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Damian was taught from a young age that he couldn’t trust anyone. He could never rely on others to help him, because they would eventually betray him. Love was a weakness, and one that was more than easily exploited. As a result, he was extremely independent, and fiercely protective of said independence. Akin to a mother lion defending her cubs, he would growl and claw at any perceived threat to his autonomy, more than ready to prove himself. It was just the way he was.
When he moved into the manor with his father and adoptive siblings, he watched how they interacted. Saw how they depended on each other. Their lives and secrets tightly intertwined, so that when one of them experienced a pull in some direction, everyone else was pulled along too. From watching Jason in particular, it became evident that these strings were so tangled that it was hard to unravel one’s life from the network between the family, even when one wanted to. Jason had been betrayed, and yet he was loyal to his family (even if a bit hostile).
It perplexed Damian to no end. He couldn’t imagine being so consumed by familial ties, tied down and trapped in such a way. Why do they allow themselves to be so… compromised by one another?
Needless to say, he did his best to keep himself out of it. He never had to rely on anyone before, and that certainly wasn’t going to change now. That isn’t to say that the others didn’t try to bond with him, of course. Damian found Bruce to be extremely overbearing, stepping into the position of father to Damian far too enthusiastically. As far as Damian was concerned, it was nothing more than a farce. Bruce didn’t know he existed for many years, how can he suddenly claim to want to support Damian in the way he does? Of course, this also came with extreme overprotectiveness, a reluctance to let Damian be his own person whilst under Bruce’s roof. Damian fought back relentlessly against him in that regard. Alfred was also protective over him, but not to the same extent as Bruce was. Damian didn’t pay the elder man much mind.
Dick had evidently taken a liking to Damian, for reasons the young boy couldn’t understand. He at the very least understood Damian’s need for freedom, and therefore helped him find loopholes in Bruce’s rules, and allowed him to experience life where he could. Jason, despite the two of them having some history back in the League, didn’t speak much. Jason just simply wasn’t around. But there were unspoken gestures of welcome when he was at the manor, such as when grabbing everyone blankets during a family movie night, he always grabbed one for Damian too. A quiet pat on the back or hand on the shoulder. Tim and him didn’t speak much either, but Tim made more of an active effort to exist in Damian’s world. They had developed a silent kind of communication, whether through looks or gestures. Tim kept an eye out for him (or, as Damian thought, an eye on him).
Damian made his feelings towards the others extremely clear, keeping his distance as much as he could. He made sure that everyone else understood he was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he did just that. He refused any care from the others, taking their offers as an insult, or an insinuation he was helpless regardless of anything they said. He knew deep down that they didn’t like him. He was a killer at heart, ruthless and cold. That’s all they saw him as. He didn’t want or need their pity and false niceties.
With all of this said, it of course is no surprise that Damian takes it hard when he is benched from being Robin for one reason or another.
“It’s too dangerous, Damian. I need you to stay here.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You’re not going, and that’s final.”
“Father-”
Without another word, Bruce hops into the batmobile where Dick is waiting for him, and the two of them drive out of the cave, leaving Damian alone, standing in the dust left behind. He watches silently as the vehicle fades from view, his fist clenching, jaw tight. He scoffs and mutters to himself.
“Too dangerous.”
He stomps off towards the training area within the cave, complete with mats, exercise equipment, and a training dummy, to which he immediately strikes with his fist.
“Too dangerous. I’ve faced far worse when I was younger. How could this be too dangerous?”
He brings himself into a proper fighting stance facing the dummy, before charging forward with a cry, throwing a right hook, following up with a left.
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need protection.”
He dodges an imaginary punch before twisting to kick the dummy.
“I’m not a liability.”
Another blow with each fist.
“I’m not a failure.”
Damian pounces on the dummy, knocking it to the floor.
“I cannot fail.”
He unleashes a barrage of blows, punch after brutal punch.
“I must be better. I will be better.”
He repeats that mantra to himself over and over. He must be better. He must. He cannot allow himself to be considered a failure. His legacy depends on it. His life depends on it. Failures don’t survive in this world. Failures are dead weight, too costly, needing to depend on others to get by. Damian will not be a failure. He will not be a burden.
Damian’s vision begins to blur slightly, and he doesn’t know why. But he pays it no mind. He won’t let that stop him from being better. He continues to slam his fists into the dummy, hit after hit after hit. He allows the rhythm of each swing to lull him into a state of numbness, taking him outside of his body. He almost watches himself as he keeps going, keeps attacking the dummy.
It’s a strange sensation, almost as if he was floating in a body of water. It isn’t calm, just… empty. A state of nothingness, a void that he finds himself within. As he drifts, whispers fill his ears.
Weak.
Worthless.
Naïve.
The whispers begin to disturb the water, causing waves to crash over his head. He fights to stay above the surface, to not let himself be pulled under by those haunting words. But the voices grab his arms and legs, trying to pull him down, down, down. He thrashes against them, resisting their weight.
Burden.
Useless.
Pest.
His head strains to rise above the surface, desperate for a gasp of air. He twists and fights against the hands gripping him, but to no avail. He finds himself pulled under, holding his breath as he continues to struggle.
Damian.
Damian.
Damian.
Running out of air, Damian gives every last bit he has to escape, but the hands pulling him down might as well be iron chains. Heavy, sturdy, and inescapable. It doesn’t work. Resigning himself to his fate, his body goes limp.
Failure.
He stares at the surface of the water as he sinks further down, a gentle light shining through, softly illuminating his descent into the depths below. It’s silent, not a sound to be heard. Just as he is about to close his eyes and let himself go, a hand breaks through the surface of the water, reaching down to him.
“DAMIAN!”
Damian inhales sharply as he is suddenly shoved back into his body, aware of arms wrapping around his torso and pulling him backwards. Too disorientated to fight gravity, he falls with the person behind him, who hits the floor with a grunt. It takes him a few moments to recalibrate and take in his surroundings. The arms around him are Bruce’s, still clad in his batman gear. He and Dick must have returned from the mission. Damian didn’t hear the batmobile. What happened to it? Did they return by foot? Damian wouldn’t have missed the sound of the engine.
He becomes aware of Bruce shifting to sit both of them up, and Dick moving the dummy away from where it was still laying on the floor, before coming back to crouch down in front of Damian, gently taking his hands in his own.
“Little wing, what were you doing?”
Damian doesn’t have a response. What is Dick talking about? He was just training.
“Go get Alfred. I’ll take him to the medical bay.”
Medical bay? Why does he need to go to the medical bay? Before he can summon the wherewithal to verbalise that question, he is lifted off the ground and carried by Bruce. He instinctually tries to pull away from his grip, but Bruce simply shushes him.
“It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Bruce sits him on one of the beds, before sitting next to him, wrapping his cape around him and gently pulling him into his side. Damian momentarily tenses before settling into Bruce’s hold. When he hears footsteps only a few moments later, he lifts his head to see both Alfred and Dick approaching. Bruce takes both of Damian’s hands in his own before holding them out towards Alfred, who inspects them carefully. Damian finally looks at his own hands, and sees now that they are covered in blood, the skin bruised and torn, almost as if his fingers had been broken. They have begun to swell slightly. He doesn’t exactly know how that happened.
As Alfred begins to tend to his injuries, he turns his attention back to the conversation Dick and Bruce are having.
“-cams. He’s been at it since we left.”
“Just punching the training dummy?”
“He was talking to himself too.”
“Saying?”
Damian suddenly feels a wave of exhaustion overcome him, and he allows his eyes to close, unconsciously nuzzling into Bruce’s side. He doesn’t catch the rest of the conversation between Bruce and Dick before he doses off.
When Damian wakes, he finds himself in bed. The curtains are drawn, but it looks like it is sunny outside, so it must be the following day. He looks down and takes note of his hands, now properly bandaged. He gently opens and closes his hands, registering the slight ache in the muscle and sensitivity of the skin. He glances around, and sees Bruce sitting in a chair next to his bed, typing away on his computer. Damian watches him for a few moments in silence. He knows Bruce is aware that Damian is staring at him, but is choosing not to react to it. Not until Damian acknowledges his presence at least.
“Father.”
Bruce turns his head to look at him and gives him a small smile before setting his laptop to one side and leaning forward.
“Hey chum.”
Damian scans Bruce’s face carefully, looking for any indication of what he is thinking. He finds Bruce’s face to be frustratingly blank, and scowls.
“Say whatever it is you want to say.”
Bruce frowns, before sighing.
“Just… I’m here, if you want to talk about it.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
Bruce simply raises an eyebrow. They sit in silence for a few moments, before Bruce realises that, from Damian’s perspective, there really is nothing to talk about.
“What were you doing last night?”
Damian crosses his arms.
“Training.”
“Until your fists were bloody?”
Bruce’s deadpan voice rings in Damian’s ears, hearing the disappointment that underpins those words.
“It will not happen again.”
Bruce watches Damian carefully for a few moments, before his eyes widen in realisation.
“You think I’m cross with you.”
Damian doesn’t respond. Bruce reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Damian, I'm not mad at you. I’m worried about you.”
“You have no reason to be. I can take care of myself.”
Damian notes the way Bruce’s jaw tightens before it relaxes again.
“Your capabilities were never in question. I’m worried because I care about you. I tell you to stay home so that you are safe, only to return several hours later to you hurting yourself, muttering ‘must be better’ and ‘cannot fail’ to yourself. Any parent would be worried about their child seeing them like that.”
“Biology doesn’t create obligation.”
Damian wasn’t ready for the heartbroken look on Bruce’s face. It makes him swallow nervously.
“Damian, son, it has nothing to do with obligation. I chose to take you in, to welcome you into my home, my life. And I chose to because I wanted to. I want you to be a part of my life. I want to look after you.”
Damian glares at his father and snaps.
“How could you possibly want to look after me?”
“What?”
“Do you take me for an idiot? I know what I am. I’m a trained killer, grandson of the demon head and heir to the League of Assassins. I am everything you stand against, everything you fight against. You cannot possibly want to care for something you hate.”
Bruce was stunned into silence as Damian plows on.
“I was not raised to be part of a family. I was raised to be a leader, to lead the world towards a better future. To do that, I have to be able to take care of myself. I cannot allow myself to be tangled up in such connections. It is a weakness. Love is a weakness. And I will not be weak. I will not fail. If you truly believe you can love something incapable of loving or being loved, then you are more of a fool than I first thought.”
Damian and Bruce stare at each other for several, painfully long moments. The silence between them hangs heavy, and Damian almost feels weighed down by it. Regardless, he holds his stance, refusing to be the one who backs down. Eventually, when Bruce clearly cannot take the silence any longer, he moves forward, sitting next to Damian on the bed, before pulling him into his arms. Damian, shocked by such a response, doesn’t pull away. This was the last response he was expecting out of his father. When Bruce does speak, his voice is quiet.
“You are not unlovable.”
Damian chokes on his breath. Bruce continues on.
“You are not incapable of loving or being loved. You are not a thing to be used then discarded. Yes, you were raised to be a machine, to fulfil a certain role. But that doesn’t make you incapable of anything else. It doesn’t make you unworthy of anything else. Love is not a weakness. There is strength to be found in connecting with others. You do not have to be alone. You do not have to be what they made you.”
Bruce squeezes him tighter.
“And Damian, my son, I do not hate you. I could never hate you. I will never agree with crossing that line, but I do not, and will never hate you for doing so.”
Damian feels his vision blur, but this time, he knows it is from the tears he fights to hold back.
“I love you, Damian.”
And that simple declaration is what causes Damian to break. He wraps his arms around his father and sobs into his shoulder. Bruce continues to hold him, letting him cry. He whispers calming reassurances all the while, and Damian soaks up the affection like it's the last time he’ll ever experience it. Allowing himself this indulgence is almost overwhelming with how warm and gentle it feels, and he doesn’t know what to do with it all. But Bruce still holds him, and that is all that matters. So he allows himself to be greedy just this once. And by any and all gods that exist, it feels incredible.
He cries and cries until his throat is sore and his eyes burn. He doesn’t wish to open them. He feels Bruce shift them around until both of them are laying down.
“Sleep. I have you.”
And Damian does just that, knowing that at least, in this moment, he is loved.
When Damian’s breathing finally evens out, Bruce gently calls out.
“I know you’re there, Dick.”
Dick opens the door, and at least has the decency to look bashful.
“Sorry…”
Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“Come here.”
Dick’s eyes light up with excitement, and he hurries over to curl up next to Damian, reaching an arm over his brother to pat Bruce’s arm. Bruce ruffles his hair affectionately.
Only a few moments later does Tim also step into the room and walk over to the bed. Dick glances up and opens his arm to Tim. Tim smiles and joins in the cuddle pile. Bruce smiles at the sight of his sons before closing his eyes. It can’t have been more than ten minutes when another voice can be heard.
“Bruce, where did you-”
“Shhh!”
Dick cuts his brother off, and Jason looks up from his phone, taking in the sight of the cuddle pile before snorting.
“Right.”
Bruce looks at Jason carefully, before gesturing for Jason to join them. He hesitates, but Bruce gives him the best pleading eyes he can. Jason rolls his eyes before pocketing his phone and sighing. He makes his way around the bed, settling towards the bottom but still in reach of Bruce to hold. Surrounded by all of his sons, Bruce closes his eyes with a smile on his face.
And if Alfred takes a photo of the sight to add to the family album, that is no one’s business but his own.