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Chapter Text

Damian

4 months, 14 days, and 15 hours. That was how long it had been since Damian arrived. He glanced at the clock and corrected himself, 16 hours. The butler would be arriving with his food soon. He wished he knew the man’s name, but Wayne seemed to be trying to isolate him completely.

Arriving in America, Damian had thought his life would be great. He compared it to the “American Dream” he had read about before, but the moment his mother left, Wayne took him to a room in the far corner of the manor and locked the door. For safety he had said.

4 months, 14 days, and 16 hours.

In the first week, Wayne visited plenty. He would talk, mostly about the league and how they were different in Gotham, but he talked.

3 months, 26 days, and 7 hours since Wayne last came to the corner room. The only one who seemed to remember Damian existed was the butler. One that remained silent besides a few words, not that Damian had tried talking to the man.

Damian sat on the ledge of the window. He couldn’t see much of who came and went, his room off the side and only showing part of the backyard and a little of the side yard, but he still saw enough. Wayne’s wards would sometimes go out into the yard for “games”. It looked fun.

Of what he could tell from their time spent outside, “Cass” was his favorite. She was quiet and gave off both the aura of calm and that of an assassin. Perhaps next on his list would be “Duke”, not because Damian would “like him”, but because he was painfully normal and his reactions were the best to draw.

Damian glanced down at the paper in front of him. One thing he did not lack in the room was paper and pencils. Another thing he didn’t lack was time, so he found himself drawing.

Specifically, he started drawing 3 months, 11 days, and 10 hours ago. The number of pages he’d filled up had to have been in the hundreds (enough to fill up the drawers of his desk), not that he’d made a dent in the number of papers he had. His earlier ones were bloody, made to resemble his home, but more recently they were … calmer. Like the wards playing in the yard, or the birds he saw flying by. A few pages were filled up by the unnamed butler, too.

Like clockwork, the butler knocked on the door before the sound of a key turning was heard, and he came inside with a tray of food. Mashed potatoes, peas, and–Damian had to keep a disgusted look off his face–a steak.

The plate was placed on the table, along with a glass of water. The butler folded the tray under his arm and walked out of the room, the lock clicking behind him. Damian waited for the sound of footsteps to fade away before he stood and made his way over to the desk.

He took up the fork and began eating until he reached the steak. It was the last thing on the plate; it had been a little bit since he was last served meat–2 weeks, 3 days–and in that time, he had come to realize he no longer wished to eat it. He had fallen in love with the animals he’d had the privilege to see and simply could not bear the thought of eating them. He believed there was a term for it in the English language, one he had not been taught growing up.

He nudged it again with his fork, wondering what would happen if he didn’t eat it. Wayne no longer bothered with him, but was the man simply waiting for him to mess up? If Damian didn’t eat the steak, would that be seen as disrespectful?

4 months, 14 days, and 17 hours.
3 months, 26 days, and 7 hours.

Would he even know if Damian didn’t eat the steak? The man clearly no longer cared what he did. Standing, he left the steak in place on the plate, stacking up the silverware and empty cup next to it. He returned to the window ledge and picked up his pencil once more.

On the paper was an unfinished drawing of the unnamed butler.
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Damian

4 months, 15 days, and 16 hours.

The butler stayed this time, in the room as Damian ate. He cleaned and dusted, and put the old bed sheets in a laundry basket before putting down new ones. For dinner, there was once again meat, this time chicken.

He waited as long as possible, trying to slow down eating until all that was left was chicken, but the butler was still there. He could swear the man was doing it on purpose; he had dusted the same spot at least 6 times. Damian scowled down at the plate, pushing it away and standing up.

The butler froze, but Damian just walked past him and sat down on the window ledge. The man looked at Damian, then at the unfinished plate of food, and lastly back at the boy. He walked over, grabbed the plate, and looked over the food.

“Was it not to your liking?”

Damian froze. 4 months, 15 days, and 17 hours. Not once had the butler spoken directly to him. He looked over to see the man watching him patiently, waiting for him to speak. Was he being punished? Was the butler giving him the chance to come clean? Damian did not understand the customs and norms of the manor, and it infuriated him.

“I simply prefer not to eat meat,” Damian finally settled on. Prepared for something, anything with his eyes shut closed.

It did not come. When he opened his eyes, he saw the butler smiling before he grabbed the plate, cup, and utensils. He left the room, leaving Damian even more confused than before.
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Alfred

Leaving the young master’s room Alfred deposited the plate and such in the sink. He did not bother to wash it before turning on his heel and marching down to Master Bruce’s office.

He didn’t knock as he entered the room, Bruce looked up with a confused look. The office was a wreck, with papers and old coffee cups everywhere. Bruce was hunched over his desk in a way that made Alfred’s back hurt just looking at it.

“Alfred, I don’t believe it is time for patrol,” Bruce said, glancing at the clock on his desk.

“No, sir, it is not. I have merely come to inform you that your son is a vegetarian,” Alfred informed. His hands clasped in front of him as he watched Bruce’s face run through a range of emotions.

“I did not think any of them had shown interest in becoming a vegetarian unless you mean Tim’s diet of coffee,” Bruce seemed to be running through a list of all his children, gazing at the family portrait on his desk to double-check.

“No, I did not mean Master Timothy’s unhealthy diet. I meant young Damian,” Alfred informed. Bruce stilled, watching the butler for any sign of a joke, which he did not find.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Alfred took it as an invitation to continue speaking.

“I think it is about time you visit your younges–”

“Alfred,” Bruce cut him off with a nearly growling voice, “that thing is not my son; my youngest son died the moment he was born into the League of Assassins.”

Alfred was frozen, through all his years of training, of working as a butler, of raising Bruce and his hordes of children; he had never felt so strongly to slap someone.

“I believe it would be in your best interest to start thinking about him as your son again before you lose him twice.” Alfred walked away, closing the door behind him to let his Master think.

Chapter Text

Damian

4 months, 17 days, 8 hours.

The butler returned almost two days later, not to deliver breakfast or lunch, but to sit on the bed. The old man sat there for minutes on end. Not doing anything, just … observing.

After a few minutes, Damian relaxed and sat back down on the window ledge. When he glanced over, he saw the Butler having pulled out a shirt and sewing supplies from nowhere. He was fixing a hole in the side of it.

Damian slid the paper he had left on the ledge a few days ago closer to himself. Picking up a pencil and beginning to erase a few things. With the Butler sitting in the same room, he could now see all the tiny details and the mistakes he had made.

He was putting on the finishing touches when the old man cleared his throat. Damian looked up to see him now standing up, shirt and sewing kit put away.

“I will see you for lunch, Master Damian.”

“Wait!” Damian said before he could second-guess himself, “What is your name?”

“Alfred Pennyworth, but you may call me Alfred,” and with that, he left. Damian watched, a small smile gracing his lips.
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Damian

4 months, 24 days, and 12 hours.

Pennyworth—Damian will never be so disrespectful as to call him Alfred—visited often after that first day. Breaking down his perfectly constructed walls. In only a week, Damian found himself trusting the old man.

When the door opened, Damian was expecting that Pennyworth might have decided to visit him twice, or maybe he’d lost track of time, and it was already dinner. What he was not expecting was for one of the wards to walk in. “Dick”.

He looked around the room, eyes settling on Damian with a wide grin. It was … unnerving. He approached quickly, invading the boy’s space by sitting mere inches away from him on the window ledge.

“Hi, I’m Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick!” he extended his hand. Damian looked down at the hand and back to the man offering it. He didn’t know what to do with it; he’d seen people shake hands before, but in the league, it was nothing more than a method of distraction. Perhaps he was asking Damian to hand over any weapons? But he had none unless one counted a pencil.

Grayson started to fidget, much like Damian used to before it was beaten trained out of him. Was he really nervous, or was it just a way of fooling Damian, maybe getting him to let his guard down? Was this a test? Was Pennyworth’s sudden kindness a test too? Had he failed it?

“I-umm- your drawing looks great! Is that Alfred?” Grayson asked, pulling the paper closer to himself. Damian let out a sound that sounded almost like a bird squawking. He placed his hand over the drawing. Grayson laughed, he laughed! It had to be a test, Damian failed it!

The man laughed for a few seconds more before opening his eyes and abruptly stopping. He stared at Damian for a few seconds, glancing down at the drawing covered by the boy’s hand.

“You alright, Dami?”

The boy’s face blushed bright red, not only at the nickname but also at the embarrassment of being called out. He pulls the drawing closer, trying to cover it. Grayson made no attempt to pull it back closer.

“I apologize.” Damian hung his head low, waiting for the pain of punishment.

“What- why are you apologizing?” Grayson questioned. Was Damian supposed to answer? Should he list the reasons he has failed? Must he admit to all mistakes so punishment can be delivered fairly?

“Because I have failed to pass the tests given to me.”

“Damian-”

“I will accept any punishment given to me.”

“Hold on-“

“My life is yours to take if you so desire.”

“Damian! You aren’t going to be punished,” Grayson gently lifted Damian’s head. “I was not testing you. I liked your drawing. It’s very well done.” And if that was not the most confusing thing Damian had heard. There was no liking anything he does, he is only satisfactory.

“But-”

“Nope. There is no reason for me to punish you, and I’m sorry I scared you.” Damian blinked multiple times. This was already the longest conversation he’d had in 4 months, 24 days, and, he spared a glance at the clock, 13 hours.

“Why are you here? If not to test or punish me?” Damian questioned. Grayson sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“I didn’t even know you were here, none of us did; not until I heard Alfred mention you,” Grayson looked out the window as he spoke, “I love Bruce, but he can be an idiot. You don’t deserve to be stuck in here all day.”

Damian glanced down at his paper. 17 minutes since he and Grayson first spoke. 17, 17, 17. How long does it take to care? To want the best for someone with no reward for yourself?

“Tomorrow, I formally invite you to dinner with the family tomorrow.” Damian’s head snapped up—4 months, 24 days, 13 hours, since he left the room.

“4 months, 5 days, 4 hours, before you came, I had not seen anyone besides Pennyworth in 4 months, 5 days, and 4 hours. It has been 4 months, 24 days, and 13 hours since I was last outside of this room.” Grayson did not speak. He inched closer, moving the paper out of his way. When the man’s arms rose, Damian tensed, preparing for pain.

Instead, he felt those warm arms wrap around him. So warm, so … alive. There was a word for it in English, one he’d rarely heard. A hug. He was receiving a hug; he could count on one hand the number of times he was given one.

“You are my brother, and I will never let you be alone for so long again. That’s a promise,” Richard whispered into his shoulder. Damian practically melted into the hug. It was so warm, surrounding him like a blanket. He wished he could feel like that all the time. Finding himself craving a comfort he never knew existed.
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Alfred

The butler pushed open the door and stopped in his tracks. On the window seat sat Dick and Damian. The older boy practically cradled the younger in his arms. The setting sun illuminated them like something out of a picture.

The sight was one Alfred used to dream he would see one day, to see all of Master Bruce’s children acting as a family. It was enough to bring a few tears to his eyes.

Wordlessly, he placed dinner on Damian's desk and exited the room. He reminded himself to thank Dick later.

Chapter Text

Dick

By the time Dick had left Damian’s room, it was well past the end of dinner; not that he cared. His mind was much too occupied by what he had been told.

Over 4 months! No one deserved to be locked in the same room for 4 months (besides maybe Joker but that was another rabbit hole). If he hadn’t had time to cool down he would have marched up to Bruce and punched him in the nose.

It was a long walk down the hall, passing by unused rooms. He’d rarely even been in this part of the manor. The halls had a light layer of dust, the walls devoid of paintings and pictures. It felt like a ghost town.

The worst part of it all was that Damian didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Dick stormed through the halls leading to Bruce’s office, not bothering to knock as he entered. The man in question was on the phone, barely sparing a glance at Dick when he entered.

“We’re going to have to finish this conversation later,” Bruce said, placing his phone down on his desk with a sigh.

“For someone who claims to love their kids, you sure have a shit way of showing it.”

“Chum-“

“No, that isn’t working today. When was the last time you talked to Damian?” Dick continued before Bruce could open his mouth, “I’ll answer for you, over 4 months.”

“Alfred has … expressed … similar concerns about Damian. I will … consider my options at a later date.” Bruce pushed some papers around on the desk, looking for a reason to stop the conversation.

“You won’t be considering your options because he is joining us for dinner tomorrow, and that’s final,” Dick had to walk away before he did something he’d regret. Just looking at Bruce’s face made his rage bubble up to the surface again.
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Cass

Cass saw things others didn’t. Like the way Alfred grimaced when he bent to grab something, or how Duke would sometimes squint like looking into something bright that no one else could see.

The latest thing she noticed was Dick. He had a frown so very unlike himself, and his fists clenched and unclenched. He pointedly refused to look at pictures with Bruce in them, going so far as to scowl slightly when he saw the family portrait. After watching it happen for an entire day, she finally decided to say something.

“Brother upset,” she poked his cheek.

“Did you know about Damian?” He ignored what she said to ask a question. Cass tilted her head slightly. She had never heard of someone called Damian, besides perhaps in passing. She gently shook her head.

Dick sighed and leaned back against the wall. He looked to the ceiling, seeming sad? For once, she didn’t know; he displayed too many emotions for her to boil it down to just one word.

“He’s Bruce’s kid, biologically. He’s also in one of the unused rooms and hasn’t been let out in over 4 months.” Dick looked back at her, tears in the corner of his eyes, “My brother has been in the same house as me for months, and I didn’t even know.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say; she was unsure if there was a right thing to say, nothing she read about social interactions prepared her for this.

“He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight,” Dick looked up towards the ceiling, “I will not let Bruce ruin another kid.”

Cass watched him walk away. The interaction was short, but it worked its way into her mind. Dick didn’t say which unused room, but he didn’t have to. The top floor in the residential wing, no one stayed there.

She found herself walking up there, unusually upset at the long distance. Cass pushed open every door to check for the boy, finding nothing until she reached the end of the hall.

It was the perfect spot to hide something—or someone. Her hand fit snugly on the doorknob, the only one in that hall devoid of dust. Her heart was pounding, but it was close to it.

The door squeaked when she opened it; the hinges rusted over the years. Cass’s eyes immediately met the bright green eyes of a young boy.

“Damian?” Cass questioned, carefully watching the boy’s reaction.

“Why? Did I do something wrong? I thought I was being good, I thought-” Cass cut Damian off when she pulled him into her arms. She never really understood Dick’s love for hugs until she got one during a panic attack.

“Nothing wrong,” she reassured, rocking him slightly. Damian practically melted into the hug, tension releasing from his body.

They stayed like that for a few seconds longer before Damian pulled away, his face flush from embarrassment.

“Why are you here?” His voice was small, and his shoulders hunched in on himself.

“Meet you,” Cass crouched to look him in the eyes, “little brother.”

“I-wha-but-” Damian stumbled over his words.

“No buts. Little brother,” she placed her hand on his head, lightly ruffling his hair. It was a little overgrown and not well taken care of, but she didn’t care. Her brother could be covered in blood and dirt, and she’d still ruffle his hair.

Damian was speechless, his mouth hanging open slightly. Cass smiled and took his hand in hers. She led him over to the window ledge and sat down, just like Dick had the day before. Damian followed her, his mouth now closed, but his eyes still displaying his confusion.

Cass hummed quietly, watching her newest little brother. His hair hung around his ears and was very messy. His hands were covered in pencil and calluses. His eyes were bright green, like Jason’s eyes. The boy’s clothes were old and ill-fitting, like Bruce had just thrown whatever spare clothes he could find at him.

All in all, Cass could see why Dick was angry. Bruce seemed so different from her father, yet he acts so cruelly. The man spent months trying to convince her that every kid deserves love, only to lock his away. It was hypocritical!

Cass looked down at the young boy, and she was certain she’d never let Bruce hurt him again. This wasn’t his son; it was her little brother. He hasn’t earned the right to call Damian his son.

The room overlooked part of the side and back garden. Cass wondered if Damian sat her often, watching his siblings play games. The siblings he probably thought he’d never meet. She wondered if that’s why she often felt watched when she was outside.

“You were my favorite,” Damian whispered, picking at the loose threads of his pants.

Cass tilted her head, urging the boy to go on. He blushed a light pink and looked out the window, but kept speaking.

“To watch, I mean- when you guys play games, I enjoyed watching you play. You remind me a bit of my mother in the way you move. You’re calming, like the desert on a clear night,” Damian admitted, his eyes following a leaf as it fell to the ground.

If seeing Damian had stuck a knife in her heart, then his words were what caused it to twist. Cass placed her hand over his.

“Secret: you’re my favorite.” She stage whispered, giggling a little at Damian’s look of shock.

“What? No. But you just met me!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands around. It only made her laugh harder, clutching her stomach.

Damian stopped and stared before a little laugh wiggled its way out of his throat. Cass watched him, determined she’d never let that laugh go unheard again.

Chapter Text

Damian

Damian smoothed his shirt over for the fifth time since leaving his room, checking his nails for any dirt beneath them for the third time, and tucking his hair behind his ear for the thirteenth. It was easy things to count, just like the number of steps he’d taken (128) and how many paintings they’d passed (14).

His shoes clicked on the wood floor as Pennyworth guided him throw the manor. Damian expected to be led to the dining room, but the man instead brought him to the kitchen.

“I thought you’d like to sit with me as I prepare dinner,” the butler explained, already moving around the kitchen like second nature. The boy sat down at the counter, leaning against the back of the wooden stool. Damian would never admit it, but something about the calm of the room was already making him relax.

His shoulders untensed, and he stopped incessantly checking his clothes for wrinkles. Pennyworth pulled out item after item, simultaneously baking bread and cutting vegetables. The room grew warmer as pleasant smells rose into the air. Damian was almost impressed that the man wasn’t overheating in his uniform as he hovered over the stove.

“I heard Miss Cassandra visited you this morning,” he commented casually, not even turning away from the food. Damian forced himself not to tense at the mention of his morning meeting. Cassandra said it was fine; she said he wasn’t in trouble.

“Yes, we had a … discussion,” Damian looked down at his hands, folding them neatly in his lap.

“Well, I hope it was nothing too heavy. Worry can ruin your appetite, you know.” Pennyworth moved over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle from it. He carefully poured it into a cup and slid it across the counter towards Damian.

Damian inspected the drink; it was tinted yellow, but also clear. He looked back at Pennyworth, slightly confused.

“Worry can spoil the appetite, but sugar can always bring it back. It’s apple juice,” he leaned in closer to whisper, “The full sugar kind. Don’t tell your siblings, it’s not good for them, so I hid it.” Pennyworth chuckled and returned to the stove.

Damian picked up the plastic cup and took a sip. It was sweet, very sweet, and tasted like apples. He took another sip, having to stop himself from drinking it all in a few seconds. The butler gave a knowing look and smiled.

“Juice?”

Damian jumped a little when Cassandra appeared behind him. She smiled so sweetly at Pennyworth that you’d think she hadn’t just scared him half to death.

“Miss Cassandra. My heart cannot handle you sneaking around the manor like that. The juice is for young master Damian, I know you snuck some into the manor a few days ago anyway.” Pennyworth pointed his wooden spoon at her in accusation.

“Busted,” a lower voice rang out. Damian turned around to find himself face-to-face with Duke. The teen was on his phone and hadn’t even noticed Damian sitting there yet.

“Mean!” Cassandra declared, turning her back on the teen. He laughed and finally looked up from his phone, only to stop dead in his tracks.

“Hold up, I think I missed an episode or twenty. When did Bruce get another kid?” He questioned, looking between the butler and Damian.

“I arrived 4 months, 25 days, and 14 hours ago. My name is Damian Al Ghul,” Damian stood up, extending his hand. Duke took it in a very loose grip and shook.

“I’m Duke Thomas- wait, did you say 4 months?” Thomas’ expression somehow became even more confused, if that was even possible.

“Yes, I’m afraid Damian is correct in his estimate of time. Bruce decided to keep Damian away from the other household members. He said it was for safety,” Pennyworth couldn’t look anyone in the eyes, only staring at the towel in his hand.

“Bruce cruel.” Cassandra crossed her arms. Damian’s head whipped around to look at Pennyworth, expecting the man to say something about the slight against his master, yet he said nothing.

“For safety? What was he afraid we’d eat you up?” Thomas joked, letting out a forced laugh.

“Hardly, I am a trained assassin and heir to the Demon’s Head. He was afraid of what I would do to the residents of his household,” Damian explained, returning to his seat.

“Oh.” Thomas took a few steps back, “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” His voice was slightly higher, even a little nervous. Damian ignored it in favor of returning to watching Pennyworth cook.
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Duke

To say Duke was nervous would be the understatement of a lifetime. Al Ghul, he was sitting in the same room as an Al Ghul! He knows Cass is also a trained assassin, but she didn’t introduce herself as the heir to one of their most dangerous enemies!

Ok, Duke is freaking out a lot, but it was hard not to. It sort of ended up very poorly the last time he got mixed up with a rogue, and he wasn’t looking for a repeat. That meant he’d do his best to stay polite but also stay away from the kid.

Though that seemed to be getting harder by the minute. Duke took his normal seat at the dining table (on the end away from Bruce, sat next to Cass, and across from an empty chair). He didn’t think about where Damian would sit. So when Alfred guided the kid to sit across from him, Duke realized his mistake.

Maybe he could fake being sick? Or he could run up stairs to “do homework”? Or he could just slip away to the restroom?

One glance at Alfred told him his plans were useless. The butler was giving him the look. Duke slumped in his seat and resigned himself to his fate.

The kid sat stiffly at the table, staring at the ground in front of him. Cass reached her arm across the table to tap Damian’s hand, a small smile on her face. He nodded slightly, turning his gaze to the door as it opened.

Dick entered first, jumping with energy and immediately running over to Damian and ruffling the boy’s hair. The man talked a mile a minute, and Damian just sat there listening. It was clear they had met before, and considering it was Dick who planned this family dinner, Damian was probably part of the reason for the spontaneous dinner plans.

“Master Richard, if you would take your seat.” Alfred came in carrying several pots that smelled delicious.

“Fine. Also, Jason never responded, and Steph said she’s busy throwing tea in the Boston Harbor.” Dick threw out the second half like it was something normal, not even caring when Duke whipped his head around to stare at the man. He blinked a few times before remembering that in this family, stuff like that probably is normal.

Babs arrived next; Duke didn’t even know she was coming. She didn’t comment on Damian but also barely acknowledged him, instead choosing to roll up to the table next to Dick.

Bruce and Tim came in last, both looking tired for different reasons. The moment Tim sat down, his head was on the table, and Duke could hear soft snores coming from him. Alfred shook his head but didn’t say anything about it.

The first half of dinner was normal, if a bit quiet. The conversations were short, and everyone was doing their best to ignore the kid at the end of the table. That was until Bruce finally opened his mouth.

“Are you satisfied, Dick?” Bruce questioned, not even looking at the man as he spoke.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes, you’ve pulled your stunt and got your dinner. Now He can return to his room,” Bruce set down his utensils.

“Return to his room? You can’t just have one family dinner and call it good! That is your son, Bruce! He deserves more than to be locked away in his room!” Dick yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Duke hadn’t seen the man this mad in ages; it was almost scary.

“Son? That Thing is no son of mine!” Bruce yelled back, slowly rising from his seat.

Damian was silent as they argued; he just stared at his food, no longer eating. Babs left partway through, barely noticeable compared to the screaming match. Cass stood, trying to interject, but her voice was too quiet to be heard.

“That thing is a Monster! ” Bruce screamed.

“Enough!” Duke finally yelled, slamming his hands on the table. The room fell silent, everyone turning to look at him. Even Damian abandoned his staring match with his plate.

“That 'Thing' is a child. Your child! I don’t care if you wanted him or not; he’s here now. You’ve said yourself that everyone deserves a chance at redemption, yet you won’t spare one for a kid?” Duke felt out of breath as he argued.

“But-”

“I don’t care. No child is responsible for the sins of their family. Look at yourself, Bruce, the only monster here is you,” Duke spat. They were locked in a tense silence for a few more seconds before Bruce relented.

“Fine! Fine, he doesn’t have to return to the room, but the moment he steps out of line, I am sending him away.” Bruce stormed out of the room like a child throwing a tantrum.

Duke looked back at Damian, really looked at him. Before him was not an assassin like he’d once seen, or a monster like Bruce claimed. It was a child, one who is scared and alone and deserves so much more than he was given.

He’s family.

Chapter Text

Damian.

The door to Damian’s room was open. The hallway was mocking his hesitance. He could still see Wayne’s face when he threatened to send Damian away. When he called him a monster.

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway. His eyes slammed shut, and his body tensed, prepared for something, anything! But nothing came. Gradually, he opened his eyes and looked around. The hallway was quiet; no one was waiting around the corner to punish him for stepping out of line.

Just Damian and his newfound freedom. He started walking slowly, but soon his steps picked up in speed until he was practically running through the house. The empty halls were filled with the sounds of his footsteps.

He ran for 2 minutes and 17 seconds before he finally slowed, his legs slightly aching. It’d been 4 months and 26 days since he’d last run like that, and it felt amazing. He smiled, taking the stairs (34 steps total) down two at a time until he arrived in the foyer and stopped.

.
.
.

“Jason?”

The man turned slowly. They made eye contact, and Damian knew this was the man he knew in the league, but Damian was not the boy he once was. There was no recognition in Jason’s eyes as he narrowed them to stare.

“Did Bruce adopt another kid?” He asked out loud, not even addressing Damian directly. Grayson poked his head out from the kitchen and froze.

“I didn’t know you were coming today, Jason,” Grayson spoke slowly, carefully.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to know what the deal with the spontaneous dinner was, now I see it was just Bruce’s fucking adoption problem.” Jason scowled, already turning to leave. Damian watched him, desperate to run into the arms of a man who no longer recognized him.

“I am Damian Al Ghul, the son of the bat,” Damian spoke up, hoping Jason would remember. The man froze and barked out a harsh laugh.

“Al Ghul? He had a fucking kid with Talia?” Jason almost doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach. “Where’s the bastard right now? We need to have a few words.” Jason stopped laughing, his hand coming to rest on a poorly concealed gun.

“He won’t be back for another hour. Don’t do anything rash, Jason.” Grayson frowned.

Jason rolled his eyes and stomped away, pulling out a phone and typing away on it. Damian watched him leave, holding himself from calling out for the man. Pushing away the hope that he’d suddenly recognize Damian and they could go back to the way it once was.

“Sorry about him, Damian. Jason can be a bit … brash sometimes.” Grayson chose his words carefully, hiding a grimace with an awkward smile.

Damian looked down the hall that Jason walked into and followed the path without another word. He ignored Grayson’s questions as he looked into every open door, trying to find Jason.

It was the 8th door that he got lucky with. Inside was a large library, and on the other side of the room sat Jason. The man had a copy of Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park, his eyes following the words on the pages. The library was quiet, with only the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Damian crept forward, carefully to keep his steps light and soundless. Light shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating Jason and allowing Damian to get a good look at the man finally.

He was … different. In a good way. He looked much healthier, strong muscles, taller, clean-shaven, with only subtle eye bags. Nothing like the man constantly on the brink of death that Damian had first met.

It was a good change, and Damian was happy about it.

Damian just wished that change hadn’t come with Jason forgetting Damian.

He pulled a book off one of the shelves, a collection of Greek myths, and settled into an armchair across from Jason. The man barely looked up before returning his eyes to his book. Damian breathed a silent sigh of relief. He knew from experience it wasn’t easy to gain the man’s trust.

Damian slipped off his shoes (Alfred told him he should wear them inside, but he’d never place them on furniture) and curled up in the armchair. He flipped to the first myth and started reading.
__________
Jason.

The kid followed him…

God, he was going soft.

Jason glanced up at the kid, who was curled up in an armchair reading a book of Greek myths. His shoes sat neatly on the floor next to him, and Jason definitely didn’t smile a little at that.

The kid was definitely a mix between Bruce and Talia. The black hair, green eyes, and the face shape; he could pinpoint where each feature came from. What he couldn’t pinpoint was where he’d seen the kid.

Jason sighed. Bruce’s endless supply of kids would be the death of him.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, careful not to seem too interested.

“4 months and 26 days.”

There went any attempt to seem distant. Jason’s book fell from his hands, the page he was on lost to the floor. He didn’t care as his head whipped around to face the kid. The details faded into focus, the blurry memory of a young, caring boy.

Damian didn’t even look up from his book.

“Where were you… Where have you been staying?” Jason questioned, cautious not to scare the kid off.

“A spare bedroom.”

A spare bedroom. A SPARE FUCKING BEDROOM?

Not Damian’s room, a spare room. Because Bruce is a fucking asshole who can’t take care of his children. Because Bruce will never learn his lessons.

Damian looked up, a slight tremble to his hands.

“Have I done something wrong? Please don’t tell, Wayne, I don’t want to be sent away,” Damian practically pleaded, the book in his hands forgotten about.

“No. No! Bruce will not send you away. That Asshole will do nothing if I have anything to say about it.” Jason stood, turning to the door, seething with rage.

Green crept in around the edges of his vision, taunting him. Bruce would be back soon, and Jason would be there to greet him. For the sake of his brother.
__________
Damian

Damian hadn’t expected Jason’s outburst. To watch the man he once called a brother storm away. He followed hesitantly as the man stormed down the hallway, footsteps echoing heavily. His hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, pulling at loose threads.

It didn’t take long to reach the foyer, just as Wayne walked in. He was shrugging off his coat, a slight smile on his face, when he noticed Jason. The smile didn’t last long when he noticed how angry the younger man looked, and his eyes settled on Damian’s small form.

“I see you met It.” Wayne passed off his jacket to Pennyworth, who looked a few seconds away from blocking Jason from pouncing.

“It? IT!?” He screamed, getting up in Wayne’s face.

The commotion drew the attention of the manor’s other residents. Grayson appeared behind Damian, trying to guide him out of the foyer, but the boy refused. He’d witnessed Jason like this many times before and knew he must be there for his brother even if the man no longer recognized him.

“His name is Damian! He is a living person, a child! You don’t get to preach morals yet lock your own kid away, you don’t get to claim love for me when you don’t even have the littlest of love for your son, you don’t get the title of father!” Jason screamed, getting up in Wayne’s face.

“It’s a monster!”

“He’s a child.”

The room fell into a tense silence.

“It was for safety. I don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s a trained assassin-”

“So is half of this fucked up family,” Jason grabbed Wayne by the collar. He was no longer the out-of-control mad, but the calm, calculating mad that was far more dangerous.

“Jay-”

“No, you don’t get to talk. You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of the window. That right there is my brother, and you will treat him as such. Count yourself lucky that I’m leaving now before I kill you, but trust me, if anything happens to Damain, you will learn that there are deaths not even you could come back from.” Jason let go, watching Bruce stumble a bit before turning his back on the man.

Damian nervously stepped back as Jason approached, the man kneeling to be shorter than the boy.

“I have to leave now, but you can always call me back. Remember, keep your eyes to the stars.”

“And feet on the ground,” Damian finished the saying, eyes wide, “You remember?”

“Of course.” Jason’s eyes softened. He stood, walking away. He shoulder checked Bruce on his way out.

“Be safe,” Damian called out.

“When am I ever?” Jason replied, letting the doors fall shut behind him.