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Damian knew people didn't like him. It was a fact, nothing to argue with, an objective truth, not opinion. His personality was aggressive and bratty and abrasive and mean and he wished that he was likable-wished he was good.
He wished he was like Grayson- unbelievably kind and sweet and forgiving. Damian wished that he could be as good of a Robin that Dick was.
Damian wanted to be like Todd- assertive but not mean, and even with his more aggressive tendencies, people still liked him because he wasn't overly an asshole. They liked him because he was charming, because he, despite everything, was a fundamentally good person.
Damian hated to admit this one, loathed to, but the amount of envy he held for one Tim Drake was… embarrassing. Drake was smart and charismatic and nice and wonderful and loved. Even for the short time he was Robin, he was a way better Robin than Damian could ever even dream of. People like him as Tim Drake and Robin and Red Robin.
Who was Damian ever to compare?
Damian knew he was violent and tiresome, he knew that he came off as rude and uncaring. He could tell by the looks of the people around him that nobody liked him- at best they tolerated him. No one liked Damian Al-Ghul Wayne and no one liked this new Robin.
No one liked the Demon Brat- who would? He has killed so many and yet-
He wished people liked him.
Damian wished he was different.
He wished he was better.
He wished he was a good person.
Damian wished he wasn't himself.
but wishing was a childish thing to do and he wasn't a child.
(he was never a child)
~~~
Damian wakes up at four in the morning, the sun not even peeking over the tall, gloomy buildings of Gotham. He hadn't even gotten more than three hours of sleep- thanks to the late night patrol last night.
Damian got up anyway, his routine needed to be followed.
he couldn't slack off or Father would be disappointed…more than he already was
He sits on his floor and meditates for half an hour, clearing his mind-or trying to- of all the stupid mistakes he made last night.
why couldn't he just follow Fathers instructions?
The half hour wasn't the most productive of meditation, but it did what it needed, giving him all the things he need to improve on so he ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶a̶b̶a̶n̶d̶o̶n̶e̶d̶ could be better. Damian took a deep breath, grabbing his water bottle and heading to the indoor gym that was in the Manor.
He tried to not look at the paintings on the way down, he tried to keep his eyes ahead. He caught glimpses of everyone's portrait, of how wonderful everyone looked smiling, with their names under them.
Then there was the painting-or he should rephase- paintings.
Objectively it was a beautiful painting, the paint strokes were nice and consistent, and the oil paint was beautifully done. It captured everyone's faces so well, and the colors matched perfectly.
The one thing that wasn't perfect was him.
Damian was in the damn photo and he could see how no one liked it.
In all the paintings before, the family portraits, they were smiling. Bruce and his parents, eyes crinkling and lips pulled up, teeth barely peeking out. Then, with Bruce, Alfred and Grayson-same story and so on and so forth…
except for this one. Damian could see his own smile, how it reached his eyes, and he remembers the only thought that went through his head that day- a family portrait! They're- I have a family!
But looking back on it now… no one else was smiling. Drake sure wasn't, he was all but glaring at Damian. Todd didn't bother, a bored look on his face, not directed at anyone in particular, but Damian had a feeling it was at him. For making Todd sit for another family painting but with the Demon Brat, this time. Grayson… well he had something close to a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes and looked more like a grimace.
Father… he wasn't even trying. He stood stoic, not even-not even a soft smile playing at his lips, like all the others. It looked like it was a chore, like he had to do this even when he didn't want to, like he was just keeping appearances and it was a tradition.
its like it wasn't even a family painting.
Damian stared at it longer than he liked, in some childish hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a hint of happiness in their eyes, that maybe it was just the years of hero work that hardened them out and it made it hard for them to smile, to visibly express their joy.
He didn't find any, and something…broke in his chest.
Damian really was just the Demon- an unchosen child in a house of chosen children.
He hates himself for thinking he could just… be accepted, that once he was with Father, once he was out of the League with their lashes and punishments and conditional love, he wouldn't have to be perfect to be loved anymore.
That he wouldn't have to work himself further than the bone so they knew he was good- so they knew that they could put their love in him, the way he put his love in them.
he was so stupid
Damian stormed past the painting- he wasn't a fucking child, he shouldn't act like one.
Why was his heart breaking that he wasn't loved? That he had to earn it all over again? That he had to continue to earn it, over and over or they won't love him anymore or at all? He should have known that loving him for him was an impossibility-that his family would never love him if he didn't earn it first.
It was so childish to think he wouldn't have to earn it-no one loved him because he was Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, they loved the weapon that just so happened to be a person. That just so happened to be a child.
but weapons aren't children and neither was he.
~~~
Damian was glad he had learned hacking from watching Drake-he would never admit that out loud, but he was thankful.
The holographic training came to life with a soft hum, and Damian stepped in, sword in hand, weighing heavy with the blood on it.
The training started and he had made sure to program it, that even the smallest mistake-a strike that wasn't placed well, a lethal strike that came out of habit, a missed dodge-would reset it. He had to be a perfect little weapon and if he let himself make mistakes without punishment, he would never be perfected-
he would never be loved
On top of that, if he messed up with the same thing more than one time in a row, he would run five laps around the swimming pool the gym had, before getting back to training.
The house normally woke around eight am, unless you're Grayson or Father-then it was more around nine thirty am, so when he heard the house stir, while he was on his second lap of the pool, he knew it was around eight.
Damian was tired, he had barely made it past level one of the training and he had run more than 40 laps around the pool and his body was screaming at him, but he didn't stop.
he needed to be perfect
After finishing the three remaining laps-making it 45- he reset the training, because he was the only one allowed to go through that- he wouldn't let Grayson or Drake or Todd or Father have it on that setting.
They were already perfect-they didn't need it.
Damian made his way to the showers, turning the heat on full and washing away the grime of 3 and a half hours of training.
The house was more awake as he headed upstairs, drying his hair and giving a light pat to Titus. Once in his room, he changed into a simple hoodie and jeans, before heading down for breakfast.
He ignored the paintings, ignored the eyes on him as he walked- watching, waiting for him to make a mistake, for him to slip up so they could throw it in his face that he wasn't perfect. That despite having everything handed to him, he was nothing.
Damian didn't think about how he still didn't have a solo painting with Father-even after all this time, he refused to think about it.
~~~
Breakfast was quiet, most of the Waynes still waking up. Damian's salad sat in front of him, and it looked… utterly unappealing. It was the same salad as always, nothing different about it, but he looked at it and he felt that if he put it in his mouth it would taste like ash.
He ate it anyways- his body was screaming from his training and he knew passing out from lack of food would disappoint Father-he didn't want to be abandoned (again).
As the morning progressed, as everyone started to wake up more, small chatter started to fill the dining room.
('how has your morning been?' 'ugh' 'same, Jay, same')
Damian didn't focus on that- he focused on shoving the food down his throat and ignoring the taste. No one talked to him in the morning anyway- or any other time for that matter, when it wasn't necessary.
he wished that Dick would look over and ask how his morning was-how his salad was, something, but he didn't.
wishing was a childish thing, after all.
~~~
Breakfast passed and Damian headed back down to the gym, Fathers words echoing from last night, how he was too violent, how he needed to follow orders better.
For every criticism he said, for every stab at him for not being perfect, he ran two laps around the pool. In total, he ran 20 laps.
He then went to weight training, doing rep after rep, only taking breaks when his body shouted and screamed at him to take a break.
He wasn't good enough and he needed to be.
~~~
Lunch rolled around, and Alfred brought down some food. "Master Damian,"
"Pennyworth," Damian greeted flatly, punching the punching bag hard.
"You have been training for a while, Master Damian, perhaps it's time to take a break?"
Damian didn't want to take a break-he didn't need one, but Alfred was asking and he couldn't say no to Alfred. He gave one final, hard blow to the punching bag, holding a wince when it went further than it should-if that was a human it would have broken something-shit he needed to run two laps for that.
He didn't, not yet, with Alfred watching him.
Damian walked over grabbing the plate of salad and the water, sitting down and eating. Alfred left once he was done, taking the plate with him.
Damian sat there for a while, letting his sore muscles have a break- he was no use if he tore something.
he is a weapon, once they break, they get thrown away
After his ten minute break, after Alfred left he ran two more laps, before taking a final shower and heading up to his room.
~~~
He stared at the drawing he was working on, a class project to draw his family.
At the center stood Father, tall and proud, hands behind his back, the hint of a smile ghosting his lips. To his left, was Grayson, that stupid and goofy smile on his face, a hand up in a finger gun. To Fathers right was Todd, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, but he had an amused glint in his eyes.
Drake stood between Father and Grayson, a tired look on his features, but he had a lazy smile on his face, with a look that said he needed coffee but he was happy to be here. Alfred stood behind them, off to the right to balance things out a bit.
He slowly added Brown and Cain and Thomas and even Selina.
He picked up his pen, and carefully and slowly traced the lines, making sure it was perfect. His family deserved perfection.
they don't deserve you
Damian hoped, once he turned it into his teacher and got it back, he could give it to Father- they had yet to update the family portrait with everyone, they had been too busy and no one's schedules ever seemed to match.
He hoped this would suffice- it wasn't an oil painting, like the others, but it had everyone in the family.
(damian ignored the stab in his heart because he didn't add himself to it and if Father decided to hang it, it would solidify that he wasn't part of the family)
Damian kept his line art tight, but with enough movement to not make everyone stiff. By the time dinner rolled around, Father and half of Grayson were done and his knuckles hurt.
Someone knocked on his door, and Alfreds voice came through the thick oak. "Dinner is ready, Master Damian."
Damian didn't reply, instead just getting up and stretching out his muscles that had been contracted for so long.
~~~
Dinner… well it wasn't quiet like breakfast, to say the least. Apparently Todd had made the food, surprisingly, instead of Alfred.
Well, all except for Damians.
It was smoked pork, beautifully cooked and roasted and seasoned, with a side of peas and mashed potatoes. Everyone was already eating as Damian made his way down, his nose scrunched up a bit at the meat, but didn't openly complain- he had no right to.
He sat down, expecting a Caesar Salad or something, only to be met with… a slab of pork and Damian even looked around to make sure he was in the right seat. Then he saw a slight snarl from Drake, and a barely contained snicker from Todd.
"Right, the brat can't eat meat,"
Damian looked down at it, his mouth dry.
Was he wasting the food by not eating it?
Was he being a brat for not eating the food that Todd had clearly worked hard on?
If he was supposed to be perfect, was he supposed to eat it?
Before Damian could fully react-before he could decide if he should just eat it, just suck it up and eat it, it was traded out by Todd- who had a grin on his face that meant trouble.
"Don't worry Demon brat, here you go." He traded the plate for some awful looking tofu, and Damian decided that he just… wasn't going to eat.
He didn't need much food anyways and based on Todd's face, he clearly expected Damian to throw a fit, and it would have been satisfying to see the slight surprise on his face when he stood and just walked away.
It would have been so satisfying but… it hurt. Drake had snickered and Grayson looked amused, though he was trying to hide it behind his food, and Father… well he just wasn't paying attention.
Was it really that funny to do this? Was Damian just missing the joke and being an unnecessary brat?
Damian walked away, and there was a distant- "Damian-wait-" -from Grayson, but he just kept walking back up to his room.
Was this how siblings tease each other?
(it wasn't, because Damian had seen Todd tease Drake about a crush he had, and Grayson do the same to Todd. ZThatY was teasing.)
Was this… god, of course. They wanted to make sure he knew he wasn't welcome.
It was a family dinner and Damian wasn't family, so why would they want him here?
He went back to the family portrait, trying to act more numb than he felt.
~~~
The moon rose in the sky, and Damian couldn't bring himself to go to bed. He had heard the laughter echoing from the dining room and it hurt so much.
Was he really not that wanted?
He had finally finished the line art and he could spot the glaring obvious spot he had left for himself, near the bottom of the drawing, between everyone. It felt hollow- if he wanted Father to hang this up, well… Domain couldn't taint it with himself, could he?
(he left it, just in case…just in case Father came to him and said he was family-that he was proud of him, that he loved him, something, but dinner was pretty solid proof he wasn't)
Instead, he filled the space with Titus and Alfred the Cat. Domain's hand was shaking slightly and he took a deep breath.
He didn't deserve to cry.
Weapons don't cry.
Damian pushed away from the drawing and collapsed on his bed, absently petting Titus.
"you…love me don't you, titus?" It was a shameful, childish whisper, with a waver in his voice. It was a desperate reach for comfort, as he buried his face in his fur and let a few tears slip.
Oh, if Mother could see him now…
(not like she could. As soon as she deemed Damian ready, she dumped him off at the Manor without a second word and it was only when she wanted to make sure he was still practiced or wanted to see Father that he saw her.)
Damian cuddled under the blankets with Titus, the big dog dwarfing Damian slightly, as he curled into him.
Damian didn't baby talk animals- it was a waste of time and they weren't babies, but sometimes he came close.
"i love you, you know that, right, big boy?" His lip quivered slightly, and he sucked in a breath. how childish. "i know i can be mean, but i love you-i-i love them."
Titus, of course, didn't reply. He just pressed his nose into Damians cheek and gave a soft lick, as if trying to comfort Damian, despite not knowing what was wrong.
Dogs love people unconditionally-no matter how bad a person, and Damian felt… guilty for doing this to Titus. And if he sobbed a little more? Its not like anyone saw or would care.
His owner, his master, was a murderer- a horrible person through and through and Titus loved him anyways.
Damian buried his face further into Titus' fur, and just took in the fact that he was breathing, that he was warm with life and it… managed to calm him down, if only slightly.
"do they know i love them? they are my eayila, even if i am not theirs." Damian feels so stupid, talking aloud to his dog, to something that couldn't respond, but it was making him feel better despite everything. "i know i don't act like it, but i love them, i do, i promise."
It did hurt a little, that he knew his dog-an animal not capable of higher thoughts, an animal that could not comprehend-loved him. Unconditionally. As long as Damian was here, Titus would love him-even if he fucked up, even if he killed someone, Titus would always love him.
Titus loved Damian because he was Damian-not because he was a perfect weapon.
And it hurt a little that his family wasn't the same.
~~~
Domain, as always, woke up at four on the dot, meditated for half an hour, then went downstairs to the gym to train.
He was normally alone, because no one in the Wayne Manor were morning people-minus him, he supposes and Alfred, but that's a given. Today, however, the lights to the gym were on and as he entered, he heard someone working out.
As he walked further in, his surprise went from mild to surprise surprise. One Dick Grayson-someone who was known for not waking up before nine and if he was awake, there was a healthy deal of grumbling and complaining, was working out at 4:40 in the morning.
Damian managed to mask his surprise as Grayson took notice of him, and he gave a wave, before going back to doing bicep curl reps.
Damian gave a curt head nod back, before doing his daily routine of stretching and running a lap around the pool.
Damian could feel Grayson's eyes on him, and he knew he needed to be as perfect as he could- his babi-brother was watching and he couldn't fail him.
Damian headed to the holographic training area, setting to what he had on it the other day, grabbed his sword and stepped in.
All things considered, he had done a good job, not a great one and certainly not a perfect one, but this session was turning out good.
Until he felt a presence behind him-not uncommon he was training after all- but because he had just dealt a quick blow to someone and it was split second that he felt this hologram appear, his instinct got the better and the holographic head rolled to the floor.
(it was a good cut. it was clean and straight through-Mother would have praised him for it.)
The area lit up in red, and a robotic voice told him, "Too violent. Fail."
Damian was panting and frustrated- was he really no better than his instinct? Was he really always destined to be the killing monster in this story?
Damian set his sword down and took off in a run, forgetting all about Grayson's eyes on him.
(His eyes were set with worry and concern. Dick was only here because Alfred had said something about 'Master Damian working himself to the bone', and that someone should check on him when he's training.
Dick had been watching him all morning-and whatever he had done to the training area, had been rough. It was clearly difficult, waves of holographic enemies coming in fast and quick and it seemed keen on punishing even small offenses. Dick had tried it, when he had come in at four, to make it seem like he was training and not just keeping an eye out on his baby boy. He had a single slip up, where a blade almost hit him, it was a good five inches away from his side, and the holograms disappeared and the area had turned red, with a robotic voice saying, "Didn't dodge. Fail.". He had opted not to try again.)
Domain ran around the pool, doing his two laps of it, before returning to the training area, grabbing some water before getting back into it.
As he left the area with a growl set in the back of his throat- another kill, making this second time in a row, he set his things down and went to run, when a hand rested on his shoulder lightly.
"Hey, Baby Bat." Grayson says with a smile. Damian scowls at the nickname and brushes his hand off his shoulder.
(The touch felt like it was burning, his babi was touching him and saying such sweet things. It wasn't like Jons light touches that filled him with warmth slowly, this burned through him because his family rarely touched him like this-or at all- anymore.)
"What do you want, Grayson?" It's said flatly, but Damian hopes it doesn't come off as unkind. He's not mad at Grayson, but when he's upset at himself, he becomes snippy and upset, and that's why people don't like him.
"You trying out that new system B put in?"
He must be referring to the thing Damian hacked into it- the 'harder' mode. "Yes."
His responses are curt as always, but Grayson doesn't seem put off by it-he never is. "Why not take a break, then? You seem frustrated, and you've been at it a while- the laps can wait."
"I do not need a break, Grayson, now I need to get back to training." Damian runs off, and he decides- because killing seems to be his main way of failing, to run ten laps instead of five. He deserves it.
~~~
Grayson leaves around 7, likely to get ready for breakfast-or to go back to sleep. Damian keeps training, because he did so, so shitty. He had run a total of 50 laps so far, and it just seemed to be getting worse.
He took a break, because soon his frustration was giving way to anger, meaning he was starting to mess up more and more-
why the hell couldn't he get this right?!
He was supposed to be the perfect weapon- he was the Demons Heir and the blood son of Bruce Wayne!
Why wasn't he perfect?!
He threw a punch at the punching bag, not caring if he doesn't have the boxing gloves on as Father requests or that he's being more aggressive and violent then he should-he's pissed off and he just needs to blow off steam.
Z(this is why Batman doesn't trust you as Robin)Y
Damian sent another hard punch at the bag, knocking it to and fro, and pain was starting to flare up on his knuckles, but he didn't care.
His punches weren't sloppy with rage, they were sharp and pointed, aimed and well timed. They were just harder than needed. By the time his 8 am alarm went off his knuckles were bruising and red and bleeding and Damian was panting hard.
He wasn't even processing the pain in his knuckles as he went and showered the grime with hotter than needed water, burning at his skin and washing blood down the drain.
Damian stepped out of the shower, and looked at his hands-red with blood, slick with it. He stared at his hands, and he hates it.
The blood on them right now is his, but his hands are always coated in red, of so many others and he doesn't want it there anymore. They had always been coated with it-since before he could stand properly- and maybe that's why the people he wanted love from the most didn't love him the way he loved them. Maybe they could see the red, see the sin and knew he was damned forever and didn't want to waste their energy on love.
~~~
Damian dries his hair, looking at his knuckles, where he had tried to rub the red free of his hands, where he had rubbed them raw.
He headed to breakfast, wrapping his knuckles on the way.
It's quiet as he walks in, not surprisingly, as everyone is still waking up, but Grayson is staring at him. Damian tugs down his long sleeve a poor attempt to cover his bandaged knuckles.
"Good morning, Master Damian." Alfred greets. "Master Jason has something for you,"
Damian hid his surprise. Todd has something for him? Todd has something for him? The same Todd who when Damian came to Gotham, despite being 'akh, ignored and hated him? He gives a curt nod and looks over to his seat, to walk over, to see the one and only Jason Todd…making him cereal.
what
"Hey, demon spawn," Todd greets with a yawn. "Alfred got on my ass for what I did last night, so here's some vegan cereal I found. You're welcome."
It's forced, but Damian feels something tickle in his chest. It was superficial-but it was still.. care right? (he ignored the nickname, the way it burned into his skin, into his ears, and into his brain. ignored the way it tore him open and ripped his heart and made him bleed.)
"Apology accepted, Todd." He sat down, and Todd scoffed out a quiet, 'not even a thank you, fucking brat', before taking his place at the table.
Grayson's eyes were still on him, and Damian ate, trying not to be self conscious about the staring.
"Are your hands okay, Baby Bat?" Damian scowls at the nickname again.
"They're fine." He responds curtly, shoving some cereal that tastes like ash into his mouth.
"Something go wrong while you were training?" Grayson asks, voice soft and friendly.
"Yes, the punching bag punches back." He deadpans, not in the mood for this.
(thats a lie-he always wants the care, the concern. But his hands hurt and his chest hurts and he can feel Tim and Jason glaring at him and its starting to be too much. Their perfect weapon is about to break)
"He was just asking you if you were okay, no need to be an ass about it." Drake replies for Grayson.
"No Tim, remember, he's the superior Robin and the Blood son. He doesn't need help." Jason comments sarcastically.
"Not like we would want to help his bratty ass anyways," Tim grumbles.
Damian's ears burn with shame and embarrassment. His chest contracts with hurt, because Drake just said they wouldn't help him.
why would they help a weapon?
Grayson tries to play nice, tries to get them to stop it, but Damian isn't hearing any of it, his world filled with cotton.
His family, the people he would protect with his life and soul and body… won't help him-or don't want to, but does it really matter? The difference between wanting to help and the refusal to help is so small because if you don't want to help, you might as well not be helping.
Damian picks at the skin under his bandage, and in a childish move glances at Father, glances at him in hopes he'll reprimand Todd for saying that he wouldn't help family.
His father is as silent and stoic as ever, and every ounce of childish hope breaks in Damian.
He really is just a weapon-an unchosen, unwanted, and forced child. He's not family.
Damian should start acting like it.
~~~
As soon as he's done eating, he heads to his room, heart heavy and hurting and broken. How perfect would he have to be to get care? To get love?
Was it even possible for a monster like him to get love?
Did he even deserve it?
He gets dressed for school, grabbing the family portrait he drew that is carefully laminated so as to not ruin the linework or the coloring. He grabs his bag, and waits for Alfred to drive him to school.
~~~
He gets his drawing back from his teacher with perfect marks, and a smile. Her praise didn't mean anything. His classmates' praise didn't mean anything.
Damian was a weapon and he wasn't supposed to have connections or feelings.
The praise meant nothing.
(that didn't stop Damian from knocking on Fathers study door and handing him the art, handing him the drawing of his family with a rare and nervous smile. Praise didn't matter to a weapon, but in that moment he was just Damian, and the praise, the acceptance of his father meant everything.
He slid the drawing onto his desk once he was asked what he wanted. His hands were still bandaged from his earlier beat down of the punching bag, but it didn't matter because his teacher said his father would smile when he saw this, that she hoped it would be hung on the fridge for everyone to see.
he should have known it was childish to hope
All he got was a glance over paperwork and a 'that's nice, Damian.'
He had tried asking him to hang it up, to frame it, but he just got 'ask Alfred'.
it hurt more than he likes to admit. Father wasn't proud and he wasn't happy)
Damian wanted to rip the drawing up, to destroy it but he couldn't. Weapons weren't supposed to have attachments and he wished he didn't. He hid it in his desk drawer, because damn it they were still his family even if he wasn't theirs.
Damian changes into shorts and a muscle tee and he tries not to stare at his own scars-the scars of his imperfection. The lashes that span across his back and shoulders, to the cuts along his arms.
He hates it.
~~~
It's a patrol night, and for once Damian is dreading it. He has to sit with his father, in dead silence until some kind of crime happens, in which no matter how stupid the plan he seemed he had to follow.
('wouldn't killing them just be easier?' Damian had asked one night.
'killing is wrong, Robin, no matter who it is.' Father had replied.
Damian still thinks that killing people like The Joker and Two-Face and Scarecrow would be the best option for the city-but he supposes that it makes him the Demon everyone calls him.)
Patrol is, mostly, uneventful. A few muggings, a convenience store getting robbed, nothing much.
But Damian could tell Batman didn't trust him- he kept giving short, curt orders. Orders that were simple, that normally avoided direct confrontation with anyone-lessening his likelihood to kill or seriously injure.
And it hurt. It hurt so much, because he was trying, Damian was trying so hard to be trusted, to be perfect, to be his weapon, but why wasn't it working? Was he really that much of a monster that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he atoned for sins, that he would always be hated?
He kept that to himself, he kept himself working, kept tying people up and pulling his punches, and made sure he wasn't lethal.
Damian could still feel the disapproving glare on his back when he knocked someone out, when his punch lands with a sickening crack, or blood splatters on the yellow part of his cape. He tried pulling his punches, but he just couldn't. Why couldn't he?
Damian wants to crack, wants to break down and cry like the child he is. He wants to break and beg for a hug, for attention, for affection, for love.
Damian doesn't.
Because weapons don't cry.
~~~
Damian couldn't get out of bed. He supposes he could- just make his muscles work for him, make his brain tell them that he needs to get up-that its 4:05 am and he has training to do.
But he can't. His body won't fucking move. For once, the Wayne Manor was awake- the patrol was late for everyone, it seems.
Damian wasn't even tired, or exhausted, he just….couldn't get up. Maybe it was the realization that even after all this time, Bruce-because it was clear he wasn't his Father anymore (was he ever his father?)-didn't trust him.
Damian doesn't get up, he instead stares at the ceiling and debates calling the one person he knows cares for him. Damian doesn't want to bother him, but Titus and Alfred the Cat aren't giving him the warmth he needs.
He wishes his family cared for him the same way Jon does. Jon-and the Kents in general seemed to care about Damian and not The Demon's Heir or The Blood Son. They saw Damian and nothing else.
"jon…" It was barely a whisper, but knowing the boy's super hearing (and his care for Damian) he knew it would be enough to get the boy's attention-sleep or not.
Normally, he would feel bad for waking Jon up this early in the morning, but last he heard, the Kents were taking a break on their farm and Jon had mentioned in a text that he would start farm work, so Damian was pretty sure he'd be awake.
No sooner than five minutes later, Damian heard a soft tapping on his window, and with all the energy he had left, he got up and opened it.
"Hey Dami-" Jon cut himself off as Damian hugged him, burying his face in his shoulder, hands grasping the back of his shirt.
Jon responded immediately, his shock being very quickly overrun by concern because this was Damian Wayne he was talking about and he did not hug.
"jon…" Damian whispered, just barely audible to the human ear. "warm… cuddles…?"
It was a simple request, and if Jon wasn't used to vague answers/questions his partner gave him, he would be so confused. Jon carefully picked up the older boy, cradling him to his chest and carrying him over the bed, where Titus and Alfred (the cat) lay, watching him with concern in their cute little animal eyes.
Jon laid Damian down and lay next to him, resting the boy's head on his chest. Something was clearly wrong, the older boy was rarely in bed this late (only late because it was ten minutes into his meditation time) and he wanted and he had initiated physical contact that wasn't just hand holding.
Jon didn't pry-he never did as he cuddled Damian to his chest, planting a soft kiss on his head. Jon was half convinced that he had fallen asleep when he heard a whisper, and it made his heart break.
"habibi… you love me, right…?"
"of course, Dami, of course i love you, why wouldn't i?" Came Jons response, voice just as soft as he pressed another kiss into his hair.
"because i'm a monster and a brat and a horrible person-"
"oh, sweetheart," Jon rarely used petnames-Damian had expressed he wasn't the biggest fan, and even calling him 'Dami' was pushing it, but he couldn't help but let the term of endearment leave his lips. "you're none of those things."
"then why doesn't my family love me? am i the issue? am i just… unloveable?"
Damian was rarely this vulnerable, but Jon could hear the waiver in his voice-the wetness, and his heart broke all over again, and his blood started to boil. "what do you mean, Dami? Of course your family loves you."
"no they don't-" Damian sniffs and buries his face deeper into Jons chest. "i-im just a weapon to them, they dont care. they call me demon spawn and brat and- why am i not good enough for them? i-i have tried so hard to be perfect for them, i started w-working myself to the bone again so Fath-so Bruce would trust me again. i-i have tried ZnotY to start fights with J-Jason and Tim, but they still dont like me and i dont know how to get them to care about me- i-i dont understand. i try, i swear im trying-"
The waiver in his voice turned into soft sobs and Jon couldn't decide whether to kill the whole of the Batfam, or to cry alongside Damian. How could they not love Damian? Couldn't they see how fucking amazing he was?
"Dami, baby, love, listen to me," Jon says softly, his own voice getting wet. "none of what they said to you is true- you aren't a demon, you aren't a brat and you certainly aren't a weapon."
"bu-but-"
"No buts. I don't care what they think, you are perfect in my eyes and I love you, Dami." Jon says, soft but firm. "And if they can't see that, then well, thats their fucking loss."
Damian sniffled and lifted his head, face slightly tinted red with tears, eyes watery. His eyes were searching, searching for insincerity, for deceit, for lies, and Jon let him, because there wasn't an ounce of any of that in his eyes, or anywhere in his body.
Damian, after a few seconds of intense eye contact, seeing that Jon himself was close to tears, snuggled even closer to Jon, head tucked under his chin. Damian wasn't one for cuddles-and the rare times they cuddled like this, Damian always insisted on having Jon on top of him- but he could admit that this was nice.
"can you…" Damian felt the words clog his throat for a second. "can you take me to the farm house…?"
Jon, with no hesitation, nodded. "Right now?"
Damian nodded, letting the other boy pick him up bridal style and fly him out the window.
~~~
The flight over to the farm house, for Damian, was mostly spent sleeping and dozing off. Jon thought it was the cutest thing ever-but he was also ten seconds away from throttling the batfamily-minus maybe Dick as Damian hadn't said anything about him specifically- that he was barely aware he touched down at the farm house until a very tired looking Lois Lane-Kent opened the door.
She didn't even look the slightest bit surprised to see Damian in his arms, and she just opened the door. She quietly asked, "Does Bruce know?"
Jon shook his head. "Don't call him, Dami definitely shouldn't-and he doesn't want to- see any of his…family… right now."
Lois could definitely hear the bitterness and barely contained anger in his voice, and she didn't question it. "Just remember, the door stays open three inches."
Jon nodded, and walked to his bedroom, setting the dozing boy down, before laying next to him. As he did at the Manor, Damian cuddled against his chest with a soft sigh, tangling their legs together.
"i love you, habibi…" Came the sleepy mutter.
"I love you too, Dami."
With that, both boys fell asleep, cuddled together in each other's arms.
~~~
As 10:30am rolled around, Damian's eyes opened to see the nice warm sun coming from a small window with a wooden frame- definitely not the manor, then. His eyes stuck together for a moment and he knew for a fact he had slept in, but for once, he didn't care.
Damian was laying on the most comfortable of pillows-his beloved Jon- and he was surrounded by his scent. He sank closer to the boy, lightly kissing his chest over his heart.
"morning…" came a very sleepy Jon, with a slightly raspy voice.
"morning beloved." Damian responded, voice equally as raspy. "thank you for letting me stay."
Jon nodded, waking up slowly. "Anytime, Dami."
Damian looked at him, like he hung the stars in the sky, too tired to mask anything behind a scowl.
They laid there for a while, just looking at each other, love held in their eyes.
"Boys!" Lois's voice cut through the silent peace they had found themselves in. "Breakfast!"
Damian sat up, stretching a bit as he does, before something strikes his heart- fear? Nervousness? "Will-will she tell Bruce-"
"I told Mom not to tell-that you didn't want to see them anytime soon."
"Have I told you I love you?" Damian replied-because damn it, he really did love Jon. He somehow always knew what he needed.
"Not… well you did tell me early this morning, but not now!"
Damian chuckled a bit. "Well, I love you, beloved."
"I love you too, Dami~"
Damian pressed a soft kiss into Jons lips, unable to help himself.
"Boys! It's going to get cold!" Lois yelled again, and they separated.
~~~
Damian didn't have lazy days. He just…didn't. He needed to work and draw and train and patrol, but Jon refused to let him have that kind of day. They just sat around the farmhouse- Mrs. Lane had made him some chamomile tea that he was nursing in his hands as they watched shitty horror movies that still made Jon jump.
It was…nice, having Jon pressed against his side while they curled up under blankets together. The sun rose in a lazy fashion, as Mrs. Lane prepared dinner.
He was tucked into Jons side, half getting the comfort of another warm body against his and half giving comfort to Jon whose eyes were squeezed shut.
The movie-one of the worst horror movies to exist with the shittest gore and shittest effects- but Jon was fucking terrified by it and Damian was having a hard time not laughing his ass off.
Another cheap jumpscare happened and Jon let out a soft scream, and Damian couldn't hold it back anymore.
He laughed, loud and free, a way only Jon could make him. It had been so long since he last laughed like that.
"Beloved, I love you, but how are you scared of this? You're a goddamn superhero-and this…this shitty gore and jump scares scare you? You've fought Scarecrow with me, for gods sake!"
Jon pouted at him, his bottom lip jutted out, and his eyes had opened up slightly, and they were watery. "Don't laugh at me!"
Secretly, behind his pout, he was glad Damian was laughing, it had been a long while since Jon had heard him laugh. It might be at him, and it might be because Jon was being a big ol' baby about the horror movie. Seeing Damian with a look of joy after finding him and seeing him sob, well… it made Jon so happy and he was more than willing to be made fun of for it.
~~~
Damian wished that happiness lasted longer- he and Jon had hid out in the farmhouse for a week, both of them helping Mrs. Lane with chores and food and things. Damian wanted this bubble of no expectations to last, of no one demanding he be perfect.
It was one of those days, sitting and cuddling Jon on the couch, curled up with a cup of tea and gently reading Jon a book- something about how Damian had the best 'audio book voice', and well..he couldn't say no to his beloved, could he?
Then a knock interrupted them, and Damian poked his head up from Jons shoulder and all he caught was the black hair, and deadpan look of the person as Mrs. Lane opened the door and he knew who it was.
"Jon. Your room, now." Jon blinked, but followed Damian as he entered Jons room, fully closing the door.
"Wait-Mom said the door had to be open at least three inches-"
"Bruce is here." To Damian, it still felt weird to call his Father by his first name, he felt a little guilty, because he was family.
(Jon had reassured him that it was fine, that he didn't have to refer to Bruce as 'father' if it made him uncomfortable, and he had subtly hinted Bruce didn't deserve to be called 'father' anymore.)
Jon froze. "Yeah, let's break a few rules if that bastard is here."
Jon wasn't a very angry person… most of the time, and normally was pretty calm around Damian, but when it came to the people he loved being threatened well… maybe he should have a no killing rule.
"Let's push the bed against the door." Jon says, instead of bursting through the door and slamming Bruce's head into the ground for making his love feel unloved-feel like a weapon in his own house. And, on top of that, he didn't stop the bullying his son was experiencing from his own family.
Damian nodded, and with their combined efforts, they pushed the bed against the door. Damian went to the window and closed the curtains, and huddled against Jons side, who was sitting up against the bed.
"is…is it cowardly to run away from this? S-should i just accept whatever punishment he has for me?" Damian muttered, holding Jons hand hard. He pressed his face into his beloved neck.
"No-no Dami! it's not cowardly, you're protecting yourself." Jon kissed the side of his head. "Bruce doesn't deserve to see you, let alone talk to or punish you. I won't let him."
~~~
Lois considered herself a calm person-living in a house full of hyperactive supers for years helped with that. And on top of being a journalist, she normally had a pretty level head.
But seeing one Bruce Wayne standing at her door, looking like he hasn't lost any sleep since his son ran away a week ago, well… her blood boiled a little bit.
And it wasn't only that. While she doesn't have super hearing, she has this little thing called care, so when she had overheard Damian nearly crying over the fact that Bruce didn't care-that despite feeling unwelcome and unloved in his family, that he was being actively bullied by his brothers, and he had done nothing about it. Bruce didn't do shit, she was a little more than pissed off.
(of course after she heard that she made Damians favorite cookies and his favorite tea and let them go hang out with the cows, not pointing out to the young boy that he had cried, because she didn't want to embarrass him more than he was)
It made her blood boil that this kid, despite his strength and bravery and scars he was only 14, wasn't protected by his own father. Wasn't protected from his brothers. And now he was coming to her door a week later after he ran away, because he felt that was the better option than staying in the Manor with his family, that he felt more comfortable with his boyfriends family then his own. And that no one had come looking for a week. a fucking week.
Bruce looked at her, that same stupid fucking stoic look on his face and a look that didn't look like concern or worry or anything, oh… oh she wanted to murder him.
"Do you have Damian?" Not, 'Damians has been missing for a week, do you know where he is?' or 'Do you know where Damian is? Do you want to help look for him if you don't?' Bruce just accused her of having him, not an ounce of worry.
"I might." She says, vaguely, because she is rational- maybe this emotionally constipated idiot does care but he just doesn't know how to-
"Tell him he's being childish and needs to return home."
Oh. Oh ho ho ho ho. Lois felt her eyes twitch, as she looked at this man- this great hero who has saved countless lives, and the only thing he has to say is 'he's being childish'. That his child running away because he didn't feel loved in his home, is him being childish. AND Bruce dresses like a damn bat instead of dealing with his emotions like a normal person, now that is childish.
"Fuck off, Wayne." She says, clipped.
(in his room, Jon gasps, because his mother just swore)
Bruce looks at her like she just grew a second head. "What?"
"I said fuck off. I may or may not have Damian and if I do have him, he is staying here until you can get your head out of your ass enough to actually care about your son."
"I care-"
She slams the door in his face.
~~~
Damian has not left where he has huddled against Jons side because he definitely sees a motorcycle outside- he can definitely hear one- and that means that Dick (who he wouldn't be totally opposed to seeing again) or Tim (who he didn't want to see) or Jason (who he really didn't want to see). For all he knew all three of them were outside.
A soft knock came from the door. "Boys?" Lois' soft voice came, though Damian could hear the anger, the bitterness. "Bruce is gone, for now."
Damian looked at Jon, resting his head on his shoulder now, to confirm. He nodded.
"We have ice cream and if you want to go out-"
She was cut off by the aggressive pounding on Jon's window. Damian swears he didn't jump.
Jon looks at him and gets up, peeking open the curtain to see one worried looking Dick Grayson's face pressed against the closed window. Jon looks back at Damian.
"Is Dick okay to come in?" Jon asks softly. Damian thinks for a moment, hugging his knees to his chest. He gives a nod.
As soon as that window opens, you would swear that Dick was the speedster, not his husband.
"Oh my baby boy!" Dick all but cries wrapping Damian in a hug, a tight, bone crushing hug. "You're safe!"
Damian was clearly tense, not expecting the sudden hug from someone he silently considered his babi. He could feel tears on his shoulder from Dick and the clinging to the back of his shirt.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry." Dick muttered. "I-I should have been there for you!"
Damian didn't know what to do. Sure, he had seen Dick cry before, but he had never heard him cry over him. Dick pulls back and cups his cheek.
"I'm so sorry, Damian- i shouldn't have let them do that." Jon watched silently, ready to step in and send Dick flying out his window as soon as Damian gave the word. Damian crumbled a bit more. "I should have been a better brother. I should have stood up for you and asked how you were feeling but I was so, so stupid!"
Damian, oh so slowly, wraps his arms around his babi, around his brother.
"I love you, Dami, I promise. I should have showed it more-"
Damian's arms tighten silently, because he knew when people lied- years of torturing people for the League, and being forced to tell if they were lying because it got them less pain or if they were telling the truth to stop the pain.
Dick wasn't lying.
His babi wasn't lying.
The flood gates broke, because he was loved. His family loved him. Or at least Dick did. And honestly? That was enough for Damian.
Dick held him tight, knowing that's what his baby needed. He kept muttering, "I'm sorry."
Jon watched, closing the window because he could see black hair with white tufts making their way over, and from what he heard about that dinner, well… even if Damian wanted to see him, Jon was not letting that happen.
It takes a few minutes, but soon Damians soft sobs turn into just hiccups, but his grip never lacks.
"I love you, baby boy." Dick mutters into his hair, kissing the crown of his head.
"i love you too…babi." Damian mutters back, the name slipping past his lips, but he can't bring himself to regret saying it.
Dick, who after practically adopting Damian after Bruce disappeared, had made an effort to try and learn Arabic, because… well that's where his baby boy was from. Even after Tim had found Bruce and Damian went back to him, he kept learning because even if Damian was no longer his kid, officially, he was still his kid.
Dick was nearly ecstatic, as he heard that word leave Damians lips, holding onto him tighter.
They didn't need any words, even though Dick felt like…well a dick for letting this happen, for not paying enough attention. No matter what happened now, he would be there for Damian.
~~~
The day kept passing, and Dick, Jon and Damian all moved the bed from the door, pushing it back up against Jons wall. As they opened the door, walking to the kitchen, they saw one worried looking Lois Lane-Kent, fretting at the stove. Jon cleared his throat and she turned, eyes zoning in on both Damians slightly red face from crying, and Richard Grayson.
"What are you-" She started, walking up to Dick. She pointed a spatula at him as she talked, ready to throw him out of the house like she did Bruce and Jason. Jon cut her off.
"No-Mom! Hes fine! Dami wants to see him!" He stepped between them. "And no it wasn't coerced or anything, I saw it!"
Lois looked between her son, Dick, and Damian, before she lowered her voice back down from where it had been raised. "Damian, sweetie, is that true?"
Damian just nodded, holding Dicks hand tight, the way a young child would with their parents, she believed him.
"Will Wally be joining us?" She asked, voice now soft and even as always. Dick shook his head. "Set the table, please. The food is almost ready."
The three of them nodded, and set the table, sitting down. Damian had not let go of Dicks hand, as if afraid as soon as he did, he would disappear. Dick let him, because even if he was 14 years old, letting him act like a child would do him good.
Jon watched, a soft smile on his face. He sat next to Damian, a silent comfort for now, because he knew he just needed, well… his babi.
Food was set and eaten- everything vegetarian friendly- and it was peaceful. It was… a family dinner.
Damian paused eating, for a moment, looking around. Dick had a smile on his face, and kept squeezing Damians hand reassuringly, Jon looked as soft as he always did, talking animatedly about some TV show he watched recently, and Lois looked content.
It was a family dinner.
Damian smiled, squeezing Dicks hand as he kept eating, a more happy air to him than before. He had a family. Family family family family.
~~~
Damian finally let go of Dicks hand to cuddle Jon as they watched movies.
"So. You and Jon?" Dick said, being friendly, and seeing the pink tint on his cheeks go from tears to a blush. "Its cute."
"Thank you, babi." Damian said softly, nuzzling his face into Jons shoulder.
"Does B know?"
Damian shook his head. "If Bruce doesn't allow Supers or Metas in the city, do you really think he'll like the fact that one is dating his son?"
"Of course he won't." Dick grumbled. "He barely tolerates me being married to Wally."
Damian sinks further into Jon. Half hiding, half wanting cuddles. His father already didn't love him. He already didn't care. If-if he found out about him dating Jon-
"Hey…hey baby bat…" A soft hand pressed into the small of his back. "Its okay, I won't let B do anything to you, I promise."
~~~
Damian ends up staying with The Kents for another week, but after a close call with Tim-why the hell was he in Kons room anyways- Dick decides that Blüdhaven is the better option.
(does he just want to live with his baby boy again? maybe, but Damian… damian definitely knows, but Dicks man enough to admit he loves his baby brother, so take that)
Jon pulls Dick aside, and he may only be 14 but he is the size of him.
"I swear, Richard John Grayson-" He pointedly ignored the bewilderment of Dicks 'how do you know my middle name?'. "-if I find out that you or Wally have hurt him in any, any way. Emotionally, physically, psychological, anything, you will wish I had a no killing rule. You will wish I remembered what mercy was. Understand?"
This kid was fucking terrifing, Jesus Christ. "I won't hurt him, I swear it. And if I ever do, I give full permission for you to torture me."
Jon nodded, satisfied with that answer.
The trip over was uneventful, Damian didn't have much and Tim, after Dick had some words with him, managed to get his things from the manor, and Tim even managed to sneak both Alfred (the cat) and Titus out, who as soon as they saw Damian in Dicks minivan- Titus, at least- all but tackled Damian back onto the seat.
~~~
Life with Dick and Wally was… nice. They made sure he went to school (ugh), took care of him (yay), and just… made him feel like he was part of a family.
(wishing was a childish thing, but he can't bring himself to regret wishing on that star, a few years ago, wishing for a family, because now it was true)
After a few weeks, and hearing some angry arguing between Dick and who he can assume was Bruce, everything settled down. Wally went from 'Wally' to 'ab, and Dick formally became babi. Jon visited when he could and for once? Damian felt happy, he felt loved and like he didn't have to earn it anymore. He stopped patrol for a while- like he did the first time Dick adopted him.
Peace never really lasted, though, did it?
A knock echoed through the apartment, jolting Damian from where he was drawing. Dick and Wally were out on a date, so Damian was home alone.
Damian got up, grabbing a knife and opening the door, ready for anything. Jon never knocked-hell he normally went through the window and so did literally everyone else in the family.
Damian opened the door, and almost shut it again. One Jason Todd was standing outside the door.
"Damian?" Jason asked, hesitant. He looked almost relieved to see him. He also looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to hug him or not. "Oh thank fuck, Damian, you're in Blüdhaven."
Damian schools his face, a scowl pinching his features, his voice bitter. "Todd."
"Okay, okay I deserve that." Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck with a slight wince in his face. "Like,really fucking deserve that reaction."
Damian didn't reply. They stood in silence for a few seconds.
"Can I… Can I come in?" Jason asked, hesitantly. "I know you probably don't want to talk to me- and for good reason, I…I have been a real asshole and dick and cunt and all the ugly words you can think of to describe me, but I would like to…to make amends with you, somehow."
Damian looked at him, at his eyes. There were eyebags there, and while there normally was, they were worse than normal. He…he had something about him being in Blüdhaven not alive… an odd choice of words and perhaps that's why Damian wordlessly opens the door wider for Jason to walk through.
~~~
They have been sitting in somewhat tense silence for a few minutes, Jason fiddling with his hands.
"Before you ask," He started, looking up from his hands to Damians eyes. "No, Dickie did not send me to apologize, hell I didn't know you were even here. And I honestly think if I knew, Dick would tell me ,not to come."
Jason sighed. "For…for what I did, ignoring you and then, god for doing what I did at dinner, no apology will ever forgive what I did. But I did not come here to apologize."
Damian's face scrunched back into a scowl again, the neutralness of his face gone. "What."
Jason seemed to notice the shift and held up his hands. "Wait-no, fuck that came out really, really wrong. What I said is true, because I genuinely did not know you were here. I came here to ask Dick something, clearly hes not here, but you are. I came to ask him to raid Nanda Parbat with me."
Damian blinked, the scowl falling to confusion. "What."
"With no note and nothing taken from your bedroom for so long, I thought… Well I thought Taila had come and taken you, and by god, I was not about to let her and him fucking-fucking do that to you again." Jason clenched his fists. "Fucking Bruce wasn't doing anything, I don't even think he cares you're gone. Even Timmers was going to help. And I understand that-"
Damian cut him off with a hug. "Its enough. You… you care and thats enough for me."
Jason froze for a second, and his big arms wrapped tight around Damian. "No, its not, I will spend the rest of my life earning it."
They sat there for a while, hugging. Dick may be his babi, but Jason has longer been his 'akh.
"I am so, so, so fucking sorry, Dames. So, so sorry." Jason mutters into his hair.
"Babis going to have your head for swearing in front of me so much, Jay."
Jason laughed, pulling him into a headlock, and rubbing his fist into Damian's hair and messing it up. "Let him. I'm sure I've heard you say worse, Dames."
"You're messing up my hair!" Damian struggled, but not really, smiling. "Asshole!"
Jason mocked gasped, letting go to fake faint, one hand on his forehead, the other over his heart. "Did the young and innocent Damian Wayne swear? Oh my poor fragile heart!"
They both kept up the act for a total of... five seconds before they laughed for a second, and Damian leaned into his side. "Movies?"
"Oh yes, I need to catch you up on all the Twilight movies, the masters of cinema that they are…" Damian didn't understand why, but Jason had this look in his eye. "Dicks going to hate me."
~~~
Dick walked up to the door, holding Wally's hand. With how dark it was, in theory Damian should be asleep, but he had a feeling he wasn't.
Unlocking the door, pushing it open, he was not expecting the black hair with a white tuft. And Dick was not happy, about to open his mouth when Wally pointed.
His baby boy was resting against Jason's side, and while he had a horrified look on his face, he looked comfortable, so Dick decided to assume they had made up. He and Wally silently decided to sneak past to their bedroom, not to disturb them, but then-
"This is the skin of a killer, Bella." It came from the movie, and as Jason cackles with laughter, Damian incredulity asks-
"Why isn't she running? Does she not have any self perseverance?"
"Jason Peter Todd! What are you showing Damian!?" Dick yelled marching over, ignoring his husband bending over, howling with laughter and Jason's cackling turning into full on laughter.
"Oh welcome home, Babi." Damian said, looking away from the screen. "Jason said that this a 'master of cinema' and I fear he may have lost his brain when he died and was revived."
Jason and Wally were still howling with laughter at the horrified look on Dicks face. "Jason. Why are you corrupting my baby with this? Also, Dami, I do in fact agree with that statement."
"Because it is a cultural landmark and you showed how many Disney movies?"
Dick sighed and muttered "thats different and you know it", and watched Damian gawk at the screen, mouthing a silent, what the fuck is going on, and Dick said. "Mind if we join, then? I need a good laugh and I need to make sure you don't show Damian Breaking Dawn Part 1."
Jason grinned and nodded. "However, I get Dames cuddles. Not you."
Dick pouted, but as Wally sat next to him with his arm around his waist, cuddling to his side, he decided he could let Jason cuddle Damian.
Just this once.