Chapter Text
The training mats of the Batcave were cold, but the atmosphere between the two brothers was shifting into something much warmer—and far more manipulative.
Dick dropped down from the high bar, sticking the landing with the effortless grace of a man who had spent his life defying gravity. He expected a critique. Usually, Damian would be standing there with his arms crossed, tutting about a slightly bent knee or a fraction of a second lost in the rotation.
Instead, he found a small, silent shadow.
Damian was perched on a reinforced equipment trunk, his knees pulled up to his chest. His cape, usually draped like a royal shroud, was bunched up around him, making him look less like a lethal assassin and more like a disgruntled fledgling fallen from a nest. He didn't say a word. He just stared at his boots, his expression a mask of carefully curated melancholy.
"Dami?" Dick asked, discarding his towel. "You’re quiet. Even for you. Did something happen on patrol?"
Damian didn’t look up. He let out a sigh that seemed to vibrate through his small frame. "It is nothing, Grayson. I was simply contemplating the... structural hierarchy of this team. It is clear that my position is firmly at the bottom."
The words hit Dick like a physical blow to the solar plexus. He hated it when Damian got like this—the rare, crushing moments where the boy’s bravado cracked to reveal the insecure child underneath. Dick moved closer, his "big brother" instincts overriding every logical sensor in his brain.
"Hey, that's not true," Dick said softly, sitting on the edge of the trunk. "You're Robin. You’re the heart of this whole thing."
"Am I?" Damian finally tilted his head up.
The sight was enough to make Dick’s heart shatter into a million pieces. Damian’s eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were wide and shimmering with a watery sheen that looked suspiciously like unshed tears. His lower lip didn't tremble—that would be too obvious—but it stayed tucked slightly inward, as if he were trying to be brave in the face of a Great Injustice.
"Father refused me the S-7 Recon Drone," Damian whispered, his voice cracking just the right amount. "He said it was too 'complex.' I suppose he is right to doubt me. I am, after all, merely a child. Perhaps I should return to my studies and leave the real work to the adults."
The victory was almost too easy.
As Damian felt Richard’s heavy, comforting arm wrap around his shoulders, he had to exert every ounce of his legendary self-control to keep his mouth from curling into a triumphant grin. Inside, his mind was a whirlwind of cold, calculated satisfaction.
Target neutralized, Damian thought.
He could feel the exact moment Richard’s resolve crumbled. It was a physical change—a softening of the muscles, a hitch in the breath. Richard was a man ruled by his heart, a weakness Damian was currently exploiting with the precision of a surgeon.
"Bruce is just being a hardhead," Dick muttered, his voice thick with protective indignation. "He forgets how fast you learn. Tell you what—I’m the lead tech on the S-7 project. If I authorize a 'field stress test' under my supervision, he can’t say a word."
Damian didn't move. He stayed tucked into Richard’s side, letting his head rest against the older man’s shoulder. He knew that for Richard, this physical contact was a sign of bonding and trust. For Damian, it was the final nail in the coffin.
"You would do that for me?" Damian asked, pitching his voice into a tone of breathless wonder. "Even though I am so... difficult?"
"You're not difficult, Dami. You're just spirited," Dick said, squeezing him tight. "Come on. Let’s go to the sub-hangar. I’ll give you my override codes. And afterwards, maybe we’ll go get some of those vegan shakes you like? My treat."
Damian allowed himself a tiny, muffled "Hmph" of feigned reluctance. "If you insist, Richard."
As they walked toward the hangar, Damian watched the way Dick checked his phone to clear their path, making sure Bruce was occupied in the upper study. It was fascinating, really. With just a slight adjustment of his facial muscles and a choice of words that emphasized his youth, Damian had turned the leader of the Titans into his personal accomplice.
The drone was his. The shakes were a bonus.
But as he glanced at the elevator leading to the manor, his mind was already moving toward the next objective. Richard was the easiest, but Jason... Jason would require a different flavor of manipulation. Jason didn't respond to "sad puppy." Jason responded to "us against the world."
Damian felt the cold, hard weight of the drone’s remote in his hand minutes later, and he offered Dick one more "grateful" look.
One brother down, he mused, watching Dick beam with pride at his own "good deed." Three to go.