world. He engaged in nonlethal combat like Father preferred, which was a fun challenge. Maybe that was the reason Father always spared his foes? This was fun . 

Zip lining from buildings was fun. Running around in the dark was fun. Beating up criminals and getting quiet thank yous from victims was fun. Damian hadn’t grinned like this in ages.

He had stopped a robbery at a convenience store, several muggings, stopped another man from attacking a woman, and incapacitated a bunch of drunken brawlers. And the power trip from revealing the batarang and almost everyone immediately fleeing was incomparable. 

Damian was nibbling on an ice cream cone the convenience store worker had handed him before he zipped away. A peaceful smile on his face. The little puppy at his heels was munching on a stick of pepperoni.

“I’d say this was a successful patrol. Father will hopefully be pleased.” He told the dog who looked up at him with a happy sounding yip. 

“You were quite a fearless warrior as well.” The little animal had leapt to Damians defense several times. Paying Damian back many times over with his loyalty. Damian leaned down to give the fuzzy brown head a pat but froze at a growl. Trying not to feel betrayed he froze still. 

Perhaps he assumed Damian would take the food away from him and so he drew back. But the puppy didn’t stop growling. Following his gaze to the shadowy corner behind them, Damians hand flew to his pocket and closed around the sharp steel there. The shadows moved and a man clad in all black emerged, lower half of his face covered. That was league garb.

“The Demons Head has ordered you to return to the League of Assassins.” The man spoke in a hushed tone of voice. Damian stood tall and gave a small smile. Grandfather wanted to see him? But his smile fell at an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his gut. Mother had said not to trust the League.

“I see… however, I was told to remain in Gotham until Mother herself retrieves me.”

The League agent stared down at Damian who felt that stirring in his stomach grow under his dark eyes.

“Yes. I will take you to her now.” And motioned for Damian to follow him up to the roof before climbing up the wall and disappearing. Damian stared at the spot where he had climbed over the lip of the building. Something didn’t feel right about this. He kept staring but the agent didn’t peek over the ledge or anything. 

Mother was taking him to see Grandfather then. He would have to leave Gotham. He would have to leave Father. He… he didn’t want to do that. But he did want to see Mother. If he explained that he wanted to remain here, would she understand? Looking down at the pup he bent down and let his fingers card through the soft downy fur.

“I will return momentarily, I promise. I must speak with my Mother.’ The pup whined and drooped his ears and Damian reluctantly turned away to follow the direction that the shadow had gone.

Pulling himself over the ledge he rolled to his feet smoothly. Then searched the shadows for the other assassin. He once again emerged from his hiding place. Wasn’t he being overly cautious? Who did he think would spot them in the middle of the night on a random rooftop?

“Where is my Mother?” 

“This way.” He beckoned with one hand but Damian stayed still. That feeling was back, now accompanied by a tickle against his spine. Someone was watching them, he was sure of it.

“I can’t go yet.” Damian took a step back towards the ledge. Something was telling him to back out. A creepy crawly sensation like there were spiders on his skin. Telling him to run. “Tell Mother she can meet me back at Fathers home.” He informed the assassin and quickly turned to head back to his canine companion.

The feeling of steel on his neck stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“What do you think you’re doing? I am the Heir to the Demon.” Damian hissed, freezing in place with his eyes watching the blade that had posed itself against his vulnerable neck. 

“Apologies. But I was told to retrieve you by any means necessary. Even if I must cause you harm. Come quietly.”

“So then Mother isn’t here.” Feeling a sting at his neck and the corner of his eyes. How could he have been so stupid? Mother would be ashamed of him. Father probably will be as well. If he does see him again.

Damian stares straight ahead as more assassins emerge from the darkness to surround him. There’s no way out of this is there? Father doesn’t even know he left the house, he wouldn’t come for him. He would go back to the league. Probably be punished. No more warm baths and soft beds, no more art studios, no more stupid school, no more Barbra Gordon, no more Alfred Pennyworth, no more Father. 

Suddenly the one holding the blade to his throat hissed and the steel moved away. Then there was a sharp yelp and whine. Damian whirled around to see the assassin kicking a little brown ball of fluff off his leg. The puppy hit the opposite wall and stayed down. The clever beast had followed him up here somehow?!

With not a second to lose Damian leaped forward and scooped the puppy into his arms. Someone tried to grab him by his hoodie but in one smooth turn a Batarang came out of his pocket and stabbed the man through the hand reaching for his hood. Damian then jumped straight off the side of the building, fumbling with the grapple gun for only a microsecond before the line shot out and he was swinging away. 

He had to find Father now . There was no longer any fear of being caught, only the desire to run straight into his Father's strong and safe arms.

It was hard to swing and hold the dog but the grapple gave him a head start. As soon as his feet touched gravel rooftop he was off running. Distantly behind him he could hear the league assassins. They sounded like gusts of air, there were no footsteps. Only his training let him know they were gaining on him. 

With a glance down at the whimpering animal he grit his teeth and pushed through the burn growing in his legs. 

There was one place he knew he could go to get Fathers attention. The one place that Father would find his way back to over and over. 

Turning sharply he dove off another building, feeling the ghost of fingers at his nape. Now swinging around with his grapple in a wide arc he could see the building in the distance. The big letters on top were highlighted with spotlights.

GCPD headquarters. Damian had to get to the roof. 

There was no time to stop and catch his breath Damian landed on shaking legs and still kept running. He was almost there, he was so close. The burning in his legs caused tears to blur his vision. Something he could not afford. His lungs were burning too. He was out of shape. Why did he allow himself to get complacent?! If only he had kept up with his training this little jaunt across town would have been no problem. 

Damian’s pace was slower. The gusts of air behind him were closer.  Despite an ache in his arm Damian launched the grapple to the top of the GCPD building and hauled himself over the ledge. Practically collapsing over the lip.  Gently setting the pup down he hauled himself back to his feet, half walking, half jogging, towards the big searchlight in the center of the roof.

He’d made it. With this Father will surely come running. Damian was safe, he could stay he could-

As his arm reached out to push the big red switch a searing pain ripped into his shoulder. But he didn’t scream, his teeth dug into his lip and he hissed but he didn’t scream. Grandfather would be proud. The blade in his shoulder tugged him backwards and then forced him to the ground. Face down. His hands scrabbled against the rough stone, struggling to try and push himself up. But a boot landed square on his back.

“Tie him up.” Someone spoke and Damian went limp. All that and he failed. No wonder Mother and Grandfather got rid of him. No wonder Father didn’t bother to train him or let him help.
Damian pressed his forehead miserably into the cool stone to hide his tears. A failure. That’s all he was. A damn failure. He couldn’t handle even a dozen basic league members. And nobody would care about a useless miserable failure. He deserves the pain. He deserves every punishment he’d ever gotten. 

And yet he didn’t want to hurt. He wanted to be safe and warm and loved. He wanted Alfred’s warm baked goods. He wanted Fathers dumb baby movies and chess games. He wanted fuzzy yellow sweaters and childish animal murals.

He didn’t want to go back. He wanted his dad.

“Agh!” The pressure on his back was lifted and Damian took a deep breath of air he hadn’t realized he’d needed. Darkness draped over him, like a blanket coating him in safety and protection.

“Stay back!” A deep and angry growl sounded from above him. But the fear from earlier was gone as hope swelled in his chest. The ropes around his wrists were cut and Damian lifted up slowly, the blade in his shoulder stinging with the movement. But he had to see for himself because he couldn’t believe it.

Father was crouched over him protectively, his cape cascading over them both like a shield. A batarang in hand as he surveyed his enemies. Damian breathed deeply and got up, taking his own remaining batarang out of his front pocket. 

“The League is not welcome in my city.” Batman growled. “Tell Ra’s that this boy is under my protection.”

The assassins only hesitated a moment before throwing themselves at Father. With one hand out protectively, Father kept him safely tucked under his cape, behind him. How frustrating. Father couldn’t fight effectively like this, one eye on Damian. Father is once again forgetting that Damian is an assassin too. Darting out from under the cape he slashed out with his own batarang before dancing back out of range of their weapons and back into Fathers side.

“What are you doing?! Stay behind me!”

“No! I’ll show you I can fight too!”

“Damian-“ But he was cut off by a punch to the face.

The time for talk was over then. Batman had to focus on the fight. And Damian fought right alongside him. 

Though he was tired and slower than normal, Father was there to cover his weakness’. And Damian was there to guard Fathers back. They worked beautifully together. It was like a puzzle piece sliding into place; that’s how satisfyingly they clicked. At first Father was clearly reluctant to trust Damian. Distracted by keeping an eye on him and taking hits that should have been easily avoided. But then he’d turn to see Damian holding his own. And he could focus on his own fight.

About 15 highly trained assassins were no match for Damian and Father as a duo. Unsure whether the real threat was the Bat or the boy, the assassins would falter and fall under their fists. Until they were driven back in a wide semicircle. Damian moved as if to charge but Fathers firm hand reeled him back to the safety of his side. Slightly tucked under the cape again.

The assassins didn’t leave however. They were still poised to fight. Risking a glance at Father he saw him analyzing the scene, eyes narrowed. Until the lenses suddenly widened in realization.

“Down!” He barked out and Damian found himself suddenly being crushed by 200 pounds of Kevlar and muscle.

It was like a crack of thunder, the sound echoed across the empty rooftops. Damian’s ears were ringing with the sound. A gunshot. Had it been aimed for him or Father? 

Damian tried to push his Father off by shoving his shoulders, but Batman didn’t budge. It was then he felt the warm wetness on his hand and glanced at his fingers. Sticky and red.

“F-Father?” Chancing a glance at his face, the exposed skin looked pale and his breathing came out ragged, but he hauled himself up anyway and again tucked Damian behind himself. Two red dots trailed up Fathers body, contrasting sharply with his black suit. One stopped just to the side of the bat symbol on his chest, one over his forehead.

“Hand over the heir.” One man spoke up, twirling a blade in hand.

“No.” Was Fathers simply reply, black glove curling over Damian’s arm protectively.

Father would die to protect Damian. Of that he was pretty certain at this point. But for what? Damian would watch his Father die, then he would be taken anyway.

“Father, this is foolish. I-I’m not worth it.”

Father inhaled sharply like his words hurt. The grip on his arm grew so tight it shot pain up to his wounded shoulder.

“You’re worth everything, Damian.”

Damian stared at him. Father truly saw worth in him when nobody else would. He got angry when Damian was hurt, held him when he saw he was sad. Everything he’d ever wanted. Softness and safety. He couldn’t let him die. 

Kicking out from Fathers hold Damian rolled away and stood in front of the laser sights. His Father got to his feet lurching towards Damian.

“No! Get back!” But a warning shot whizzed past Damian’s ear forcing Father to remain where he was. 

“It’s alright Father.” Damian practically whispered, stepping towards the assassins.

“You will leave Father unharmed and take me to my Grandfather.” Damian demanded and he approached, hands raising slowly in surrender.

“If you touch him-“ Fathers voice snarled from behind him like an angry beast. 

The assassin reached out a hand, ignoring the threats, and grasped Damian’s shoulder. Closing his eyes Damian inhaled and exhaled to keep himself calm. This situation was preferable. Everyone would live. He might have to suffer a little but at least Father would live.

The sound of gurgling made his eyes snap open and he looked at the League agent, blood pouring down his throat from a stab wound. His grip loosened and his hands came up to try and stop the bleeding before he was kicked aside.

“Keep your filthy hands off my son.” Talia Al Ghul snarled and wiped her blade off on the corpse. 

Assassins clad in green all slit the black clad league members throats simultaneously and they fell to the ground choking on their own blood.

“Mother…” Damian gasped out and she gave him a small smile in return. “Habibi.”

Chapter Text

Father looked uncomfortable having Mother in the cave. He fidgeted on the medical cot while Pennyworth tended to Damian’s wounds, puppy in his lap. Even though he was pushing his luck Damian refused to abandon the beast that saved him.

Though Father was more focused on him, Damian stared straight past everyone right at his Mother. She stood by his side, stroking his cheek and tutting softly at the barely there flinches while Pennyworth removed the knife from his shoulder. 

“Beloved, I believe I told you to protect him.” She huffed reaching out to stroke his cheek like he was something delicate and important. Damian didn’t move in case this moment shattered like a dream. Of all people, Mother was touching him kindly. He did his best not to lean into it.

“He got past my security without tripping the sensors. Where was the hole in my security?” He asked Damian who smiled ever so slightly when he caught a twinkle in his Mothers eye.

“The Batmobile exit.”

“Only I can open that exit. Only from the Batmobile.”

“I know.” 

Father stared at him, brow raising slowly as he realized what he was saying. And Damian shrunk back because where he was expecting pride he saw something else he couldn’t read cross Fathers face.

“You could have been crushed by that door! Hit by the car! That was dangerous Damian-“ Father began to scold, trying to rise and failing to when the bullet in his shoulder caused him to collapse back to the cot.

On the other hand Mother cupped his face in her hands and practically beamed at him.

“You outsmarted the Bat? My clever boy.” She purred and Damian felt his smile return a little. This was all very confusing. One parent was furious and the other ecstatic.

“It looked worse than it was Master Damian.” Before he’d realized it his shoulder was all stitched up. “The knife wasn’t too deep but you should try to avoid moving your arm excessively.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth.” Damian pulled his black hoodie back on while Pennyworth began to work on Father, muttering about calling someone named Leslie.

“Talia. We need to talk.” Father growled, Damian subconsciously leaned towards his Mother at the sound. Even if she was far more dangerous than Father was.

“Not now, Beloved.” She hummed giving Damian her undivided attention. Had she missed him too?

“As much displeasure as it gives me to agree-“ Pennyworth scowled at Mother who glared right back, “this conversation should wait until the morning. Master Damian looks quite exhausted from his endeavours.”

Damian huffed and crossed his arms, despite his droopy eyes. “I am not tired.” But the look that came over Pennyworth was fond.

“Perhaps the adrenaline has yet to wear off. Give it a few minutes and I am sure you’ll find rest will come easy.” Pennyworth insisted and Damian chewed his lip, glancing between the butler and Mother. What if he woke up next morning and she had left again? The raw sting of the times he tried to find her in Nanda Parbat only to hear that she had left on a mission without a goodbye still hurt.

“I shall make up a room for Miss Al Ghul.” He said as he finished with Fathers wound, pulling off his medical gloves and tossing them in the garbage. Somehow the man always picked up on Damians worries. And then with a quick turn he left the incredibly tense family of three alone.

Father ignored Mother to stare at Damian. Mother ignored Father to brush his hair aside and assess him with her eyes. Damian stared into space to try and ignore the awkward tension in the room. Somehow he thought reuniting his parents would be a grand thing. Instead it was just… awkward.

Father cleared his throat and Damian looked towards him at the noise. The puppy’s ears rose too. Luckily he wasn’t badly wounded, no broken bones or bleeding wounds. Just sore and bruised.

“What uh… what is your plan for the dog?” Father asked curiously. Damian hooked his arms under the animals chest and pulled him up to press his cheek into it’s fur. 

“You told me I should acquire companions. I have made a second one.” He huffed, glaring at Father like he dared him to pry the fluffy creature out of his hands. 

“Damian we can’t just-“

“Wonderful Habibi. Taming a small beast like that is good training for the future. Perhaps we can move you onto tigers if you’re successful.”

“Talia, this isn’t really your decision-“

“Thank you Mother. I will train him well.”

Father let out a long sigh before nodding his own permission. “Very well. But it’s your responsibility.” And Damian beamed in a way that made his cheeks hurt. Some of Fathers tensions left his shoulders and Mother had a strange warmth to her normally stoic features. They were acting so weird, Damian quickly schooled his expression back into a frown and watched the pair suspiciously.

“Does he have a name?” Father asked, finally getting off the cot to reach out and ruffle the fur between the animals ears. Now Damian was sat between his Mother and his Father. Looking up at giants. He felt so small. Damian swallowed nervously and turned his eyes downwards, only to look at the puppy he assured himself.

“Well he is quite skilled,” Damian informed them, “and brave. I was thinking of calling him Ace.”

“Ace?” Father hummed. “It’s a good name for a dog.”

Damian was ordered to bed, Mother wished him goodnight on the stairs. Pennyworth had given her a room downstairs away from the family wing, Damian didn’t understand why. He paused halfway up, looking up at Fathers retreating figure and down to Mother at the bottom of the stairs. With an inclination of her head Damian was given permission to speak.

“I thought Mothers and Fathers were supposed to share a room.” Damian stated and Father froze mid step. However Mother chuckled and brought a hand up to her mouth to hide a sly smile at Fathers back.

“Yes Beloved, are Mothers and Fathers not supposed to share a room?” They both watched as Fathers shoulder ticked up a smidge before he smoothed out his body language.

“Good night, Talia.”

As Pennyworth had thought Damian was out as soon as his head touched the pillow. 

When his eyes opened the next morning he registered the pain in his shoulder and the ache in his muscles. Huffing unpleasantly he peeled out of bed. Once again the sun had not yet risen. But he had a new daily routine to begin. He would still wake up and meditate, but instead of endless training, lessons, and punishment, Damian could just be a person. He could draw, or call Barbra, or walk around the manor. And now he could even train Ace.

So Damian got out of bed, washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then he settled in for his morning meditation like usual. Only once he felt the first rays of sunlight warm his shoulders did he get up and start down the hallway towards the kitchen. No need for stealth or avoiding creaky floors. He was allowed to take up space, he was allowed to be noisy. Descending the stairs and walking down the hall to the kitchen he froze solid in his tracks. Normally Pennyworth would be up and starting to prepare breakfast. Instead Mother was in the kitchen, fixing herself some tea.

“Would you like some, Damian?” She asked, not even bothering to look at him as he entered. She could recognize him by the sound his his bare feet alone.

“Yes please, Mother.” Damian hovered by the door, unsure if he should try and help. In the end Mother never asked for any help and just poured two cups of chai tea. She carried them over to the breakfast table and Damian hurried to sit across from her.

“How is living with your Father?” Mother asked, meeting his eyes for the first time. Damian swallowed and sipped his tea.

“It is… pleasant.” He admitted, setting the cup down to look at it. Watching the steam rise from the cup.

“Though I see your Father has allowed you to get soft.” Damian tensed up under her words, hands balling up his fists and glancing away from her piercing green gaze. “I thought he might.”

Damian narrowed his gaze and returned his eyes to hers. “He doesn’t allow me access to his training equipment or weapons. No matter how many times I assure him I am already well trained enough to wield anything he has down there.”

Damian flipped out the batarang he still had to demonstrate, then flipped it closed and stored it away again.

“Mm. But I think you’ve proven yourself to him last night.” Mother nodded. “We will pick up your training again when you come back with me.”

“… back to the league?” Damian hesitated before speaking. She narrowed her eyes at the mistake. He had gotten used to Father and Alfred allowing him to take his time or stutter or even use words like ‘um’. But she just tapped her nails against her cup.

“No. Not back there. I have other plans now.” Her gaze was dark when she brought the cup to her lips again. Damian shuddered wondering who deserved his Mothers wrath.

“Mother may I make a request?” He asked softly. That got her full attention, eyes brightening and setting the cup aside. “Very well. I haven’t seen you in awhile after all.”

Damian resisted the strong desire to look away. “I would like to request, if I may… stay… with Father.”

Mother blinked twice, expression carefully blank. Masking some type of emotion. Was she angry?

“I-“ Mother stammered . “I hope to assure you dear, things will be different where we’re going. Your Grandfather will not be there.” Damian drew his hands off the table and into his lap. “Ra’s Al Ghul won’t hurt you again.”

And Damian furrowed his brows, looking deep into her eyes when he said, “you hurt me too, Mother.”

She stopped pleading at that and a look Talia Al Ghul should never wear came over her face. Her gaze averted and her eyes looked wet. A look of deep remorse that Damian actually moved away from, leaning into the back of his chair. Mother didn’t look like that. Mother didn’t make that face or feel regret; she was always sure and true and right.

“I must feed Ace.” Damian got up without being dismissed and fled the room. Back in the league he would have been flogged for sure. But he felt confident Father would not allow that here so he ran. He brushed past Pennyworth with a brisk ‘good morning’. Pennyworth didn’t comment on his lack of manners for once, instead he locked eyes with Mother still seated at the table.

“May I have a word Miss Al Ghul?” 

Damian stopped halfway down the hall mid step. Walking slowly backwards to listen in on the conversation.

“I suppose. What is it?” She huffed, clearly displeased by Damian’s behavior based on her annoyed tone. It made his stomach cramp up.

“Frankly Miss, I am quite cross with you.”

He could hear Mothers incredulous scoff. But Pennyworth continued, “you kept my grandchild from his father and me for eight years. Do you have an excuse for that?”

Grandchild. Pennyworth had called him his grandchild in a way that was filled with a warmth that Ra’s had never used for him. But he also sounded angry, defensive on Damian’s behalf. Damian needed to put a hand on the wall. A sudden spell of dizziness took over him.

“I do not need to justify my actions to you.” Mother scoffed again. He could imagine Pennyworth's eyebrow raising in the silence that followed. 

“That little boy is incredible. And I will not allow him to return to an environment that will bring him harm.” Pennyworth huffed back. By the sound of the dishes clanking he was preparing breakfast. 

Nobody said anything else so Damian hurried along to find Ace.

They had Ace in the laundry room right now. Pennyworth had explained to him before bed last night that he would need to stay here until he was housetrained. As he approached the door he caught a whiff of ammonia and understood just what he meant. As soon as the door was opened the little bundle of downy fur bounded out and began circling his legs.

“I apologize for keeping you here. It was necessary I assure you.” Maybe Father would permit him to sleep in the laundry room as well, if only to keep Ace company while he’s trained.

Despite the excuse he gave Mother, they had yet to go to the store to purchase dog food. Since the stores were closed by the time they got home Pennyworth assured him they would go first thing this morning. 

Moving into the room, Ace followed. Then he lowered himself next to a laundry basket and sighed heavily. His fingers found their way into the impossibly soft baby fur of the animal, wary of the creatures bruises.

“Damian?” A voice called softly from the door. And immediately his body language changed to defensive, shoulders hitching up and eyes honing in on the figure in the doorway. Father stood stock still, awkward. He had that look like he wanted to talk about something. It was pretty clear what.

“Yes?” He spoke up, raising his chin slightly in false bravado. Gearing up to defend himself. Father however seemed to deflate. He came into the room, closing the door just slightly, before crouching by the doorway. Ace choose that moment to abandon him and investigate the new human.

“Tt, traitor.” Damian muttered, making Father smile a little and scratched behind Ace’s ear. Before his expression fell into something more serious.

“Damian. What you did last night was very dangerous.” Taking on a slightly scolding tone and fixing him with an intense look that made him squirm.

“Well… you wouldn’t let me out…” he muttered in response, “what am I, a prisoner?”

“No, of course not Dami. I just need to know where you are so I can protect you.”

Damian slumped backwards against the laundry with a huff because regrettably that made sense.

“How did you find me anyway?” Damian muttered, although he was grateful for it at the time. Father made a pinched expression, he almost looked guilty. Shuffling a bit closer he reached out a hand and gestured for Damian to do the same. Damian reluctantly offered his hand as well and Father pulled back Damian’s sleeve to expose the watch, still as silent and unmoving as the day he took it. 

“When you started taking things from my office I deliberately left my Fathers old watch where you could see it. I… may have also placed a tracker inside of it.” His eyes shifted away before landing on the watch again. Avoiding Damian’s eyes.

“I opened the watch, I didn’t see anything inside.” There was no way he could have missed such a thing. Father smirked a little and reached out again. He pressed in one dial twice and then pulled on another. With a click the opposite side of the watch popped open. It wasn’t very big, a small hole that could maybe fit a piece of paper inside of it if it was rolled up. Right now it held a very small black circular thing. 

“There’s also one inside your cellphone.” Father informed him. He had been thoroughly duped. It was very disappointing. Here he thought he had managed to best Father, of course it had all been a ploy to keep Damian under surveillance. 

“So no more midnight excursions please.”

Damian looked at him for a moment, fixing him with the same intense expression his Father used. “I cannot promise that.” 

Father sat fully on the floor, criss cross, and folded his hands over each other on his leg. Ignoring how the dog climbed into his lap.

“Alright. Why not?” Speaking like it was a business meeting. Despite the rediculous location and hint of dog pee, Damian straightened out and smiled. Appreciating being taken seriously.

“It’s a part of who I am, Father. I am an Al Ghul. I am a… Wayne. It’s in my nature.” As much as he was his Mother’s child, he was his Father’s child.

“Last night I… helped people.”

“I heard. There were reports of a ‘baby Batman” on the police scanner.” Father almost looked like he wanted to chuckle but he held it back. “Why did you help them, Damian?”

Damian considered that. Why did he help them? He had no idea really. 

“At first it was just because I wanted to test out your methods.” He hummed, glancing between Father and Ace. Father didn’t interrupt, giving him his full attention, so Damian continued. “But then I would hear someone cry out and feel compelled to step in… I don’t know.” He shrugged a little, hunching his shoulders up a bit. It was hard to explain, he was sure Father wouldn’t understand. But when he looked to Father he saw an interesting expression on his face. His head slightly tilted.

“Hm. I suppose you are a Wayne.” He hummed softly. And Damian fully ducked his head, ears burning and cheeks warm.

“It’s still dangerous to go out there alone.” Father told him, stern again. And Damian sat up an argument on his lips, but Father didn’t let him start.

“If I can't stop you, you’ll just have to come with me.”

Damian blinked slowly. What? He didn’t even notice when Ace bounded back to him and started licking his face.

-

Damian held the candle in one hand and carefully navigated the steps in front of him. Even though he had already walked these stairs many times, Damian found his heart pounding and was hyper aware of every step.

At the bottom of the stairs he looked out over the cave. It was darker than normal, some of the overhead lights were dimmed. And Damian swallowed nervously before walking to the centre of the cave. When he stopped the candle flickered in the shifting air and Father stepped into the light as well. No Batman, in full suit stepped into the light.

“Damian Al Ghul Wayne.”

“Yes, Fa-Batman.”

He held out his hand and Damian hesitated before reaching out to place it on top of Batman’s gauntlet. His hand was so small compared to Fathers. Could he really carry the same responsibility? But he swallowed and looked up at Batman’s face, no fear. Just like the night they met.

“Damian, do you swear to fight together with me against crime and corruption? And to never swerve from the path of righteousness?”

Damian’s body thrummed at Fathers words, excitement zipping through him like lightning. 

“I swear it.”

A rare smile broke Batman’s face. And from behind his back he produced a neatly folded uniform. The vibrant green of the league. The red to symbolize the blood of their enemies. And all highlighted in vibrant golds and yellows. Damian’s breath was taken from him as the armor was placed in his hands. He ran his fingers over the hooded cape, jaw slack.

“Then, Robin. Suit up. It’s time for your first real patrol.” 

At the name he chose for himself Damian’s head snapped up. Conjuring images of Damian in Nanda Parbat with his mother as she gently passed over the little bird she was keeping as a pet. Small and brown with the red breast. A sign of spring, of new beginnings, she told him.

Damian remembered how to breathe long enough to rush off to the change rooms. 

Damian chose Father. And Father chose Damian.