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After much deliberation, Damian slips out of his bed. He is careful not to allow the box spring under his mattress to squeak.
Red digits from the angular alarm clock cast a low light in the room. It is not a bother. Damian is capable of sleeping in all light, temperature, weather, and surface conditions.
His arguments with Richard about maintaining his training in this regard have failed. Richard deems these practices ‘unnecessary.’ Of course he would think as such. His bed has a memory foam mattress pad.
Damian sniffs at the thought. He already has plans to sleep on the floor if he believes he needs further discipline. Perhaps just the bedframe slats if he can remove the bedframe, mattress, and all its accompanying SIDS-inducing kit without detection. Unlikely. Pennyworth seems to have a sixth sense for these sorts of things.
Still, Damian has a plan, one he reviews often when he can’t- When resting is secondary to affirming his training regimen and contingencies. The fact that Damian has not yet employed these plans speaks to his superior discipline. He is capable. Yes, he lets out a steady lungful of air, he is very capable.
On his pillow, Alfred the Cat makes a pathetic noise, stretching and blinking in the low light.
Damian shushes him, his mouth dry. It is… within the parameters of a non-patrol night (deemed a ‘school night’ by Richard, the insufferable miscreant) for Damian to acquire a glass of water from the kitchen.
This has been outlined by Richard, confirmed by Pennyworth, and tested with West. Damian pauses by door, hand hovering just over the knob.
Only Pennyworth and Titus in residence of the home this night. West is galavanting in the ‘Midwest’ and Richard is staking out a Black Mask shipment. Damian was not interested in the former and summarily uninvited from the latter. The consequence for sneaking out is being observed by Brown the following non-patrol evening. He shudders. Even the League’s most creative torturers could not invent such an abhorrent punishment.
Brown snores. Loudly. Damian’s ears ring with it.
Getting a glass of water is an acceptable behavior in the Penthouse. Sneaking out on a non-patrol night is an unacceptable behavior. Leaving his bedroom is not the same as leaving the Penthouse, and yet.
Damian flexes his fingers. He is. He is being foolish.
Richard’s expectations are well-defined. There is a whiteboard in the kitchen. Damian could review it while he fills his water. Confirm that his memory is as impeccable as always.
Except that would require him to leave his bedroom and possibly break a rule. Richard’s punishments are all easy to withstand. Trivial things like not taking Titus on his evening walk or washing and drying the dishes or taking a deep breath and explaining his emotions. It is not Richard’s punishments that Damian fears, but his… demeanor.
Damian has only detected Richard crying twice in the last five days. If he refrains until Friday, it will be a new minimum. Damian is vested.
He hasn’t heard or seen his Batman cry, but he is an expert in body language. He knows the quality of voice and the puffiness of skin that is indicative of the act. He is aware that he is often a contributor to those tears. When he first arrived, he relished in the reaction. It was effortless. Richard is disturbingly emotional.
Now though, seeing his Batman low is less satisfying. He’s found far more potent sources of gratification in causing Richard to smile or praise his abilities.
His fingers wrap around the cool metal doorknob. Richard often commends Damian on his bravery and determination. Perhaps… Perhaps, even if Damian is mistaken and exiting his bedroom on a non-patrol night does meet the criteria for leaving the premises, Richard will be lenient because Damian is dogged in his pursuit of the truth.
He tightens his fingers. It is decided then. He will acquire his glass of water, thwart his potential dehydration, review the rules, and return to his bedroom with no one the wiser. Not even Gordon, the lightest sleeper Damian has encountered, wakes to his careful treading. He nods once. Counts down from five in his head. Opens the door.
Cool air from the hallway pools around his bare feet. He doesn’t shiver. He checks his route, lit by the soft green bulb of the Green Lantern nightlight.
Green, the one color the Speed Force is not.
To his right are the closed doors of Pennyworth and Richard’s bedrooms. Damian’s bathroom, unfairly the only one not accessible via his bedroom, is straight ahead. The door is also closed, lest Titus confuses the porcelain bowl with his dish of purified water.
To his left is the living room and, past that, the kitchen. The quiet hums, a held breath. It is not eerie for this is not a sensation Damian experiences. It is perhaps… liminal. Strange. Disquieting.
Pennyworth’s ministrations are constant, Richard’s volume control is poor, West’s tirades are grating, Brown’s music is echoing. Gordon is not here often, but she is always accompanied by keys clacking or wheels turning or servers humming. He is simply unaccustomed to the Penthouse being empty. That’s all.
He passes through the threshold. The carpet is plush beneath his toes. Pennyworth vacuumed this afternoon, but not before offering Damian a pair of ear plugs. Such considerations are what make the man tolerable, but Damian declined. He is not foolish enough to be caught unaware.
Silently, he pads toward the kitchen. As he crosses the living room, Titus shifts in his sleep. Damian stills. His dog half raises an ear, comfortable in his soft foam bed. His large, knowing eyes blink open. Damian raises a finger to his lips.
A large yawn whines out of Titus. His tail thumps lazily.
Damian makes the League handsign for stay and Titus lowers his head, content with watching.
He lets out a silent breath. Soon, Pennyworth will cave to Titus sleeping in Damian’s bedroom and such games will be unnecessary.
The kitchen is just above what Damian has observed as ‘standard’ in America. There are two microwaves, but only one (large) oven, an electric stove, sink, dishwasher, and, of course, refrigerator. Stainless steel. The attached freezer is on the bottom, a drawer that pulls out. The top section has two doors.
The right door boasts the whiteboard of rules. Damian scans them rapidly. As he determined, the ‘out’ in ‘sneaking out’ is defined as the perimeter of the Penthouse. The front door, the balcony railing, the window sills.
He releases the tension in his shoulders ever so slightly. To lower his guard completely… Abhorrent, West behavior.
The cabinet with the glasses squeaks and after much trial and error, Damian has determined that this is reinforced by the Penthouse’s inhabitants. He’d palmed some of the oil from his utility belt to grease the hinges but the next evening, the noise was returned in spite of logic.
Through his studious deductions, the most probable explanation is that Richard uses the squeak to alert him to a distributed West. The speedster seeks comfort in late night milk, squirted with artificial chocolate syrup.
On several nights that Damian finds it prudent to review his training regiment, Damian has heard the now familiar sequence of the master bedroom opening, the cabinet squeaking, and Richard murmuring.
Richard has not reprimanded Damian for fixing the hinges, but it is possible he blamed Pennyworth. Damian is unwilling to further test this. The one area Richard has very little compromise is in regards to West. It’s infuriating.
Still, Damian has a workaround. Richard’s preferred post-patrol ‘treat’ is the disgusting dinosaur egg oatmeal. He heats up water in an original Wonder Girl mug and lets it dry beside the sink. A gentle compromise between Pennyworth and Richard, that as long as the mug is run through the dishwasher once a week, it can remain cluttering the otherwise pristine marble counters.
Damian swipes up the awaiting mug. Based on Richard’s propensity for stealing licks of Damian’s ice cream cones, he will not be disturbed by Damian quenching his growing thirst with the vessel.
The little light installed above the water dispenser flicks on as Damian depresses the lever. Fresh, cool, filtered water streams out. He counts to twelve, then removes the mug. It is seven eighths full. Perfect.
As he sips the water, he observes the left door of the refrigerator with mild derision.
Pinned above the built-in dispenser, in a spot Damian can reach just fine, is the vile ‘star chart.’ West has a particular affinity for progress trackers as if cheap conditioning tricks would ever work on Damian. There is a drawer crammed with disparate sticker packets that West finds at the dollar stores he always seems to be visiting.
Currently, Damian is two snow leopards away from receiving a reward for sleeping the ten total hours recommended each night for nine year olds. The goal of ten has been raised to twenty at Damian’s insistence. He is perfectly capable of sleeping ten hours. He is Ibn al Xu'ffasch. He is an al Guhl, a Wayne. He does not require this handholding.
Still, he can appreciate the opportunity to boast, even as… sour as it feels.
Damian refused to participate in this childish exercise until Richard began adding his own entries. He has been stuck at four sun-with-sunglasses for nearly two weeks now. It is pathetic, especially considering his goal is a measly six hours. Damian has already slept six hours this evening. It is laughable that Richard is not capable of reaching such a standard.
But instead of preparing for the perfect time to employ this barb for maximum damage, Damian finds himself… chewing on his lip.
West has only been present in the Penthouse twice in this time period and he has not slept over once. The threat to Damian’s position as the center of Richard’s attention has been diminished greatly. It is likely that West has visited Richard on other occasions, but not in Damian’s presence. This is possibly attributable to Damian’s well-reasoned, calculated, and necessary harassment of West escalating. There were talks of West living in the Penthouse on a more permanent basis.
This is… was… unacceptable. Damian’s unsure now. At the time, his reaction seemed appropriate. But now, seeing the sixteen empty squares on the free-handed chart, he is less certain. None of Richard’s ‘dialogues’ will slice through Damian’s resolve quite like the evidence before him.
Damian finishes his water. He should reward Titus for his consummate accompliceship and return to his bedroom undetected.
His eyes drag over the reward system. Twenty days of fulfilled sleep obligations are equivalent to twenty USD worth of art supplies or one hour at the animal rescue for Damian. They are equivalent to a half-dozen cereal topped donuts or a single game of Pictionary for Richard.
There are bonuses associated with consecutive successful nights, starting at four, counting by twos. Richard’s rewards range from a lone motorcycle ride outside the city to lunch dates in Budapest. Damian’s range from lecturing Richard on blade history to a half day off school. He has yet to achieve the latter. He is hesitant to lie about his sleep habits, although Richard has repeatedly assured him that he does not review security footage to confirm Damian’s reports.
Damian shifts his weight back onto his heels. He spins ninety degrees and steps to the sink.
As has been repeatedly impressed upon him, it is not his responsibility to care for Richard. The opposite, he’s informed.
He sets the mug in the exact same position he found it, down to the angle of the handle.
He hesitates at the edge of the cream tile floor. In the sticker drawer, there is a thick black marker. He retrieves it. He coaxes open the right refrigerator door so that pale yellow light shines out.
With perfectly straight lines and impeccable script, he edits slightly the repugnant star chart. When he finishes, he nods once, satisfied.
Wallace will have to start earning his stickers quickly if he wishes to catch up to Damian.