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Damian had long since resigned himself to the fact that his family, both maternal and paternal, were perhaps the oddest people known to existence.
Growing up, he heard all kinds of tales of his father’s escapades around the world in search of impossible answers such as ‘the meaning of life’ and ‘the existence of a higher power’.
Bruce Thomas Wayne was a man who, depending on the story, was either an empty-headed billionaire with a heart of gold, a detective who had somehow acquired an encyclopaedic knowledge of every obscure subject known to mankind, or a deeply disturbed man who haunted the streets of Gotham after the sun went down.
His mother’s family was not much better.
The al Ghul name carried with it centuries of gruesome and downright unbelievable history.
Damian had been raised among assassins and trained to be the strongest, deadliest weapon known to man.
His childhood had been filled with the company of people who killed as though it were as natural as breathing.
Yes, Damian had resigned himself to a life surrounded by eccentric people and their equally eccentric hobbies and interests. Which is why, when his mother appeared on March 14th, the first official day of spring break at Gotham Prep, to take him for her not court-approved visitation days, he wasn’t particularly surprised to hear that Grandfather had begun his descent into further madness.
Humans are only meant to live so long, and Ra’s al Ghul has already lived five times that amount.
Hearing about the situation had not prepared him to come face-to-face with the reality of actually seeing it.
‘It’ was a pale purple-greyish organ sitting in a mason jar filled with what he assumed was Lazarus water.
The organ bobbed slightly when the jar moved, turning lazily in the cloudy greenish fluid.
Damian stared at it, blinked, and stared at it some more. It did not become any less disturbing—if anything, prolonged observation only worsened the situation.
The organ was approximately 11 centimetres long, about the size of a human heart, though Damian was certain it was not. A heart would be too normal a pet for a half-a-millennium-old eco-terrorist.
He was also fairly certain that the organ which occupied the jar in front of him was Timothy’s spleen. Damian knew that the organ had been lost during the older boy’s quest to find their father, even if the details which surrounded that loss were mostly a mystery.
The spleen was smooth and nearly translucent.
The poor thing had clearly seen better days.
A thick, jagged cut ran through the centre. The wound had left the organ semi-ruptured and likely not functional; hence its removal and relocation to being decor on his Grandfather’s desk.
Damian was about to pick it up for further inspection when the door handle rattled.
Every muscle in his body went rigid, and his hand froze a few centimetres above the mason jar.
For a single, treacherous moment, he considered simply remaining where he was and pretending that he had every right in the world to stand in his grandfather's office.
Then, common sense prevailed.
Damian was not supposed to be in Grandfather’s personal space, let alone somewhere as private as the office where he schemed. If Ra’s discovered him, there was a near one hundred percent chance he would be swiftly dealt with, and he had no desire to endure that.
He snatched his hand back and scanned the room for suitable hiding places.
Ra’s al Ghul’s office was small and very, very empty.
The walls were bare stone, interrupted only by two very narrow windows set high enough that they might as well be for giants. The only piece of furniture was an enormous hand-carved oak desk that sat squarely in the centre of the room.
Damian glanced under it and decided it was as good a hiding spot as any.
He crossed the room in three brisk strides and dropped beneath the desk, flattening himself against the stone floor and wooden side panel. He curled so that his knees were pressed awkwardly against his chest, leaving just enough room for a pair of legs.
It was not an ideal position. It was, however, preferable to being discovered.
The door opened with a low moan and heavy footsteps crossed the stone floor.
Ra’s sighed as he approached, each step deliberate, measured, unhurried.
“Oh Timothy,” Ra’s murmured.
Damian went very still. There was something deeply unsettling about hearing his grandfather speak in a soft, almost fond tone.
Ra’s was a man who possessed many a great voice, all meant to strike fear in even the strongest warriors. He didn’t speak softly, nor did he speak with affection. It simply wasn’t his brand.
“Look at you,” he continued, “as brilliant as ever.”
The soft scratching of glass against something solid filled the room, giving out as the jar was picked up.
“Come now,” Ra’s said, moving into view and toward the door. “Let us walk.”
Damian’s entire body tensed beneath the desk. The organ floated upward as the liquid sloshed around it from the force of Ra’s steps.
He sat frozen for a good thirty seconds after Ra’s left the office.
Perhaps Grandfather had gone insane after all.
Perhaps…
———𓆩☠︎︎𓆪———
It had been exactly fifty-three hours since he had become privy to his grandfather’s madness, and he could not stop thinking about it.
Not in the disturbed way.
He’d initially thought the spleen was a ‘war’ trophy—a decoration of sorts. It was clear to him now that he had been wrong. So very wrong.
The spleen was a pet—a pet which his grandfather was clearly neglecting if its poor state was anything to go by.
Pets were meant to be taken care of, meant to be treasured, not sealed away in jars of goo and left to rot so long they lost all their colour.
Yes, it was very clear to him that Grandfather did not take good care of his pets at all, a fact that must be rectified.
Those who did not take care of the lives that were dependent on one lost the right to have a living companion, Father had said so himself. And if Grandfather decided that caring for another life was beneath him, Damian would just have to take that life away.
Of course, he couldn’t just steal the spleen off his desk; Grandfather would surely notice, and a damaged spleen was no good anyway. How would it eat?
He needed to rescue it before it could fall into Grandfather’s hands in the first place. Prevent it from getting damaged at all.
Ideally, he could just travel back and steal Timothy’s spleen sometimes before the whole ‘Bruce Quest’. Of course that would cause a whole other slew of trouble. Timothy would surely notice if his spleen popped out of existence without explanation.
The issue was that he had absolutely no idea how to travel through time.
He spent the next several hours thinking about it.
By evening, he had developed three possible solutions.
1. Ask Father.
This idea was immediately discarded.
Father would ask too many questions, and questions led to explanations. Explanations would eventually lead to Father discovering his plan and putting a stop to it.
2. Ask The Flash
This idea was also discarded.
The Flash would tell Batman, who would in turn then ask him questions.
3. Find Out When Timothy Lost His Spleen
This solution was considerably more complicated. Anything that involved Timothy was complicated and led to strange stories about topics which had nothing to do with the original question.
He couldn’t ask Timothy because that would lead to Timothy telling Father, which would lead to the same problems as above.
Damian took out a small pad of paper and wrote everything he knew of the missing spleen situation.
→ Timothy had gone looking for Father after his ‘death’.
→ He had gotten himself into an extraordinary amount of trouble.
→ Somehow that trouble led to losing an entire organ.
→ Said lost organ somehow ended up in Grandfather’s possession.
He dropped his pen and flipped over to a new page, which, in big block letters, he wrote:
PROJECT RESCUE TIMOTHY’S SPLEEN SO I MAY HAVE IT AS A PET :D
Damian tapped the end of his pen against his lower lip and began to write.
———𓆩☠︎︎𓆪———
PROJECT RESCUE TIMOTHY’S SPLEEN SO I MAY HAVE IT AS A PET :D
1. Collect DNA from Timothy → preferably blood; take from cave
2. Complete 3D model of spleen
3. Go to Gotham U and ‘borrow’ their organic matter 3D printer
4. Take 3D-printed spleen to Watchtower and ‘borrow’ time-travel technology
5. Travel to any time before Timothy’s quest and replace spleen with 3D spleen
6. Go home and party
———𓆩☠︎︎𓆪———
Damian returned to Gotham on March 19th, by then with a proper plan.
He had spent the last day and a half of his half-week with his mother scheming. School was set to start up again on March 23rd, and by then, he needed to have his new pet.
Not wanted, no, needed.
If he were one of those large, hairy monsters in the children’s cartoons Richard tried to get him to watch, he’s certain he’d be saying absurd things like ‘Dami want spleenie’.
He had spent the entirety of the flight home reviewing his plan.
His plan did have several flaws; the main one being replacing Timothy’s spleen without killing him. He had no desire to rescue the spleen only to return home to discover that Timothy had died.
That would make Father angry and, more importantly, make Timothy unavailable to provide biological material for future spleen-related projects.
Damian had therefore made one final addition to his plan.
7. Make absolutely sure Timothy survives
He had also spent the flight researching human anatomy on his tablet, though he had quickly discovered that in-air internet was remarkably slow and no one had uploaded a 3D rendering of the human spleen to the vast world of the internet.
Which had been disappointing but not plan ending.
Damian stepped through the front doors of Wayne Manor with more determination than he once thought possible.
“Welcome home, Master Damian.” Alfred greeted him without looking up from his newspaper.
“Is the cave currently stocked with Timothy’s blood?”
Alfred lowered the newspaper approximately three inches.
“Almost certainly. If you are going to go digging in the medical fridge, please try not to make a mess.”
Damian stared at him.
Alfred stared back.
“You’re not going to ask me what I’m doing?”
“I, Master Damian, am much too old to care about whatever schemes you’ve been planning.”
“Thank you?”
Damian turned away, puzzled and made for the cave.
———𓆩☠︎︎𓆪———
It took Damian one day to gather all the needed supplies for his new pet and another to make the 3D rendering and print the spleen.
The third and final day before spring break ended was dedicated entirely to ‘borrowing’ the means of transportation.
The Watchtower had a convenient sign that said TIME TRAVEL EQUIPMENT — PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH, which he found deeply pleasing.
Damian stood in front of the strange machine with his arms folded.
He was prepared.
He had the printed spleen, several pairs of gloves, surgical tools and a little container for his new pet.
He was confident.
Mostly.
Damian entered the coordinates. The machine hummed and made a noise that sounded like someone threw a handful of forks in a washing machine and set it to clean.
“Very well.”
He pressed the big red button and the room disappeared.
———𓆩☠︎︎𓆪———
Damian returned to the present with considerably less grace than when he left.
He hit the floor hard, his bag landing beside him. The medical container rolled several feet across the floor.
Damian scrambled after it.
The second it was in his hand, he checked the seal, happy to find it intact. Then, he checked the contents.
There it was in all its brilliance, Timothy’s spleen. Alive and undamaged.
Damian stared at it for several seconds, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“I have succeeded.”
He stood.
“I have succeeded!”
Damian’s victory lasted approximately seven minutes: the time it took him to zeta from the Watchtower to the Batcave.
Seven minutes was also the length of time it took for him to realize his newly rescued pet had nowhere appropriate to live. The small medical container was perfectly adequate for short-term transportation, not for a permanent residence.
Damian stared down at the spleen.
The spleen floated placidly in its container, suspended in clear fluid and looking remarkably pleased with life.
He observed it and decided a fish tank would be appropriate.
Two hours later, Damian returned with the largest fish tank he could find.
An enormous tank designed to house an entire ecosystem, complete with a filtration system, bubbling aerator, decorative gravel, several real plants, a tiny castle, and enough water to fill a very large bathtub.
Once he was back in his room, he carefully arranged the inside of the tank before he opened the medical container and carefully transferred his new pet into its new home.
“Look at you.”
The spleen bobbed.
“You like it just like I knew you would.”
Damian dumped half a jar of fish food into the tank before he went to retrieve two enormous googly eyes.
He settled on placing them near the upper half of the organ. Once he was certain they wouldn’t fall off, Damian stepped back and observed his work.
The spleen looked back at him, eyes wobbling as its owner bobbed up and down in the water.
Damian opened the last box that housed a little motorized fin he purchased from a hobby shop.
Of course, the eyes were only the second-to-last adjustment. All pets needed some manner of locomotion. He connected the motor to the back of the spleen and switched it on. The fin began to happily flap, propelling the spleen forward till it bumped against the glass.
Whup-whup-whup-whup.
The spleen slowly drifted across the tank, watching him, and for a moment there was nothing but him and his pet. Then, his bedroom door opened.
“Damian?”
Father stepped into the room, eyeing the tank suspiciously.
“Do not embarrass me.” He whispered urgently to the tank.
The spleen, which he had yet to name, floated past the little plastic castle and straight into the glass wall. Its googly eyes wobbled as Father stared at it, mouth open.
“What the fuck?”