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Bruce was sitting at the table, listening as his kids chattered around him. At Bruce’s left, Cass was leaning back in her chair, talking with Dick, who sat across from her. Jason was next to Dick, swiping through his phone, his head resting in his palm.
As Alfred turned the corner from the kitchen, a bowl of warm water and blood bags piled inside, Bruce could hear Tim and Damian approaching. Damian’s squeaky voice slowly grew louder before both he and Tim walked into the room.
As Damian was recalling a show he had watched, Tim was nodding along absentmindedly, sliding into the chair next to Cass, shooting Bruce a smile before tuning into Dick’s story about some fight he had broken up early that day between some random Gothamites.
Just as he started explaining in detail why the first guy had thrown a punch, Dick was jostled by Damian roughly shoving two fingers into his side, frowning.
“You’re in my seat,” he said sternly, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms.
Dick paused, looking down at his brother with a confused smile, a hand reaching over to briefly rub at where Damian’s fingers had been.
“Don’t think so, bud,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair until Damian shoved his hand away, “I was here first. Maybe if you showed up on time.”
While Bruce only had a view of half of his youngest son’s face, he could see Damian’s frown widen, nose scrunching up slightly.
“I always sit there. It's my seat!”
Dick just smiled at him, giving Bruce a brief glance.
“I don’t think that’s even true. You can have it back for breakfast, go sit next to Jay.”
As if Dick had just thrown mud onto one of his drawings, Damian was trying his damnedest to posture himself better, squaring his shoulders and curling his lips back to reveal his fangs as if he were about to attack Dick.
Maybe, once Damian was older, he’d be more intimidating.
Now, however?
The five-year-old just looked a little silly, especially while trying to flash his baby fangs.
“Damian,” Bruce said, dropping a hand on his shoulder, “You may sit there for breakfast. Go sit by Jason for now.”
Damian’s shoulders dropped, but his expression hardened, eyebrows tightening even more as he whirled around to look at Bruce. He was no longer showing off his teeth, but his frown was even angrier.
“But it’s my spot! I sit there!”
“And you can sit there tomorrow. For now, go take a seat so everyone can eat.” Bruce said, giving Damian a gentle push in the direction of the empty chairs.
“But—”
“Damian.”
Finally, he deflated, shooting Bruce a glare as he turned on his heel, glare redirecting to Dick. Damian walked by Dick’s chair, kicking the leg and then climbing into the seat by Jason, slumping back and crossing his arms. Alfred walked by, setting the bowl of blood bags on the table, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder until he shrugged it off.
Everyone began reaching for bags; Jason grabbed two and set one in front of Damian. As they drank, Dick continued his story, talking with his hands as he went, smiling brightly as the group laughed when he recounted how one of the men had slipped during the fight right as Dick had gotten over to break it up.
All except Damian, who was quietly drinking his blood bag, pressed all the way back against his chair. Beside him, Jason had both elbows on the table, creating a perfect gap between his back and the chair for Damian to give Dick a nasty side eye throughout all of dinner.
Bruce just watched in amusement. It wasn’t often that he went a day without some sort of argument or disagreement breaking out between his kids, and he knew that they always made up, especially Dick and Damian.
The two had always been close, though their entire coven was close. But Dick and Damian were almost always a pair, Damian following Dick around like a duckling.
Just like Jason and Tim had.
Bruce smiled at that thought.
Dinner ended soon after, chairs scraping the floor as each member of the household stood. Jason meandered down the hallway, followed by Cass, who gave Bruce a quick side hug on her way out.
Bruce gathered a few empty bags of blood, and Dick grabbed the rest before the pair left Alfred and Tim to their conversation regarding chess.
Bruce followed Dick into the kitchen, tossing the blood bags away behind Dick and leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.
“You don’t have to antagonize him.”
“How dare I sit in a chair?” Dick said jokingly, leaning against the counter across from Bruce. He jutted his lip out, batting his eyelashes, “I just wanted to sit next to my own father. How cruel of me,”
Bruce grinned, shaking his head.
“Plus—” Dick started, interrupted by Damian stomping into the kitchen, face thunderous and hands clenched at his side.
With an easy grin, Dick shifted towards Damian.
“What’s up?”
“You,” Damian seethed, “took my spot! I always sit there! Always!”
“It’s just one time,” Dick said, pointing lazily over at Bruce, “You can sit next to pops here tomorrow. Promise.”
“You always do this!” Damian shouted, stepping forward.
“Do what?”
“Take my things!”
“It’s a chair. You can have it back tomorrow, like I already said,” Dick groaned out.
“It’s mine!”
“Well, actually,” Dick said, smile widening as he leaned down some, “it’s B’s chair. He bought it.”
Bruce could practically see the anger take over Damian, his face turning red, his nose scrunching up, and his lips curling.
“No! You—”
“Damian,” Bruce interrupted, taking a step forward, “how about we go into the other room and calm down a bit?”
Bruce reached over to lift Damian up from under the armpits.
Damian pulled away, lips curling all the way back to let out a short, sharp snarl that had about as much force behind it as a butterfly caught in the wind.
Both Bruce and Dick froze.
“Don’t do it again.” Damian hissed.
Then, he was storming out of the kitchen, footsteps receding until only the faint sound of his door slamming shut sounded out, followed by another slam a few seconds later, a fraction louder.
Damian stormed forward, brushing past and ignoring Tim on his way to his room. He felt elated. He had been practicing his snarls for weeks, and clearly, based on the silence he had left in his wake, it had not been in vain.
If he could stun his father and eldest brother into fear, surely the rest of the family would as well. He could already imagine it; his brothers and sister all frozen in terror every time they teased him, every time they poked at him or annoyed him.
Next time, Damian was positive that his brother would rethink his decision. Everyone knew where Damian sat. He had been sitting there his entire life!
When Damian got to his door, he reached for the knob, shoving it open and turning to slam it shut. When it cracked against the doorframe, Damian frowned, reaching out to reopen the door once again before using all his body weight to slam it closed even louder.
Perfect.
Damian turned on his heel, a triumphant purr starting in his chest, and marched to his bed and tossed himself atop his blankets. As he shuffled closer to the pillows, he moved around the items he had taken from his family, pushing aside the various articles of clothing and small blankets until he was pulling out the stuffed dolphin Richard had gifted him and throwing it across the room, wincing just slightly when he heard the eye crack against the hardwood floor.
Before Damian could truly revel in his victory, he was climbing down, jogging over to scoop the dolphin back up before returning to his bed.
Bruce continued to stare at the now-empty doorway where his son had been a minute earlier. Behind him, Dick had yet to speak, a silence filling the room once Damian had taken off to his room.
Bruce let out a slow breath, straightening out his shoulders and closing his eyes for a long moment before turning around to face Dick.
His eldest’s face was pointed down towards the floor, one hand bracing against the counter. After a few seconds, he glanced up as well, eyes meeting Bruce’s.
The second they made eye contact, Dick snorted once, eyes shutting and his head turning slightly. Bruce bit his lip.
When Dick opened his eyes, another snort followed, and then both he and Bruce were laughing loudly.
“Did you see him?!” Dick gasped out, legs bending at the force of his laughter, “I’ve never seen him so mad before! Oh, and his little snarl!”
Bruce nodded, laughter increasing in volume every time Dick loudly snorted.
“He was so proud,” Bruce laughed out.
Dick nodded, laughter calming only slightly, “Oh, you know he’s so proud right now. I’ve overheard him practicing for weeks now. Looks like he finally got a hold of it. Well, sorta. Maybe a little more force behind it would do some good.”
“Seriously, B,” he continued, wiping at his eyes, “I thought he was gonna come over and attack me for a second,”
Bruce huffed another laugh.
“He’s been a bit more territorial lately.”
“Oh yeah?” Dick said breathlessly, “Should I be worried?”
“If you keep taking the chair he’s sat in every day since he arrived, then yes. You may want to be worried.”
That set Dick off again, another laughing fit erupting from the kitchen.
“It was funny! Don’t act like you aren’t laughing too!”
“I am,” Bruce answered, smile wide on his face, “But I’m not the one who is going to be bitten in his sleep tonight. Though I’m sure I’ll have a good laugh about that as well.”
Dick shook his head, his laughter fading as he stood back up, the air settling into something calmer.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that pissed before.”
Bruce hummed in agreement.
“He’ll sleep it off and be following you around again tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Dick smiled, “Probably.”
For a moment, they lapsed into a comfortable silence.
Then—
“Still—”
Bruce raised an eyebrow as Dick spoke.
“That snarl,” Dick said, head shaking, “I think Titus's yawning is scarier.”
Before Bruce could catch himself, another laugh left him.