Chapter Text
Damian took pride in the skills he had acquired in the League. Some might be questioned by his family for their lack of correlation to criminal activities, but they did not understand. Murder was an art; it required effort in every field. Damian still remembered with bitterness Todd’s taunts when he had mocked him for being trained in six styles of ballroom dance since the age of four. It was ironic, almost amusing, that Todd was now the one who needed a favor that required one of his teachings.
“Let me get this straight, you want me to distract Father so you can take devices from the Cave that he would give you himself if you simply asked directly. It makes no sense,” Damian huffed into the phone.
His alleged brother had called him that afternoon for the sole purpose of obtaining flashbang grenades that their father practically gave away for free. Todd’s relationship with their father was, to say the least, confusing. It seemed they were fighting every day of the week, yet Damian always saw them spending time together around the mansion anyway.
“Listen, brat, I don’t need you to understand. I got into a fight with Bruce last week and told him I don’t need him for anything, so I’m not willing to eat my words so soon,” Jason said vehemently.
“And I am not willing to participate in such an undignified activity,” Damian stated haughtily.
“I’ll remind you that you owe me one, demon. Do you want me to tell Bruce how I had to pull you out of school for punching a kid? I’m sure he’ll love to hear about it,” he commented playfully.
Damian bit his lip in frustration, knowing he shouldn’t have turned to Jason for such a delicate situation. Although he could imagine that any of his brothers would have blackmailed him in the exact same manner without much decorum.
“Tt, I was defending my honor and that of the family,” Damian replied, knowing he had already lost. If his father found out about that incident, he could forget about being Robin for several weeks. Bruce had made his displeasure with Damian’s violent responses very clear, especially in situations where it was easily avoidable.
“Great, tell Bruce that.”
Damian scowled in annoyance even though Todd couldn’t see him. He disliked being dragged into these activities that Richard referred to as “family bonding.” Deep down, however, he felt a certain excitement that Todd had thought of him before the rest of his siblings for this misdeed.
“How long do I have to distract him?” Damian sighed.
“I’ll arrive at the Cave in an hour; I can be in and out in five minutes. Be ready.” Damian could hear Todd’s smirk through the line.
“How do you expect me to convince him not to go down to the Cave at the exact hour he always goes down? And with such short notice, I must add.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Tt.”
Damian hung up, having nothing left to say to his incompetent brother. Of course he would figure it out, but that didn’t mean it was easy. No matter, he had performed far more complicated tasks during his years in the League than fooling his father... His father, who was Batman. He would have to think of something.
When the time approached, Damian headed to his father’s study just as he was walking out the door. He looked annoyed, reading something on his phone, which Damian had to admit intimidated him a little. When his father was angry, it was difficult to discern the blurred line between Batman and Bruce.
“Father. Can we talk?” Damian asked as he followed his father at a fast pace down the hallway.
“Is it important, Damian? I have a lot of paperwork tonight,” his father sighed tiredly, not taking his eyes off the device.
“Of utmost importance. I would like to discuss my training,” Damian blurted out seriously, stepping forward to walk alongside Bruce.
His father paused for just a second, enough for Damian to feel he had caught his attention.
“Training?” Bruce repeated, confused, resuming his stride. “Damian, you train more hours than a child your age should.”
“I could be more efficient. I have been reflecting, and I believe my routine needs adjustments to reach optimal performance,” Damian explained, raising his chin. “I am considering adding two more hours of katana practice at dawn and reducing academic sessions.”
Bruce turned to look at him in disbelief, finally stopping.
“Reducing school hours is not an option.”
“I thought you would say that.” Damian crossed his arms behind his back. “But my physical performance could improve if we set priorities.”
Bruce pressed his lips together in frustration.
“Son, my priority is for you to grow into a functional adult. You are going to school,” Bruce finalized, turning around again and opening the entrance to the Cave, redirecting his attention back to his phone.
This was not working as Damian had imagined. His plan did not account for his father being annoyed and wanting to lock himself in the comfort of his lair. This was all Todd’s fault for refusing to give him more time to plan his scheme. He could already picture his brothers mocking his lack of manipulation skills. Drake would make that stupid high-pitched voice he used to imitate Damian, and Richard would laugh while trying to hide it.
“But Father...”
“Enough, Damian. Not today.”
Damian went quiet immediately, not wanting to test his father’s patience. He didn’t know what else to do now. Perhaps he could call Todd and tell him to cancel the extraction. That idea was discarded when he caught sight of his idiot brother on the other side of the Cave, looking at him with complete outrage, as if Damian’s very presence offended him. Damian assumed he must have been caught mid-heist, as his jacket pockets already looked full.
Damian had to think of something fast. His father was halfway down the stairs, and it seemed that any topic of conversation he brought up was not going to stop him. He thought about the only thing his father would prioritize over his duty and his desire for isolation.
Damian took a deep breath. If there was one thing he had learned in the League besides slitting throats with class, it was that sometimes the most effective solution was the most absurd one. He did a quick calculation of the disadvantages of this plan before deciding it was worth it.
He prepared himself, just as he had seen Richard do so many times before executing a flip, and let his foot trip. The hardest part of faking a fall down the stairs was resisting the instinct to grab onto something to break the fall.
It didn't hurt as much as one might expect. Damian had been taught how to fall and small tricks like this since he learned to walk. He knew how to cover himself to only hit parts of the body that wouldn't require more than two days of rest, and he knew the sharp gasp of surprise he had to let out after the initial trip. He was sure that from the outside, it must have looked far more dramatic.
The crash was loud enough for Bruce to spin around instantly, alarmed. Damian rolled down a couple more steps before stopping himself with a perfectly rehearsed groan of pain. He lay there, his breathing ragged and his eyes squeezed shut tightly.
“Damian!” His father’s voice echoed throughout the entire Cave. His footsteps reached his side in seconds, and Damian felt a trembling hand on his face. “Look at me. Damian, look at me.”
Damian opened his eyes with difficulty, taking long enough to focus on his father for it to be worrying, but not enough to be rushed to the infirmary immediately. Bruce appeared to be holding his breath as he carefully stroked Damian’s cheekbone.
“Son, where does it hurt? Tell me what hurts, Damian.” His voice sounded desperate enough to make Damian feel guilty. “Did you hit your head?”
“I’m fine, just a bit sore,” Damian groaned, sitting up on a step with his father’s help.
Bruce did not look convinced, and he stared at him with concern, feeling behind his head while visually scanning his body.
“You never trip,” he muttered in disbelief, almost to himself. “What happened? Are you dizzy? Did you pass out before you fell?”
Damian looked over his father’s shoulder, expecting to find the Cave empty during this exchange. However, he was surprised to see Jason near the foot of the stairs, looking as if he had run closer, staring at him terrified.
His expression was a copy of their father’s; he was pale and looking at Damian as if he had been on the verge of death. The idiot must have thought Damian was stupid enough to have actually fallen down the stairs.
“My head has been hurting a bit since this morning. I just got dizzy. Could we... perhaps go upstairs for a moment? The light down here is making it worse,” Damian whispered, lowering his gaze and burying his face in his arms.
Bruce hesitated. He didn’t seem sure of how to act next.
“Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” Bruce proposed, already positioning an arm behind his back as if he feared Damian might collapse again.
Damian shook his head quickly.
“No,” he answered, his tone measured. “Just... will you accompany me to the living room couch? For a little while. Richard says resting there helps with his migraines. And...” he added, carefully choosing the right phrase, “I will feel better with you nearby.”
It was a low blow, but effective when paired with the puppy-dog eyes patented by Richard. Bruce sighed, his brow still furrowed with concern.
“Alright,” he conceded. “You’re staying with me until I’m sure you don’t have a concussion. Then we’ll see if you need tests.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Damian saw Jason slowly backing away while continuing to look at him anxiously, still holding his bulky jacket. The image almost made Damian roll his eyes, it was clear that Todd underestimated him.
Bruce placed one arm behind his back and another under his legs, lifting him against his chest. Damian felt his ears burn hot, he hadn't counted on his father carrying him like a child.
His father gently kissed his head, and Damian temporarily forgot the embarrassment he was enduring. And if he snuggled closer against his chest, it was purely for tactical reasons, not sentimental ones.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Hours had passed since his eloquent performance, and the living room was enveloped in a soft quiet. The television remained on mute, projecting bluish lights that flickered across the ceiling. Bruce was still sitting next to him on the couch, reading reports on his tablet with a level of concentration that failed to hide the glances he cast toward him every few minutes.
He was supposed to be recovering, so he did not protest when Bruce adjusted his arm over his shoulders in an excessively paternal gesture, nor when he offered him water for the third time. With every display of attention, Damian felt his conscience waver between pride and an unexpected sense of contentment.
Eventually, Bruce rose cautiously to check on something in his study, promising to return shortly and leaving Damian half-asleep. The absence was felt immediately, like a vacuum in the air. That was when a familiar buzz broke the stillness. He stretched his hand out, pulling it from his comfortable position to grab the phone from the coffee table.
A short message appeared on his screen, alongside three dots that appeared and vanished. He didn't know if Todd was planning to send something else or if he was typing and deleting out of impatience.
"u good?"
"At the hospital."
Not even two seconds passed before the response arrived.
"WHAT????"
"damian"
"call me"
Damian suppressed a smile; he finally understood why his brothers enjoyed joking so much.
"It is a joke. I'm fine."
The three dots reappeared, flickering furiously.
"don't do that"
"was the fall faked?"
"Of course."
"don't do that shit again either"
"i'm serious"
"i almost had a heart attack"
"do u want to be responsible for my second death?"
Damian pictured Jason typing that with his jaw clenched, pacing in circles like a rabid cat, and something in his chest felt uncomfortably warm.
"No."
“don´t use that fucking trick again”
“shit”
“i´d rather run out of grenades”
Damian rested the phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling as a tiny, almost imperceptible smile threatened to form. For a moment, the certainty that Jason had worried about him was strangely comforting.
He was going to tease him about this later.