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Dick sat in the hard plastic chair beside the medical bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the rhythmic green line of the heart monitor.
It had been an hour since the DNA results lit up the Batcomputer. Dick had retreated to the med bay, needing the visual proof that the kid was still breathing.
On the bed, Damian shifted.
There was no groggy stirring, no confused blinking. One second Damian was asleep, and the next, his eyes snapped open. He looked down at the IV line taped to his arm, then at the oversized gas station t-shirt he was still wearing. A faint blush of color finally returned to his sunken cheeks.
Slowly, Damian pushed himself up against the pillows and attempted to cross his arms over his chest. The IV line stopped him half way, and when he tried to reach for the pole his short arm couldn’t reach. His face scrunched up before he pulled his oxygen mask off and lifted his chin, clearly trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of his dignity.
Dick leaned forward. This was it. The moment of truth. Every hour he had let the lie continue was about to come crashing down.
"Hey," Dick said softly. "How are you feeling?"
"Optimal," Damian replied, his voice only a slight rasp. He fixed his attention firmly on the far wall.
Dick swallowed the knot in his throat. "Damian, I need to tell you what happened. Why you got so sick." He leaned in closer and dropped down to his Robin voice. "There was… something in your system.” He paused, debating how to explain something so complex to such a young child. “Something to make you sick if you ever left the League. You know the pills you take everyday? Those keep you healthy."
Damian looked down at his duffel, now sitting on the floor. His fingers slowly inched forward, body completely still, until they found the ceramic horse and tucked it under the blanket.
"So when I locked your bag in the trunk of the car," Dick continued, hand raising to rub at the back of his neck, “I accidentally took away your ability to take them. That's what caused the illness. I’m so sorry, Damian. I didn’t know they were in there.” Dick took a shaky breath. "And… I need to apologize for something else. I lied to you. There is no training simulation. Ra’s didn’t send me. I-"
"Tt."
Dick blinked. "What?"
Damian’s eyes cut to him, brow furrowed, face twisting into an irritated scowl. "You confiscated an unknown asset without conducting a proper internal inventory?"
Completely derailed, Dick scrambled for what to even say. "I... I was trying to- I didn't know you had life-saving medicine in there! Did you hear the part where I said the simulation was a lie?"
"Of course it was a lie," Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes as if Dick were exceptionally dense. "Mother informed me weeks prior to my extraction that I was to be sent to Gotham to take my rightful place at my Father’s side. I am well aware of the situations reality."
Dick sat frozen, mouth agape. "You... you knew?"
"Naturally."
"What? But- wait what?” Dick pressed his fingers into his temples. “Then why did you think your organs shutting down was a 'correction' for failing an assessment?"
Damian looked away for a fraction of a second, the tips of his ears flushing red. "I had assumed my deterioration was an inability to adapt to the environmental stress of my entrance exam. I believed I was failing to prove my worthiness as the blood heir."
The heartbeat monitor beside him started to beep faster.
Damian bit down on his cheeks and took a deep breath, holding it until the monitor's rhythm slowed back down. He looked back at Dick with a cold, judgemental glare. "However, it is a relief to know the failure was entirely yours."
"Excuse me?!"
"To think you managed to trigger a lethal failsafe because you lacked the foresight to search a prisoner’s luggage," Damian muttered, shaking his head. "Mother warned me that Father’s current subordinates were proving…inadequate." He looked Dick up and down. Given your unsatisfactory performance of a standard escort mission, I can easily see why my presence was so urgently required."
Dick stared at him- at a ten-year-old child whose legs couldn't even reach the edge of the mattress, wearing a cheap, wrinkled t-shirt. Who had literally been dying three hours prior, and who was now actively degrading Dick.
Taking in the tiny scowl on the boy's face, he felt a sudden, ridiculous surge of fondness. And then, completely against his will, a laugh escaped. In just hours he had gone from crying and begging for forgiveness to claiming himself a better son than Dick. It was absolutely infuriating.
It was also somewhat adorable.
"Right," Dick breathed out. The crushing weight of the guilt he’d been carrying for two days evaporated, replaced by pure exasperation. "My mistake. Clearly, I am an inadequate subordinate."
"Obviously," Damian sighed, his front tooth wiggling with the exhale, and adjusted the blanket over his lap with a flick of his wrist. "But I suppose you can be retrained… or kept as a dutiful servant should you fail that as well."
Failing to hide his smile, Dick put his palms together and bowed in faux gratefulness. “I’m honored.”
Looking slightly unsure, Damian bowed his head back just an inch. “I suppose I,” he paused, rubbing his fingers over the IV, “am mildly indebted to you.” His voice went quieter. “Seeing that you at least attempted to keep me alive.”
Dick leaned forward and set a steady hand over Damian's fidgeting one. “Of course I did.”
For a second nobody moved.
Then the boy pulled his hand away and wiped it off on the blanket. “Only mildly. You were minimally competent in correcting your own error.”
“Minimally competent? I’ll take it.” Dick laughed, then shrugged. “I’ve been called way worse.”
Footsteps sounded from behind, causing both of them to turn.
Bruce stepped into the light of the med bay, stopping at the foot of the bed, his broad shoulders set in a tight line as he looked down at the boy who shared his face.
His expression was classic, powerful Batman- the look that made international crime lords confess to crimes they hadn't even committed.
On the bed, Damian didn't flinch.
Instead, he straightened his spine and adjusted his own narrow shoulders back, completely mirroring the man standing over him.
And then, Damian lowered his chin and screwed up his features into an absolutely identical, uncompromising scowl.
"Father," Damian said. "It is fortunate you have arrived. We need to discuss the severe incompetence of your current staff."
Dick let out a loud snort. He stood up, his knees popping, and walked over to Bruce. He clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"He's all yours, B," Dick said, flashing a brilliant, unsympathetic smile.
From the top of the stairs, Alfred called out. "Master Bruce, shall I prepare a room for the young master?"
"Young master?" Damian perked up. "Wonderful, so you do possess some help with proper decorum."
Bruce’s eye twitched. He looked at the miniature assassin judging him from the medical bed, then at Dick’s shit-eating grin. He curled his lips in, tilted his head up to the ceiling, and let out a long exhale through his nose.
Dick’s grin widened as he looked between the two of them with one, final thought:
This is going to be so good.