Chapter Text
Damian was never meant to disappear.
That’s all Tim could think about as Bruce carried Damian into the cave. His baby brother looked so goddamn small in their father’s large arms, and all Tim wanted to do was fly back and drive a knife into Ra’s neck.
That bastard. His baby brother was all bruised up because of him. Cuts littered his arms, and his small form looked so beaten down. Tim wanted to kill someone. Based on the expressions on his siblings’ faces, he wasn’t alone.
Dick looked murderous; he was the one who found Damian first, after all. The man took down about twenty League assassins on his own, moving with an intent to kill after what Bruce had told him:
“Ra’s took Damian.”
Three words. Three words were all it took to bring all of Bruce’s children back from wherever they were. Jason and Cassandra were off-world, but it only took one signal to send them back home. Dick was in Blüdhaven, dropping all his duties to find his baby brother. Duke, Tim, and Stephanie were still in Gotham, being the first three to start searching for Damian.
Their baby brother was so vulnerable, his young headspace making them ten times more protective. From the looks of it, Ra’s hadn’t made it easy.
Dick found Damian locked up. Their baby brother was chained to the wall, wearing only pants, his small chest covered in cuts and bruises. Duke had to hold their eldest brother back from going after Ra’s to kill him, as he wanted to focus on his brother first.
“Shh, baby, I know. I know it hurts, but you have to let Alfred stitch you up,” Bruce soothed him, holding the small boy in his arms as he thrashed around, whimpering whenever the butler touched one of his wounds. The siblings watched helplessly as their baby brother cried in their father’s arms, hiccuping into his chest with sad sniffles.
“Sweetheart,” Dick breathed out once Alfred declared he was done, sitting next to the little boy on the medical cot. “You’re okay. You’re safe, baby.”
It seemed that no matter what Dick said to soothe him, Damian only shook harder, his fists clenching into the man’s shirt as he cried.
Dick glanced at his family, finding them as helpless as he was. They all looked miserable. Bruce and Tim hadn’t slept for weeks trying to find the youngest Bat, working 24/7 to track him down. Jason looked furious, and his tight grip on his gun said everything. He took his anger out on any assassins that crossed his path, shooting them dead. Bruce didn’t say anything about it, and honestly, when it came to the youngest Bat, even Batman’s morals could shake a little.
Dick glanced down at his terrified baby brother and sighed, this was gonna take a long time to fix.
-
“No!” Damian screamed, small fists gripping Jason’s shoulders tightly. The boy had just been told that he needed to get cleaned up, and he had been refusing to enter the warm bath that Alfred prepared for about ten minutes now.
“Kiddo, come on. You’ll get to play with your duckies in the bath; you love your duckies,” Jason cooed, bouncing his brother in his arms and sighing when he felt him sniffle into his neck.
“Bad. Cold.” Damian mumbled, sniffling as he pointed toward the water, green eyes terrified as he stared at it.
“Nope, it’s all warm like you like it,” Jason replied, holding one of Damian’s small hands in his and dipping it in the water for a brief second.
The boy’s sniffles died down at the feeling of the warm water, tucking his thumb into his mouth as Jason slowly lowered him into the tub.
“There we go,” Jason cooed, starting to wash his baby brother gently as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes, prompting him to kiss Damian's forehead. The man placed his forehead on top of the kid’s head, smiling softly when Damian leaned into his touch.
“We’ll be alright, baby bat.”
-
Jason gently placed Damian in his crib, allowing the little boy to cuddle his stuffed bat. As he prepared to leave the room, the door creaked open, and Bruce stepped inside. His dark eyes softened at the sight of his youngest son, still on the edge of sleep yet fighting it with every ounce of stubbornness he had.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” Bruce murmured, kneeling beside the crib. His deep, calm voice seemed to wrap around Damian like a warm blanket. “Can’t sleep, huh?”
Damian blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. “Not tired,” he insisted, though the slight yawn that escaped him betrayed his words.
Bruce smiled, a soft, gentle expression that was rare but not to his kids. He reached down, gently lifting Damian into his arms. The boy immediately settled against his father’s solid chest, the rhythmic beat of Bruce’s heart soothing him.
“I think I have a way to help with that,” Bruce whispered, rocking gently back and forth. The room was dim, the soft glow of a nightlight casting a warm hue over them. He moved smoothly, like he was cradling something precious—because to him, Damian Wayne was his baby.
“Let’s count the stars, just like we always do, hmm?” Bruce suggested, glancing around the room. “One...”
Damian’s eyes fluttered closed, and he murmured a quiet, “Two…” as his father continued to rock him gently. Bruce's movements were methodical and rhythmic, each sway imbued with love and protection.
“There you go, baby,” he said, his voice steady as he whispered the numbers with warm affection. “Three… Four… Five…”
With each count, Damian's tiny breaths grew deeper, slower. The soft fabric of Bruce’s shirt held a comforting scent that made the world outside fade away, leaving just the two of them in that cozy space.
As he reached ten, Bruce felt the weight of his son relax against him, eyes still partially closed, a sleepy smile playing on his lips. “Goodnight, darling,” Bruce murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead.