Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian has vague memories of first being programmed, of Mother making sure he wasn't so weak as to dissociate and succumb to the grey. Before Damian would leave his body behind for hours at a time, a husk in the mortal realm, undefended and vulnerable. Amir, his first alter, everything Grandfather wanted Damian to be, that he's too weak for came from that. When training became too much for his small body, larger than life Amir would take over. He's the strong front, maybe even the bodies original host, Damian doesn't remember.

Dami formed next, the grey dissociative cloud twisting and turning to form the young alter. Damian was already six when Dami came to be, much to old to be coddled. But... Dami liked the kind version of Mother, who would spend an hour every night, away from hostile eyes, tucked into his luxurious cage room. Dami would be read stories of great adventures and heartfelt moments, of mischievous fairies hiding in gardens to steal peoples pie.

Dami spent the most time with Mother even though all of the alter have some form of connection with their conceiver.

Damian doesn't spend much time fronting even after two alters, he gets ready for the day then Amir takes over, then during the night Dami would be spoiled by mother. Damian grew tired of the grey inside the mindscape, it became boring and plain... Although Damian had plenty time to experiment and learn. It took little time at all (he might not be a genius like Amir but Damian is, by nature, creative and curious) for the mindscape to become an odd mix of homey (Dami's influence), dramatic and dark colors (Amir), and shelfs full of books and knowledge for Damian and Azul.

Damian never did figure out how to "expand" his mindscape, the library is comfortable for all of them, everyone has their influence and safe space. Despite their conflicting natures the library is a beautiful mix of towering mahogany shelfs, stained glass window's, and a dramatic stone fireplace.

There's comfortable chairs in every corner and colorful beanbag's (Dami's claimed the purple one, Damian's claimed the yellow one, and Amir claimed the blue one) every other step.

The library grew as more alters formed (secret doors and passageways to isolated rooms), Damian doesn't know all of them, some of them prefer the swirling mass of grey compared to the library, and some of them are nicer than the others. One of Damian's favorite's is Layla, she's practically a clone of their mother, cruel and kind and secretive with a poisonous smile (contradicting like every aspect of their life). Occasionally Mother would have a mission that required espionage, and Talia, an opportunist at heart, used these moments to craft Layla's personality to perfection. Layla's doesn't front often so she and Damian were forced in each others company enough that they eventually got along. (Nobody dares speak of their 13 month - according to Amir - feud because Layla saw him as a particularly interesting bird to poke like the annoying feline incarnate she is).

Layla's visage in the mindscape is a bit more... whimsical than Talia though. Layla has obviously pointed ears and impossible golden colored eyes. She also wears what could only be described as ball gowns, currently it's a long and voluptuous layered dress in varying shades of violet and purple with a lace trim. The bodice is white and strapless, including a flared back and dark purple bow with golden accents. Layla accessorizes with a stylish broad color necklace in gold and wire "ear wraps" also of gold and decorated in sapphire gemstones. Damian calls her overly extravagant, Layla calls him a slob.

Not all of their alters are as pleasant though, Darius is a cruel man with an expressionless face, strong jaw, and glowing green like Grandfathers eyes. He spends most of his time hiding away in the isles of books or another place Damian doesn't care to look for. Amir is the main one to deal with him, he says that Darius is "The Teacher" the one who punishes when they're particularly useless and weak. Thankfully he's only fronted once so far, Damian could barely move the next morning.

Layla might be the only one who looks his age but Damian is friendly with most of the alters, they just run away to their hidey-holes to plot world domination or something more often than not.

Moving to Wayne Manor away from Mother really shook their system, Amir was in control almost 24/7 until the most vigilant alter decided it was safe enough for Dami to come out (the smallest alter never took well to being locked up, but they didn't trust the Wayne's enough to show him).

The sudden change caused Callaghan and Robin to come into existence when they were done "rebooting". Robin is friendly, if a bit stern and has a habit of scowling but, they're a good, softer version of Amir. Those two get along like a house on fire and Damian knows their both similar with their penchant of protectiveness for Dami even if they get embarrassed it (Robin more so than Amir).

Callaghan... He's.

Damian will admit he doesn't exactly like this alter, his appearance is that of a scrawny version of Bruce Wayne. Callaghan has no interest in
fronting but does spend his time arguing with Darius over ethical and moral debates. It's always loud and Damian would prefer to not know where Darius is at any point in time. After Azul whipped them into shape (Amir suggested making them fight to the death over who's right).

Callaghan spends his time brooding in the pointedly bat decorated section of the library but is otherwise kind and can eat a concerning amount of chocolate in one sitting.

Chapter Text

When Amir finally allowed Dami to front, he was overjoyed, but now, Dami’s kind of upset. He’s all alone in his room, it’s smaller than the one he had at Nana Parbat but just as grey and boring, especially without Ummi…

The bed is comfortable, and through the collective effort of Robin and Amir he has yellow duckie plush with a figure more like an actual stuffed bear hidden away for him. Dami loves her. He’s named her Cobby and she keeps him company even though he’s so lonely.

It’s been weeks, possibly months and Dami waits in his room every night, spending his hour just waiting for his bedroom door to open. He’s tired of going to bed disappointed, crying himself to sleep, Ummi would’ve come and comforted him already. Ummi would’ve stayed with him. He misses Ummi, fantasizes of her walking through his bedroom door and holding him close all the time.

The isolation feels like a slow decay through his too large body. Panic tightens his throat and stings in his eyes. Dami’s done waiting for Ummi, his body feels heavy and slow and he has to find her! It took him a few extra minutes to work up the courage to walk out of his room. He’s never left his bedroom before so he doesn’t know what to expect.

”It’s okay Dami, nothing bad will happen to you.” Damian reassures him.

”I’ll take over if it gets too overwhelming for you, okay little Dove?” Robin soothes in their usual soft cadence.

The alter’s quiet support help Dami get the confidence to start searching for Ummi, quietly he tiptoes out of his room (after hiding Cobby so she doesn't get taken away), the sage green knitted blanket that Ummi made him wrapped around his body.

With the support of his friends, Dami traverses the never-ending hallways of Wayne Manor, there’s expensive looking knick-knacks almost every half-meter on small wooden desks and ancient looking portraits that scare Dami a little. He wraps the blanket tighter around his body and continues searching.

Silently he goes door to door, finding nothing and no-one, Dami’s glad he left the doors he searched open, the hallways are like a never-ending labyrinth of confusion and fear. Just when Dami’s previous determination is starting to wane, exhaustion and sadness weighing heavy on him, he comes across a room with another person! finally!

He opens the door that looks identical to all the others, finding a muscular man who’s standing by an office desk rummaging through a whole lotta papers with a creased brow.

At first Dami’s scared, only important people would have such a grand office, right? And this important person isn’t his Ummi so they could hurt him. If Dami wasn’t so tired and deprived of interaction he’d probably already be running out of the room and call for who? Ummi abandoned you.

Taking a moment to think, Dami searches for a nameplate on the cluttered desk, on the gold colored plaque his eyes find, is the name “Bruce Wayne”. He remembers that name! Ummi had told him countless storied of him, Dami idolized him, he’s The Batman He couldn’t believe he was here with Dami. Maybe Ummi didn’t visit because she knew he’d eventually find Baba!

Dami perks up, unable to hold back the excitement coloring his voice despite the late hour and Dami's own tiredness. “Baba?”

Bruce’s head rises to look at Damian with critical eyes, causing Dami to shiver at the chill those icy blue eyes bring him but he manages to stays still.
“What is it Damian? You are not on patrol tonight, you can go back to bed.” Bruce responds, hoping his son will just listen and not give him a hard time about patrol (he only allows Damian to patrol every other night with curfew around 11pm due to his young age).

Bruce knows his son is persistent though, assuming the title of Baba is a new attempt at persuasion.

Dami wants to giggle at Baba’s silly behavior, he’s not Robin, he’s Dami, and Dami doesn’t do patrol! But he knows they’re a secret and keeps quiet about it. Although, he doesn’t want to go to bed, why would he when he just met Baba and maybe he knows where Ummi is?

“أين الأم؟?” Dami questions quietly. [Where is Mother?]

Bruce stiffens and puts down his papers. He looks at down at Damian with critical eyes. The boy stands there with a posture of apprehension but his eyes are filled with wonder. Damian is acting like a completely different person and it’s tugging at Bruce’s paranoia. “What’s wrong, Damian?” Bruce asks, keeping his distance from the intruder(?) and voice full of worry.

“أفتقد أمي... هل تعرف أين هي?” Dami asks hopefully. [I miss mother… do you know where she is?]

Bruce subtly grabs a device from one of his desk drawers to scan Damian for any unusual and unnatural energy signatures. When nothing out of the ordinary comes up Bruce decides to shelf his paranoia for now (his hand metaphorically still perched to pull it back out), his son looks younger than he’s every tried to present himself before and has an unfamiliar blanket around his person, Bruce is weak to the picture it creates. Maybe the stress of adaption in a new place is finally getting to his youngest son? Maybe Damian is finally opening up? Or is he homesick? It’s certainly a possible symptom for Damian acting younger and the apparent memory loss…

“Your mother is away and will be for awhile Damian. You live with me, Alfred, and your siblings in Wayne Manor.” Bruce gently reminds his son, not wanting to alarm him. He doesn’t know the causes of Damian’s new attitude, and he’s unwilling to trigger a negative reaction.

Dami frowns, sadness clawing at his eyes and urging him to burst into tears. He looks down, curling the blanket tighter around himself it doesn’t smell like Ummi anymore, hasn’t for a long time. Dami doesn’t want to cry though, even Ummi gets annoyed about his crying sometimes and he wants to make a good first impression!

Bruce sighs, observing how melancholic Damian’s acting, it’s late and Damian will probably improve by tomorrow with a good night’s sleep. “Why don’t you head back to bed Damian, I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning…” Bruce cautiously continues, heading towards his office door to lead Damian back to his room

Dami doesn’t respond, upset and tired and confused and so, so overwhelmed who are “Alfred” and his apparent “brother’s”?. His eyes are watery and he’s about to ask Robin to switch with him when Baba turns around and crouches before reaching to put a hand on Dami’s shoulder. A few tears run down his cheeks unbidden but Dami ignores them.

Whatever Bruce was going to say gets stuck in his throat at the sight of Damian shedding tears. His eyes widen in panic, did the information that Damian is living in Wayne Manor truly upset him that much? What if –

His thoughts are cut off when his youngest moves his arms, unhesitant as he wraps them around Bruce’s middle (they barely encompass his abdomen, Damian is so small -) Damian then presses his face against Bruce’s collarbone, soft cries escaping Damian’s mouth.

Now Bruce is really panicked and more than a little overwhelmed, Damian has never acted like this before and emotional intelligence isn’t Bruce’s strong suit. He works completely on autopilot, moving to sit comfortably on his knees and embrace Damian back, the boys cries get diminutively louder to Bruce’s alarm. Bruce moves to unwrap his arms from Damian’s middle but that seems to startle him so he ends up staying still.

Dami didn’t mean to burst into tears, honestly, he’s a little embarrassed, but he hasn’t had physical touch in so long that he couldn’t help it! From Baba no less! It’s a bit awkward but Ummi is tough competition to beat in the hug department so Dami understands. Baba has the audacity (Damian likes using that word!) to try and let go but Dami won’t let him, why wouldn’t Baba want to stay?

It feels like long enough that Bruce thinks he should most definitely get up, but Damian won’t let go. With a slow exhale, Bruce places an arm underneath Damian’s legs keeping one against his back and stands. Hearing no argument from his son, Bruce walks towards Damian’s room in silence, allowing him to shift and wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck.

Bruce feels warm inside as he contemplates being able experience holding his son like this. It was easy to forget he was just a young child, even if this moment is an underlying issue or onetime thing, it’s a saddening reminder that Damian is something other than his assassin training, something more Bruce is ashamed to not have the hindsight, he intends to do better.

The open doors are supporting evidence to Bruce’s theory about Damian’s burst of memory loss, he likely forgot the way to Bruce’s office he hopes this soft version of Damian was looking for him.

Walking on quiet feet to Damian’s room, Bruce gently places Damian onto his bed and spreads the (unfamiliar, maybe Alfred made it?) sage green blanket over his body.

Feeling more affectionate than usual he gives Damian a quick kiss on the forehead, running his fingers through Damian’s soft hair.

“Goodnight, my son.” He whispers, voice affected by the emotions he’s feeling and coming out gravellier than intended.

Dami smiles, small but genuine. He's content despite the previous experience of disappointment and sadness.

Dami's also pretty sleepy, speaking in a whisper. “ليلة سعيدة يا بابا، هل ستراني مرة أخرى؟?” [Goodnight Baba, will you see me again?”]

Bruce's smiles fondly, “Of course, now get some sleep.”

Dami falls asleep listening to Baba walking to his door, shutting it, and the retreating footsteps, pleased in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.

Bruce himself is musing as he walks back to his office for those papers (shutting the previous open doors behind him), feeling the weight of what could’ve been if Bruce had been able to know of Damian sooner, if he only knew Talia had conceived a child that day…

Bruce could only hope that one day, with time and healing, Damian would be able to share more father and son, vulnerable, moments like these. But for now, Bruce is certain that Damian would rather never to speak of this ever again, if he remembers it that is.

Chapter Text

Dami got to spend a few more nights awake, waiting for Baba with unrestrained elation. Although, after a few nights Dami became a bit disheartened, not even Robin's words or memories of Ummi could cheer him up. It was maybe three nights before he decided to go searching again, feeling grumpy and peeved.

He lays in bed, staring at Cobby with an anxious look on his face and racing thoughts. Maybe Baba thought that we were going to meet in his office again? Like that’s their meeting spot? So then is Dami is the one avoiding Baba!? The thought makes tears sting in his eyes. He's gonna feel like a total jerk if thats the case… Dami presses Cobby against his chest, he needs to be ra-t-nal about this.

It’s been a few nights, Baba should’ve said something by now if he really was waiting for Dami though? Right? And none of his friends would be mean enough to keep the information from him. Dami has to take that into consideration, Baba’s a busy man, he could’ve forgotten? And although the thought of being forgotten upsets him a little, Dami guesses that he forgives Baba just a tiny bit if that’s the case…

With a pensive frown Dami grabs Ummi’s blanket again from it’s super-secret hidden spot from inside the mattress (hiding Cobby in the closet, Ummi’s blanket is less incriminating than Cobby) and then he changes into a grey sweatshirt with a pair of fluffy black pajama pants covered in stars. (Dami doesn’t like the silky pajama’s the body usually wears to bed – they're so slippery!) He finally makes way outside his room again – and gets lost almost immediately.

Dami but doesn't ask for help, I can just open all the doors by himself and maybe Baba will find me! Dami giggles at the thought, Baba must be lost just like him, the silly man needs days to find the right door.

Some long time later, Dami comes across a room with a whole entire person sleeping in it! Dami immediately assumes that it’s Baba’s room, as most of the door he's opened have been empty or closets or locked. Anticipation burns somewhat painfully inside him, Dami gets to see Baba! His Baba!

Who is currently sleeping all sweetly... Dami is a little bit disappointed but it makes obvious sense now! Dami's friends are so, so mean for not reminding him how uncool people who aren't Ummi are (although Baba is about three apples away from her coolness, just from the stories she's told him about the man).

It cannot be super late, yet Baba's sleeping. He must be tired from doing adult stuff. Dami needs naps sometimes too when a lots happened or one of his friends stress bleeds to him. And! Not only does Baba do billionaire stuff – he then has to be Batman! Dami nods to himself, Baba is old so he gets tired really fast because of stress.

Dami's heart goes out to his Baba, who is now one-million-percent forgiven. Ummi told him that Baba's bad at staying not stressed so he probably just works and sleeps. Dami shudders with horror, stepping closer and watching the mesmerizing inhale-exhale of the sleeping man. There's a boring white lamp at the man's bedside and Dami pulls on the metal ball string to turn it on with an audible clink

Dami’s grins but then thinks better of it with a somewhat apologetic smile, he doesn't like being interrupted from sleep either, but Baba shouldn't have ignored him then! He leans even closer to look over to the face of the man in bed. He’s wearing fluffy pants like Dami, just bright blue and with Nightwing running down the other thighs and a white T-shirt. Dami doesn't who Nightwing is, but they must be really cool for Batman to wear their stuff as pajamas.

Dami gets to stare for a while longer, he'd thought Baba would wake up at the light, Ummi said the Dark Knight is vigilant and that nothing gets passed him... Dami's is kind of confused, this man looks like Baba just with less wide shoulders, long straight hair, and darker skin. Does Baba go smaller when sleeping too? Dami wonders.

He frowns, Amir's words echoing in his head. That they're super special so nobody else is like them and Dami's friends have to be a secret. Dami doesn't think Baba is that old that a adult son would make sense..

“…Dami, what’s so important you had to wake me up?” The man Dami has mentally dubbed "Blue" in his head, groans (It was going to be Baba Junior but Dami's Baba's Junior as the mans kid!).

Dami's brow furrows. Maybe Blue is Baba's brother? That would make sense because Ummi would tell Baba, and Baba would tell, Ammo (Uncle)

He pouts, I wanna be the one to tell! Baba and Ummi have to know, but Blue doesn't. And if he did, wouldn't it be better to ask Dami's friends if it's a good idea because they have the authority for it.

Dami will ask later, if Baba isn't sleeping then he's probably working, maybe even as Batman. But Dami doesn't want to be disappointed from that answer so he doesn't ask. “هل تعرف أين يقع مكتب الأب يا بلو؟?” Dami tries to keep the whiny demand out of his voice. [Do you know where Dad's office is, Blue?]

Damian speaking his native language in the middle of the night when its – Dick checks his clock – four-in-the-morning is enough to shake Dick out of his restful state. “Wha’? Dami slow down..Gimmie a sec.” Dick requests, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. Some goon or another managed to bruise his ribs while he was taking Tim’s shift tonight, – Tim and Bab’s are co-conspiring on a crackdown of some new hot-shot in Crime Alley before Jason kills them– his ribs hurt pretty bad and he got back to the Manor less than an hour ago.

Dami doesn’t like having to wait, but that just might be his crankiness talking. Dami bounces on the balls of his feet as Blue takes agonizing minutes to wake up. When Blue looks suitably awake and Dami’s to the brim with restless energy he repeats his question. “'أين مكتب الأب؟?” [“Where is Dad's office?”]

Blue looks at Dami like he has two heads and six eyes, Dami bites his lip and runs his fingers across Ummi’s blanket to calm the restless energy inside himself. “I’m sorry, Dami, its late.” Dick apologizes, turning his body towards his obviously on edge brother. “Can you repeat that? In English please?”

“Wh’re Dn-Dahd?” Dami asks slowly, in the best English he could muster. His accent is thick and the words feel awkward on his tongue. Ummi made sure he can understand being spoken to in English but Dami’s never tried to speak the language past the basics because everybody he knows and cares about speaks Arabic.

Dick stares incredulously at Damian, worried. Dick’s brow furrows and he slowly sits up in bed. He pushes aside the oddness of Damian speaking Arabic. Damian’s stilted and slurred words as well as his odd behavior could mean that he possibly has a concussion or is having a stroke!? Dick scoots to the edge of his bed, close enough that his hands are level with Damian's middle.

Dick rushes to check his brother's condition; looking at his pupils and using the back of his hand to assess Damian's temperature. “Does your head hurt, are you feeling okay? Dizziness? Nausea? Is your vision blurry?” He frets.

Dami blinks back tears as Blue continues to not answer his question and starts touching him! He’s not allowed to be touched by anyone but Ummi and Baba, Ummi said so! “أريد فقط رؤية أبي!” [“I want to see Dad!”] Dami demands, lips trembling as he takes a step back stays in rooted in place.

Dick stills his fretting hands, eyes softening to unsmiling creases. With only a moment to think of the surroundings and situation, observing Damian now, he noticed the kids trembling shoulders and watery eyes. He’s not fluent in Arabic (which he’s been learning for Damian so that he could feel the same pride and connection Dick felt when Bruce learned Romani for him) but he can pick up “want” and “dad” from Damian’s rushed words.

Dick sighs, much calmer, smile less forced. He runs his fingers through Damian’s hair, speaking in a low and soothing voice. “Did you have a nightmare, Little D?” It somewhat surprises him that Damian would try and go to Bruce or all people for emotional support but at least the kids attempting to open up.

Dami blinks, dazed as he’s pet almost like a cat. All his previous frustration is washed away by Blue’s touches and a cool calm, swells inside of him (that might be one of the alters fault or his own reaction). Blue is really kind... he was just checking to make sure Dami wasn't sick (which is a bit of a silly reaction to being woken up in his opinion).

Dick holds back a coo as Damian shakes his head, projecting his movements to wipe away the pre-teen’s tears with his thumb. “You sure?” He asks softly. “C’mon Dami, you can tell me. It’s my duty as your big brother to save you from Bruce’s emotionally stunted coddling.” Dick jests, continuing to move slowly and keep his own breathes steady.

Dami tenses, tilting his head to the side, but not enough to dislodge Blue’s hand. Big brother? He has a brother? Baba must be older than he thought...

A warm liquid goes straight to Dami's gut. He's, happy? If Blue is a younger Baba then Blue is less of an adult and less stressed so he has more time for Dami! A new friend!

Dami excitedly leans into Blue's still stretched out arms and the man automatically hugs him back much to Dami's pleasure.

“Dami!? Wh-What’s wrong!?” Dick asks frantically. It's disturbing, seeing somone go from panicked tears to what Dick cautiously hopes isn't a manic giddiness.

Dami is almost bursting with excitement! He hasn't had new friends to play with in so long and he only ever had Ummi to play with in the physical world and now he has a Baba and a Blue! He can’t wait to hear all the stories they have to tell and fun games to be played, Ummi would sometimes run out of stories to tell and isn't super happy to play because of Dami's bad habit of being loud during those times (he and his friends are supposed to be secrets! And being noisy makes it really easy to notice them!)

When Damian doesn’t answer him, Dick chooses not to push for answers after re-centering himself. He knew it probably took a lot for Damian to reach out to him like this and Damian’s distress seems to be lessening if the quiet giggles(?) are any indication. Maybe they would talk about it later, the emotional whiplash, the crying, the sudden Arabic and awkward English.

Dicks sighs, he's fucking exhausted, being the emotionally competent sibling is such a pain sometimes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, grateful Damian ended up with him, Bruce wouldn't be able to handle this situation delicately at all.

Dick would be cruel to subject Damian to that when he's this aggrieved. Dick ignores Damian's cutely befuddled expression. “Okay then, if you don't want to talk I can walk you back to your room.”

Dami nods silently, seeing Baba doesn't have the same importance when Blue is eagerly available. He's somewhat satisfied, Dami still wants to make a good second impression on Baba but his previously ignored tiredness is coming back with a vengeance..

Dick stands, chuckling as Damian continues holding his middle like a particularly cuddly snake and ignoring the twinge of pain he feels as Damian presses against his wounds. “Bud, you know I can’t walk like this.”

Dami frowns but obediently releases Blue, standing in front of the tall male. Is Blue less capable? Ummi carries me around all the time... Maybe he just wants to get a better grip? Dami moves his arms, happy to be picked up, but Blue just holds his hand!?

So he is less capable! Dami whines in his mind. Still, the contact is real and Blue's hand has bumps similar to Ummi's.

On their way back to Damian’s room, Dick notes all of the open doors with tired exasperation. "The doors your work, Bud?"

Dami nods, rubbing his cheek with a touch of embarrassment. “لم أتمكن من العثور على مكتب الأب..." He mumbles. [“Couldn’t find Dad’s office…”]

Dick hides a frown as he manages to piece together “Dad's office, no find." Was Damian trying to find Bruce in his office? Dick will admit that it’s not a bad idea to look there but Alfred has definitely corralled the caped crusader to bed by now… “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Dick rechecks, mind whirling with possibilities and barely acknowledging Damian’s silent nod.

Once they’re finally in Damian’s room (Dick walked slowly to not aggravate his ribs and Damian didn’t protest) Dick examines his little brothers head and neck for any trauma and uses his phone flashlight to check his pupils one last time. He would be an irresponsible big brother if he didn’t.

After assuring himself that Damian doesn’t have a concussion, Dick leads Damian into his bed and tucks the boy in, whispering a soft “Good-night Dami.” He'd thought all this "pampering" would be Damian's limit, that his sleepy brother would snap at him./p>

“هل ستأتي لزيارتي مرة أخرى؟” Is what Dick gets in response instead, quiet and sweet. Well, he could tell from the tone at least, he had to guess that Damian said something along the lines of “Will you come again?”

Dick isn’t exactly sure what Damian means by that (Dick is staying in Gotham for a month while his apartment complex gets gassed) but he smiles all the same. “Of course, Bud.” He answers, hoping that was enough for Damian. They’ll talk about it tomorrow when they’re both more awake and Dick’s thoughts aren’t plagued with the anxious paranoia that Damian might be experiencing parasomnia.

”I love you Dami, sweet dreams.” Parasomnia symptoms include; disorientation, slow speech, memory impairment, agitation, anxiety..

Dami nuzzles his pillow, “.ليلة سعيدة يا أخي، أنا أحبك” [Goodnight brother, I love you.]

Chapter Text

The next morning, everyone woke up much later than usual. Dick had spent too much of his night worrying about Damian and going over security footage to see if the possible parasomnia is a new thing for him.

Bruce is withering under Alfred’s stare, because apparently, he snuck back into the Batcave to do repairs on the Batmobile against Alfred orders, and Tim’s schedule is all over the place so he could’ve just chosen to wake up late, lord knows the kid needs the sleep.

Anyways, these events led to Dick, Bruce, and Tim sitting at the dining room table and eating brunch. Tim’s looking into his coffee like it holds the secrets to the universe, Bruce, being the Old Man™ he is, is currently reading the physical newspaper in his hands pointedly, and Dick’s falling asleep against his waffles.

The trio wallow in their sleepiness and misery for some time before Jason strides into the dining room, groaning dramatically as Alfred slides him a plate with a slice of frittata and heirloom potatoes plus a side salad.

"Ugh! I’m never going to get the smell of mustard out of my suit! It’s official, Condiment King is Gotham's most heinous villain!” Jason bemoans for the ninth time since early morning, dramatically slumping into his seat next to Tim.

“Tt. He is but a low tier criminal.” Damian snarks, calmly eating his own spread of zucchini noddle egg nests and heirloom potatoes. Dick, having missed when his youngest brother entered the dining room, gives Damian a half-hearted wave.

Jason gives Damian a falsely aghast look, nodding seriously. “That’s how they get’cha. The higher tier rouges 're mo' dan'grous t'an annoyin’, so ta' lower ones haf'ta compensate by being fuckin’ nuisances.”

The grim air around him calms as Jason goes back to being loudly dramatic, pressing his palms against his eyelids. “ ‘m gonna haf’ta burn my suit!” He groans, tilting his head upwards to glare at Dick, who usually plays along with his antics but is being suspiciously quiet.

Dick’s head rises from its tilted forward position, feeling the heated weight of Jason’s stare “Really? Isn’t that a bit wasteful? Those suits aren’t cheap y’know.” He playfully banters, lacking enthusiasm obviously stemming from something other than tiredness.

“We’re rich.” Tim deadpans, picking at his plate of sour cream coffee bundt cake with a side of fruit salad (Alfred’s latest bribe to get him to eat something in the mornings, stupid low blood pressure).

Dick yawns, mumbling “Still wasteful.” under his breath as Jason goes back to eating and brooding in moderate silence. He’s definitely contemplating which rich assholes have pissed him off enough to steal from. Hopefully he won't be teaming up with Selina again, Bruce needs to at least act like he disapproves of their behavior beyond token protests.

Tim looks at Dick incredulously, by now he’s usually acting like the peppy should-be-stabbed-with-a-knife-repeatedly morning person instead of having this air of depression fitting for a particularly despondent Bruce. ”What’s up with you? You didn’t go on patrol last night, why are you acting dopey?”

Dick sighs, finishing his bite of strawberry syrupy waffle goodness (although it would taste better with some ice cream... maybe Alfred won't notice if he uses some...) before responding. “I didn’t sleep much, I was too worried about Dami…” Dick omits that he did in fact patrol last night. Steph was supposed to, but her debate club had released late and then Steph's group of friends had a sleepover at Allison's house which she joined, obviously. She'll pay him back by designing flamethrower bracelets with him.

Like a hive-mind, Jason, Dick, Bruce, Tim, and Alfred turn to face Damian at once. Said boy huffs, glaring at every single one of his family members individually. “What? I’m fine. Your worrying is a waste.” Damian can see that none of them are convinced, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

”What’cha do this time?” Jason asks curiously, raising a brow and looking the pre-teen over. Damian hadn't seemed obviously injured or fatigued.

Damian's eyes dart back to Jason, his neck twisting “I didn’t do anything!” his voice raises defensively. Sure, sometimes he's reckless, but that doesn't mean every accusation is true, Richard is delirious! Seeing that Todd doesn't have anything else to say, he turns back to the cause of his ire with a glare.

"Richard."

Bruce sets his paper down on the table, staring pointedly at his oddly forthcoming oldest to continue. He ignores Damian’s protest, if there is anything to worry about regarding Damian, Dick would know. “Dick, has a situation arisen?"

”It was nothing, Father. I -“ Amir prays to every God it doesn’t believe in that Grayson will suddenly acquire a modicum of tact. I will cut your tongue out with a cheese knife.

It’s Dick’s turn to grimace. He sends an unappreciated apologetic look Damian's way. “He had a nightmare,” Dick admits “or at least I think he did.” It would be better to admit a nightmare than mental illness, right? Dick already spilled the beans, might as well dig his grave deeper.

”No such thing happened.” Amir defends, voice a furious hiss.

Grayson keeps blabbing, seemingly intent on humiliating Amir further. “Dami, you came to my room last night, don’t you remember?” He asks the boy, concern coloring his tone. That's definitely another point towards parasomnia.

Tim goes back to slowly picking at and sometimes eating a bite of his food. Damian having nightmares doesn’t really concern him and the boy's had ten years on Earth chalked full of trauma, Tim’s not going to mock him for it. Even if a spark of bitter vindication does run through him.

Bruce interrogates Damian with only his gaze, a Batman tactic.

“You must’ve been dreaming, Grayson.” Amir scoffs, cheeks turning a bitter red color. To be compared to something he is not; soft, with childish sweetness, is both blatantly incorrect and oddly insulting.

“No, I wasn't." Dick affirms "Don't you remember coming to my room, Damian?.” he asks, practically holding the string that keeps Damian's weak façade of an acceptable individual between his teeth, ready to pull.

Before anymore of this interrogation (or humiliation ritual? Grayson must be aware the effect his words are having on the youngest) can go on, Jason loudly sets down his now empty cup of tea, silence reigns and Tim barely flinches. (So what if he doesn't like loud and sudden noises? It's just survival instincts, Tim's are just finely tuned).

Jason scowls (a real scowl, not his theatrical ones from earlier), shifting restlessly in his seat while facing both Dick and Bruce. “Quit interrogatin’ the kid, clearly he doesn't want ta talk 'bout it.” Jason would've said uncomfortable if he didn't think it would make the honey badger more prickly than he already is.

Dick and Bruce both look properly scolded for their intrusiveness, even if their hearts were probably in the right place. Alfred, sometime during the men's probing, has walked back to the kitchen. Dick bites his lip, more awake and thoughtful of his actions with his words being admonished. Bruce's eyes have shut down to a steely blue-grey.

Amir breaks the silence, not uncomfortable, but unnerved by having personal secret's almost be unearthed. “May I be excused.” It asks the room at large, willing away the redness coloring his cheeks.

”To interrogate you so openly, how uncouth of Nightwing.” Robin scoffs, disappointment clear in their tone.

Amir agrees mutely with Robin as Bruce jerks his head to the side, allowing him to leave. Amir does so silently and swiftly with it's plate only half eaten, it’s not fleeing. Through sustained exposure to examination and physical duress, it has developed an insensitivity to their impact (not immune, nobody and nothing is immune to pain). He’s a prodigy at not breaking under pressure. Emotions are not his forte though, Amir will only admit to himself, these complex thoughts and actions of people around him that don't make logical sense but are seemingly cogent under an emotionally attuned gaze.

Dami is banging around its head when Grayson kept calling Amir “Dami” certainly doesn't help it concentrate. Dami is whining about wanting to front and interact out of excitement now that he knows “Blue” exists. Amir's firm dismissals of the little's wants does nothing to deter him.

Sighing and with little prompting from Damian, Amir decides to sleep off it’s headache verging on migraine instead, walking up the Manor’s multitude of steps with haste and falling ungracefully onto the soft bedding. For having woken up barely two hours ago, Amir falls into the realm of unconsciousness once again with open arms.

Back in the Kitchen

Tim is staring warily at the dining room arch that leads to the kitchen, first living room, then upstairs. Looking like a demon is going to come back and jump scare him the second he looks away and swallows his bite of pineapple. “…That was weird, right?” He asks the room at large. Sure, Damian didn't blow up as much as Tim honestly expected him to, but the boy seemed oddly fearful behind his defensiveness.

Dick is also looking at the arch, a storm building in his eyes. Nightmares, that could be a very good or a very bad thing. Damian could be healing his past mental wounds, unlocking the gates to repressed trauma, or he could be sinking into them like a marble in a container of molasses. But if it's parasomnia, Damian could be experiencing the latter bad effect. Anxiety, depression, PTSD are all reasons it could affect the boy.

Bruce is staring at his own (now cold) blueberry waffles with a tensely blank face, he thought Damian was opening up when week he went into Bruce’s office with vulnerability cloaking his actions. Maybe Bruce was too harsh? He’s been trying to give Damian space to breath so he doesn’t feel crowded... Was that a mistake?

Jason stewing in his own thoughts, the anger flaring in his gut getting stroked higher and brighter. He grinds his spinach up with a butter knife. Nightmares. Jason used to calm Damian down from them, he had thought their frequency slowed, but apparently not.

Dick’s the one to break the silence. “… I’m just worried about him, he was pretty messed up last night with no obvious cause."

“So ya' don’t get the occasional night terror Big Bird? Ya wanna share yer deepes' and darkes' secrets with the class like ya tried to do wi'f Baby-Bat?” Jason bites back.

“Jason.” Bruce scolds, although there’s no heat in it.

Dick clears his throat, attempting to wipe away his own manifestation of guilt. “It was just… odd. I’ve never seen Dami act so childish and I don’t think any old nightmare would do that.”

Tim’s brow furrows, head turning to face Dick. “You’re all worried because Damian’s acting his age? Isn’t that something to celebrate or whatever?” He squints, Dick was a child once, can he not tell the difference between a sobbing toddler and sad boy-assassin?

”He must’ve been feeling homesick again.” Bruce states, a few weeks? That's a worrying frequency for night terrors and high emotions related to loss.

”Wait. Again?”

”A few weeks ago Damian wondered into my office, speaking Arabic and asking for Talia. He was very obviously disoriented from his usual mindset." Bruce explains.

Dick frowns, replying to his Father figure with certainty only found in the fact that he's completely lost. “He was doing that last night too, expect he was asking for you, Bruce.”

”I would also like to report that all the doors had been opened throughout several hallways leading directly to Master Damian’s room.” Alfred chimes in, having just returned to the dining room and setting down a refill of Jason's tea. He had noticed the Young Master while attending to some late-night duties. The boy was unusually loud, although he stopped paying attention once the lad found his way to Master Dick's room. “again.” Alfred adds, Master Bruce had mentioned to the Butler this sudden habit of the Young Master.

“So, Damian sleep walks?” Tim states with a disinterested air around him. He’s more focused on the tablet in front of him that is either showing confidential work information or candy crush. But Alfred hasn’t taken it out of his hands yet, so it’s probably the latter.

Dick shakes his head. “I think it’s broader than that, the symptoms he’s showing point to possible Parasomnia.”

Jason bites his cheek thinking about Damian walking around throughout the manor without consciousness and possibly hurting himself. Or other’s, either is likely with a panicked assassin, especially one as capable as Damian.

Tim’s thoughts are captured in a similar grim tone, although more self-interested in nature. Having Parasomnia just opens up dozens more doors for Damian to accidentally or purposefully try to maim Tim.

Bruce is concerned, first and foremost, for his son's well being. Damian is still only a child and the harm the boy could inflict on Bruce is purely psychological in nature so he’s focusing on the more significant area of Damian’s mental health. Established causes of Parasomnia are along the lines of PTSD or C-PTSD, Parkinson's Disease (although Bruce isn’t aware if he or Talia have the genetic mutation needed for Damian to be at risk of it, Bruce hasn’t noticed any tremors, unbalanced feet, or slurred speech in his day-to-day life), anxiety which would truly have to be at a debilitating level, depression, and sleep apnea (the last one is definitely not it, Damian sleeps like a ghost).

Dick offers Bruce a troubled look, recognizing the signs of getting lost in horribly twisted thoughts from his own self reflection during his late-night studies.

Tim grimaces. “Maybe he should have a lock on his door…” Life would be so much easier if Damian didn’t come to Wayne Manor pre-traumatized, goddammit.

”I don't believe such precautionary measures are necessary, Damian seemed overly harmless in his altered state.” Bruce opposes, they can only be grateful that, for now, Damian is not violent and has instead sought out comfort figures. Perhaps it’s even a progression of something good? Repressed memories or something of the like coming to light and Damian knowing he has a safe-space with Bruce and Dick to alleviate the aftermath.

”Sweet even.” Dick adds unnecessarily, although it gives merit to Bruce’s own thoughts.

“I consider that a motion sensor affixed to his door would be appropriate.” Bruce suggests, mind elsewhere.

”Like you don’t already have one on every door.” Jason retorts, lacking the heat usually offered when remarking on Bruce’s paranoid and obsessive tendencies.

“Not ones with alarms.” Bruce replies absent-mindedly. The sensors only keep a list of occupants and a timetable of entrances and exits.

Dick grumbles, taking over Jason’s role of a displeased son and jabbing his fork through his waffles extra forcefully.

”The arrangement has been confirmed. Upon the occurrence of Damian's somnambulistic episodes, I shall be alerted through my pager and will assume responsibility for managing the situation. In cases where I am unavailable, status reports will be distributed to each of your devices for whoever is unoccupied.” Damian will doubtlessly protest, so unless his son catches it or someone else admits to it, Bruce has decided to keep Damian in the dark for now.

Bruce’s brow twitches when Dick stares at him disapprovingly. “You just want extra time with Dami being cute.”

He doesn’t deem that with a response, unfolding his newspaper once again.

Chapter Text

Amir’s mood could be described by many adjectives when he woke up; poor, dire, unfavorable, dreadful, inimical, and so on and so forth. Every part of it is just boiling with anger and frustration. He’s had to put up with ”knowing looks” from Grayson, Father, and Pennyworth all day. Drake, thankfully hasn’t sought him out more than usual, and Todd is actually intelligent and choosing to stay out of Amir’s way. He endures that for many hours (sadly Grayson’s seen recent events as a catalyst to “push him out of his comfort zone”, gently of course, with something verging on pity in his expression and movements.

Then, it’s somehow expected to remain steadfast with Dami crying himself to sleep every night waiting for his Ummi, Baba, or Blue to come visit, they never do. Amir knows he’s being unreasonable, hot-headed, and troublesome he just can’t help it, the emotional interrogation from Grayson, the physical alarm on it’s bedroom door, the staring! It’s spending less and less time fronting while it’s acting so volatile. Amir is overwhelmed and agitated and it doesn’t know how to calm the fuck down (as Paulina would say). He’s supposed to be the protector why can’t Amir do anything right.

It’s honestly glad the Wayne’s never visited his room. Not for their child part, Amir hates watching Dami cry. He just doesn’t want the Wayne’s to know about Dami. If they learn about the alter’s they’ll start digging, and ripping them apart. He knows it will happen.

It’s just not worth the hassle, telling the Wayne’s. They wouldn’t understand, they would judge and study and hate. They wouldn’t understand, Amir can already imagine Father attempting to deprogram them, separating it from Robin, Dami, Damian, and all the others. A longing fills Amir’s chest, heart racing and breaths shallow, his vision grows blurry and nausea claws at its throat —

Timeskip

Thankfully, Robin’s allowed Amir to let off some steam during their allotted patrol. It would’ve just trained, let the lull of routine and sweat on his brow drag him under, but Robin said it would only garner more harassment from the Wayne’s. It doesn’t want that, so they compromised.
]
Unfortunately, Robin couldn’t help themselves with nitpicking his behavior during patrol. It took the complaints with a grain of salt, Robin was created to uphold Batman’s legacy so of course Robin would be cautious of how Amir’s actions would effect Robin’ s reputation. Patrolling helped calm Amir down but the constant criticism both from Batman and Robin was starting to grate on its nerves.
Just as Amir is striding over to the showers, mind already fuzzy as he prepares to switch, imagining Khala’s unconditional and protective warmth, Batman calls him over. Amir seriously contemplates using his katana to slash a red line across the Dark Knights neck but it restrains himself with a deep breath. Robin offer’s to switch but Amir’s fine, he can handle one more beratement from his Father commander before switching. It can manage one measly conversation.

“Robin, a word.” Batman demands.

Amir turns, Batman is standing barely a foot in front of him. Deep breaths.“Yes, father?”

“Your behavior out on the field was unacceptable. You disregarded several direct orders and put yourself and the mission in danger. This cannot happen again.” Bruce lectures, hiding the worry in his tone, Damian should know this by now.

“If I had followed orders the Batmobile would’ve been damaged and we could potentially have missed the target anyways.” Amir struggles to keep his voice calm.

“That doesn’t matter! There was a plan, and it failed because you decided to take matters into your own hands.” Bruce sighs, Damian doesn’t know better, Damian should know better. He’s not going to yell. keep calm, he is just a killer kid.

“..The problem here is that you can’t follow orders and that’s going to get you or a bystander killed.” Batman growls.

”I am the son of -“

”You are not invincible Robin, and that’s lesson you need to learn.” Bruce cannot cope with the thought of another dead Robin, another dead son.

It’s like time stills for Amir, growing agitation being forcibly shoved down and compelled to listen and obey ”or be punished for your insolence.” There is a lesson he needs to learn and his commander is going to teach him.

Amir was about to retort but it felt a chilling presence pushing to the front of his mind. Like a wave of cold water. Not the relaxing kind like a shower after training, or the cool peace of jogging in the rain. No, it’s artic, freezing Amir’s lungs and blistering its skin. Amir cannot hold back the shudder running through his body. Darius.

Darius is preparing Amir for punishment.

Amir could feel control over his body begin to slip, the constriction of its brain, throat, and joints. DariusAmir doesn’t stumble due to training; proper punishment etiquette has been drilled into it. Amir feels his chin raise and his back straighten against his own will. Its mouth opened and words were spoken for him through a tightening throat.

“I am sorry father. How may I learn my lesson?” Amir is drowning! He’s drowning! Make it stop! Make it stop please! No no nono nonon nonno – the water! The water it’s in his lungs – get it out get it out get it out! Amir screams
Bruce’s lips press into a hard line. He’s unsure if Damian truly feels remorse, or not. Bruce sighs. He knows it been a rough past few weeks for everyone and Damian storming out of the dining room a few weeks ago coupled with the argument over the motion sensors has left his youngest on edge.

Bruce decides to go easy on him, Damian seems remorseful enough. Besides, he’s had a long night and he’s not particularly enthusiastic to relive the panic of Jason’s final moments doubled with Damian’s misbehavior. It’s fine that his heart feels like it’s going to drop out of his stomach whenever his sidekick does something insubordinate. He’s fine.

“Just… as long as you won’t do it again.”

Damian doesn’t move a muscle besides the subtle twitch of his fingers.

“What shall my lesson be, Father?” Darius repeats.

”Reflect on your behavior.” Bruce replies shortly, his shoulders twitch, he needs to make contingencies. He need’s to be in control and in the know.

”How should I do that?” is Darius’ suave reply.

“Figure it out.” Batman mumbles bluntly, brushing Damian off and heading towards the Bat-Computer.

Amir Darius stands in the Batcave numbly for a few moments, unsure of his Father’s prerogative. Eventually, he decides that the task was to be handled at his own discretion.

Hi, trigger warning here! There’s going to be self-harm and blood in the next few paragraphs. If the thought of gore and graphic violence bothers you, please skip!

He’s been ordered to teach Amir a much-needed lesson. He resolves to remind the alter to follow orders.

Amir has calmed somewhat from its initial panic. He still instinctively wants to retreat somewhere in the back of his mind and dissociate through the pain but Amir is required to learn his lesson. Amir needs this learning experience in order to be superior to his peers, vigorous in his attacks, and someone worthy of his titles. A new wave of coldness washes over Amir, he can feel Grandfathers Darius’ toxic green eyes on him as he submits to Grandfather’s Darius’ will.

Darius looks around the cave subtly for any weapon that looked like it would inflict the most pain without causing permanent damage and unnoticeable if he liberates it for the night. It takes little prompting for Amir to recall a prototype staff that extends into a spine-like whip that the Drake Heir’s been working on. It seems suitable enough and Darius smirks.

Now, Darius has a choice to make. He can punish this body in the shower in the Batcave or its own room. Having to walk up those steps without garnering the paranoid eye of Batman seems like a challenge for Kalb and Ra’s never did like seeing Kalb act like the pathetic child it is… The Batman must be the same, he’ll just have to punish this body more extensively then.

After changing out of the frankly ridiculous Robin uniform, Darius starts walking up towards its room, expertly avoids the inhabitants of Wayne Manor. Sighing as he opens, closes, and locks his door. It’s such a crutch that this body needs to remain operational after punishment unlike the League of Assassin’s, he could make this body catatonic, go into shock, experience organ failure, or even die and Ra’s would throw Kalb into the Lazarus Pit afterwards before leaving Kalb in a cell to be waterboarded, starved, and tortured (not to the brink of death, sadly).

Darius walks into the (quaint, compared to what he’s used to) bathroom. He begins removing the clothes until nothing remains but the boxers on their body. It gives a silent reprimand to Kalb when the body starts trembling, which causes the action to stop with suitable swiftness.

Without fanfare, Darius waves the whip over the bodies shoulder, slamming it hard into his back. The thick metal has an extra bruising force that Darius is pleasantly surprised at. It can hear Kalb wince after ever scorching strike, but luckily for the alter, Amir remains silent.
Darius couldn’t use the whip for long though, this lesson is all about discretion, the loud thwaps of a whip would surely draw attention eventually. It stands on shaking legs pathetic Kalb and turns to check his work. The wounds are deep, seeping blood down his back as small bubbles of fat expose themselves. His back is cleaved in into Lichtenberg like figures, branching out across his skin in a mockery of wings.

Darius turns again, staring into the mirror with a cruel smile as tears well in this bodies eyes never falling as it speaks in a low voice. “Have you learned your lesson?” He asks rhetorically, the punishment isn’t over until he deems it so.

Amir, eyes glassy with cowardly disassociation and a trembling body that begs for peace, does not seek to answer. Its mouth tastes of iron from clenching his teeth and the air burns against his back. Amir soldiers on through the punishment, he deserves it.

Darius’ body language is relaxed despite the agony Kalb is no doubt in, continuing to stare into the mirror. “Where does Paulina keep her cigarettes Haywan?” He remarks, already knowing the answer but wanting to bask in the alters worthless attempts to remain stoic.
Amir’s mouth opens but no sound escapes, blood leaks from his lips and stains its teeth. The continued hemorrhaging causes Amir to almost stumble, feeling lightheaded and weak.

Darius quickly takes back control with an eyeroll. Walking stiffly over to the bathroom door and crouching down before unscrewing the vents. Tucked into the corner he finds Paulina’s “secret stash” of a pack of cigarettes and cheap bic lighter. Standing back up, he wastes no time opening a window and taking a hit, cheeks hallowing as he breaths in.

Darius detests smoking, truly, damaging the body for the sake of pleasure instead of punishment will never make sense to him. A burning warmth travels down his lungs and he exhales a thin line of smoke.

Thankfully, he only needs the burning end of the cancer stick, pressing it against his arm before flickering the cheap lighter and taking another drag. He repeats this until two uniform lines run down the body’s arms. The circular burns have a brownish center and rolled edges and feel quite leathery as he caresses them. It hopes Haywan will suffer infection.

Darius huffs, such a weak punishment due to the limitations set. In the League of Assassin’s he could’ve used a chainsaw and noose at least. With a lazy gait he leaves the bathroom, grabbing one of the many non-decorative katana’s above the bed’s headboard. He decides to take a pocket knife from this bodies shoe closet as well, which he finds within moments. Predictable.

He walks back into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror. With Haywan’s shaking hands he draws a red circle onto its left hipbone, setting the katana onto the sink for now. The circle is large enough to cover half its stomach and extend to his chest area, allowing the beads of blood to clot before continuing.

It’s a long and painful process, not Darius’ best work either, since Kalb has decided to start shaking all over that no amount of reprimand will cowl. Darius’ slices the League of Assassin’s insignia into his skin through muscle memory and instinct. Ingraining the Demons Head’s twin pairs of horns, fearsome eyes, and imposing teeth into its skin one segment at a time. The pocket knife is adequate for carving the minute details of Ra’s insignia.

Darius finishes with a pleased cruel smile. Allowing the blood to dry before filling the bathtub with enough boiling hot water to cover its legs and lowering himself inside it. Darius holds the katana in a bloody grip and sits upright, legs straight in front of him.
With mechanical movements he uses the sharp blade to make diagonal slashes from his thigh to ankle. The new cuts burn under the hot water, Darius know its grinning at the thought of this body getting an infection or increasing the blood loss. The blood blooms into the water like a gas bomb, mesmerizing and enchanting.

Just as Darius is three more slashes to finished with his other leg, recalling each of Haywan’s failures after each strike, its vision grows spotty and his chest starts acting like it’s having a heart attack… With short puffs of breath Darius realizes Haywan is about to lose consciousness.

Amir knew that if it could control his body he would be screaming right now. How pathetic of him.

Trigger Warning over! Thank you for reading or not reading!

Azul sighs when she awakens, laying in the bathtub, and covered in blood. By the amount of pain she’s in it’s not hard to speculate that Amir was likely punished or taught a lesson or whatever bullshit Darius keeps spewing. He’s a creep to all of them but he only goes out of his way to “teach” Amir a “lesson”.

Her legs burn something fierce and when looking down Azul groans at how much blood she’s apparently lost. Wincing when she spots the half-submerged katana sitting next to her. Taking a moment to look around Azul found Amir’s discarded clothes and a pocket knife covered in blood.

She groans, tears welling in her eyes at the pain she’s in. Amir likely won’t be around for a while, Paulina’s having a panic attack, Robin feels guilty, Dami is sobbing, Empath-ian is almost catatonic, Callaghan is raging, and Layla is planning… Azul might be a introvert at best and hermit at worst but she still checks up on her shitheads.

She wishes someone other than her had to front at this moment though, even if Callaghan would do more harm than good and Layla doesn’t like fronting if Talia’s not involved.

Like usual Azul is forced to pick up after their messes.

Okay, focus. The first order of business is taking care of her injuries.

With a hiss she slowly bends her legs, inching towards the bathtub drain. When Azul gets there, she takes out the stopper, allowing the opaque, red colored water to slowly drain. Azul waits a few minutes before putting back in the stopper and turning the facet to cold instead of the burning hot it was before (if the pink tint and wrinkles on her legs are any indication).

Azul shudders as the water steadily increases, goosebumps running across her skin. Tossing the katana carelessly out of the tub before grabbing the sensitive skin body wash that’s thankfully on the lowest shelf and squirting some in her hand. A dull throb of pain beats behind Azul’s eyes as she works, taking care to wash between the glassy pink with inflamed red edge slashes covering her skin then lazily rinsing off her legs.

She’s unsure of how to treat the whip marks besides laying on her back, which brings a white-hot pain to sting across her retina’s, stifling a gasp she continues trembling in her too small body in a blood-stained tub. They will most likely need stitches. But while being in a rather difficult place to reach, staples will have to suffice.

It takes some awkward maneuvering for Azul to be able to at least get the excess blood off her back that’s not part of the clotted wounds. She has to lay on her right side to do it, because like hell is she opening the can of worms that is the League of Assassin’s insignia on her left side and what that indicates. Plus, it doesn’t seem too deep so she’s just going to put some anti-bacterial cream on it, bandage it, and forget it exists.

With a ringing in her ears that might exist in the outside world, Azul slowly lifts her shaking form from the tub. She’s knobby kneed stepping outside of it, having a painful grip on the mercifully close towel rack. She hobbles over to the sink, sitting awkwardly to try and not put pressure on her cuts.

Azul decides to ignore the cleanup that will definitely need to get done at a later date or time. Sighing in relief when she finds the medkit. She reaches over to grab the discarded clothes that are thankfully bloodless and uses the shirt to pat-dry her legs, Azul is too unmotivated to get back up and grab a towel.

Grabbing a tube of bacitracin, she generously slathers the cooling ointment onto her cuts before pressing sticky gauze pads over every single one. It takes some time because there are so many but Azul thinks she did it right? She wraps some brown bandages over her legs just to be sure.

With some more digging and a relieved breath Azul finds a “Disposable Skin Stapler” still in the box. There a suture kit as well but Azul is trembling all over and the mixed scent of blood and smoke is starting to make her a bit light-headed so she settles for staples.
With a pained grunt she stands just long enough to find the hydrocodone bottle and swallow a pill dry before slumping back to the floor with a wince. Azul sits there for about twenty minutes, trying not to fall asleep and just breath deeply before the pill starts working. The pain slowly decreases and her death grip on the handles of the cabinet loosens.

Azul uses the other discarded garment to dry her back with a painful pat and drag system then smears more bacitracin across her back. Squeezing her eyes shut and letting out wheezing breaths as she works excoriatingly slow on the staples. Azul finishes with a whimper, breaths stuttered as she leans heavily against the cabinet. She hopes she did alright because she is not doing that again.
She grabs the brown bandages and does a moderately-okay job at wrapping them around her middle if she does say so herself. Although, Azul might loose points for not looking at what she’s doing, too busy ignoring the League of Assassins insignia to think about it.
Azul whines when she realizes she still has to wrap the tiny burns, eyes struggling to stay open as she shivers. Digging into the bathroom sink cabinet again she finds a green bottle of aloe vera, with a wobbly lip she silently sings the praises of whoever stocked the cabinet, praising them and offering her first kid as tribute.

Her tired arms make slow work of slathering the gel onto the brown bandages and then wrapping them around said arms, the burns go from the junction of her elbow to just below her wrist. Was Darius even trying to be subtle, she screams mentally, gritting her teeth.

It’s with heavy breaths that Azul attempts to stand, swaying dangerously and holding onto the sink for dear life. Swallowing she somehow just notices that she’s wearing wet, blood stained boxers. Tears of frustration well in Azul’s eyes, slumping back to her knees ow and quickly moving to place most of her weight onto her keister. The pocket knife with a blade covered in dried blood is just in reach thank Atua! Azul reaches for it and holds the waist of her boxers up, cutting the sides without fanfare before struggling to stand once again and stumbling out of the bathroom into the spacious bedroom.

Azul shuffles over to the closet, looking for her specific cream-colored sweatshirt with a small rainbow at the chest and upper-arms that goes from burgundy to gold and the matching sweatpants. She finds them easily enough; the clothes cover her injuries and are soft enough for her sensitive skin. Cautiously slipping them on Azul wastes no time limping to bed, happily taking pressure off her broken rib(s?) and shaking legs. Snuggling under the covers and attempting to find a spot that doesn’t draw an agonized breath from her, then blacking out.
Azul does not care that she left the bathroom light on, the cigarettes and lighter out, the medical equipment out, the bloody pocket knife out, the katana with half the blood washed away out, the window open, that she didn’t drain the slightly tinted red bath water, and that her clothes are cut up and blood covered in the bathroom. For now, she just sleeps.

Chapter Text

Jason sighs as he walks up the Manor’s abundant stairs, it’s been two weeks since Pouncey’s door got rigged with alarms and they haven’t gone off since then. Jason will only admit to himself that he’s worried, he’s not stupid, although he was Pit Affected during most of his time with the League his moments of clarity show a distorted picture with Damian. He remembers moments where Talia would call Damian “she” when training together, how he would act so quiet and different during their quiet moments in the library, and unexpectedly caring towards Jason with seemingly no reason.

Now, it’s like Pouncey’s shut down, he’s closed off, aggressive, and secretive. And, well, those aren’t particularly bad things, especially in their line of work, but Jason can’t even have his private moments with the kid anymore. He’s tried and the rejection stings.

He’s surprised his numbskull family hasn’t noticed it either, especially B, the Bat might not claim to be Father of the Year but he’s not exactly trying hard to be more than absentee. Really, Pouncey is the only reason he’s spending any time at the Manor besides the fact he misses his family so much that it burns in his chest.

His continued visits has let Jason discover some new things about Damian; how he doesn’t like being called Dami (he gets oddly indigent without giving reason as to why), how he’ll sometimes cook with Alfred (with surprising skill, did the League teach him how to cook?) and seem to hold himself back from talking, that every so often Damian will sneak in a cup of coffee or five and be more docile all day but claims to prefer tea every time Jason asks, and on occasion he’ll act skittish enough to be mistaken for a street cat, and so on and so forth. So yes, Jason’s curious, sue him.

Jason finally gets to Pouncey’s door, it’s Sunday and almost six o’clock, he’d be hard pressed to let Alfred’s wrath come Damian’s way for skipping the bi-weekly mandatory dinner gathering. Even Bruty Pebbles himself, comes stalking out of his office for these dinners.

So, because he’s so awesome and concerned, Pouncey hasn’t been out of his room all day, Jason knocks. Damian gets irritated if his door isn’t knocked on a certain way so he makes sure to keep his knock firm, with moderate force and knocks one, singular time, just how Pouncey likes it, the weirdo.

He waits for a few moments, waiting for that irritated huff and stiff ”Come in.” from Pouncey. When Jason stands by for more than three minutes, unease squirms in his gut. Slowly opening the door and being met with darkness Jason doesn’t bother turning on the lights, eyes darting around and being met with the coppery smell of blood.

Throwing caution to the wind and with his breath catching in Jason’s throat he turns on the lights, uncaring of the Pit roaring against his temple at the thought of somebody daring to hurt Akhoya only to stop short at the scene in front of him.
Damian is sitting upright with his eyes closed, as if he fell asleep while reading a book, although the pillow clutched against his chest is odd. His breaths are coming out stuttered and he’s very obviously sweating with a red tinted face. Jason rushes over, just barely stopping himself from shaking Damian awake. Is the smell of blood from Damian, did he vomit blood!?

“Chiquito! Wake up!” Jason shouts, panicked, his breaths coming out stuttered and hands shaking. He can’t focus on one thing or another, looking for the blood he smells or looking at Damian’s sickly form.

Junya Yisheng groans as he’s awakened, shifting to get more comfortable. “Cease your pointless babbling this moment, else I pull out your tongue.” He demands, voice soft and monotonous but lacking the scratching quality most people do when just waking up.

Jason breaths a sigh of relief, giving into the urge to press a hand to Pouncey’s forehead. “You’re burnin’ up Dames.” He whispers, ignoring Damian’s words. “Are ya’ injured?” At least if it’s an injury there’s a cause for the kids’ sudden sickness.

Junya Yisheng eyes slide open glaring fiercely at Jason, who ignores his gracious warning. “Yes.” He admits through gritted teeth.

Jason’s lips thin at the unchanging pitch of Pouncey’s voice, it sounds like he’s trying to imitate Batman, Jason thinks with an eyeroll. Although panicked fretting is more Hickey’s area of expertise so he settles for analytical. “An’ ta’ smell of blood? That ya’ too?”
Junya Yisheng huffs, left eye twitching. “Bathroom.” He admits, despite being uninterested with the others daily lives he does pay attention. This is Jason: favorite brother, close confident, protector, combative, bookworm, prying

Jason is a bit hesitant to enter the bathroom, Damian’s being more forthcoming than usual, which makes him suspicious. “What ‘m I gonna find in there?” He questions, eyes growing small patches of green.

Junya Yisheng clears his throat, trying to shove down the ball of irrigation sliding up his gut. Jason: favorite brother, close confident, protector, combative, bookworm, prying he reminds himself. “Self-discipline aftermath.”

Jason cannot keep his aggressive hiss of frustration down. “Seriously kid?” He asks rhetorically, knowing all about Ra’s enlightening lesson choices for the young Demon’s Heir. “Ya’ know ya’ don’ need ta’ do ta’ fuckin’ shit any mo’.” He sighs, exasperation coating his tone. He knows that Damian gets these moments where the only way he feel’s he’ll learn a lesson is with self-destructive behavior.

He’s been trying to get Bumble-Bit to actually talk to the kid instead of encouraging Pouncey to just mull in his thoughts over it but a fucking brick wall would be more chatty! Looks like the Batmobile is getting keyed and the Batsuit is going to get spray painted a sparkly pink.

Ignoring the festering green shining in the corner of his eye, Jason takes a deep breath. “Status?” He asks, being “professional” with Pouncey never leaves a good taste in his mouth, spurs an aching in Jason’s entire body with painful, vague memories of putrid green.
Junya Yisheng rolls his eyes, feeling no connection with this burly male other than annoyance. He has no right to demand anything from the doctor. “None of your business.” Really, why does he have to speak with Jason? He has his injuries covered and cleaned, it’s not like the Crime Lord could do better than him!

Jason sighs, why is Qamar so stubborn. “You’re Akhoya, ‘course it’s m’ business.” He responds softly, walking towards the bathroom and ignoring the red painted tile, medical equipment, and bloody weapons. Are those cigarettes?
Jason shakes his head, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with cold water before walking back out. He marches back towards Damian’s bed with single-minded purpose, pressing the washcloth against Damian’s sweaty forehead despite his weak protests.

After a few moments of silence Jason speaks again. “C’mon, ya’ seem to have a pretty bad fever, so I gotta know how bad your injures are.”
Junya Yisheng scowls, head twitching. “Broaden your vocabulary, you imbecile.” The insult doesn’t have much heat, voice a mumble as he fights off sleep. He will not allow Jason access to his vulnerable form… favorite brother, close confident, protector, combative, bookworm, prying.

Jason hums, eyes searching and holding back a smile at Damian’s drooping eyes. “Please? If ya’ don’ tell me I can’t give a good ‘scuse ta’ the brood.” He knows it’s a bit mean, but what’s a little blackmail between brothers? He’ll probably just say the kids sick to be frank, Lizzy will avoid Damian like the plague, Brooder will feel guilty and deflect from speaking to Damian, Hickey will most likely already be back at Bludhaven, Jewel won’t care he doesn’t think King will either, and Shadow’s busy undercover for ‘nother week or two. That just leaves Alfred who they will not be hiding this from.

Junya Yisheng frowns, feebly swiping at Jason’s hand. Before he can form a response, Jason speaks again. “Ya’ hungry kid? ‘been in your room all day ‘ccording to Alfie.” He’s not, but the doctor knows a meal helps the recovery process. “Tt. Fine.” Junya Yisheng reluctantly agrees despite how difficult it’s becoming to keep his eyes open, anything to keep favorite brother, close confident, protector, combative, bookworm, prying out of his personal space.

Jason returns an undetermined amount of time later. Junya Yisheng fell asleep then, head tilted to the side and breaths coming out in short puffs. He’s really out of it, not even noticing Jason coming in.

Jason smiles at his little brother, successfully avoiding the Bat-Brood and getting Alfred’s assistance wasn’t easy but it got done. He sets down the glass of coconut water and small bowl of jasmine rice with poached eggs. He would’ve made Damian classic chicken noodle soup but rice and eggs is the only vegetarian dish he could think of that’s easy on the stomach.

He also brought lower dose pain pills, he doesn’t know how an actual ten-year-old got his hands on Vicodin, but he nipped that in the bud real quick. And a cold compress, Damian definitely has broken or bruised ribs.

Jason runs his fingers through Damian’s sweaty hair with a grimace, how long has he been ill that he hasn’t even had the energy to shower?
Junya Yisheng opens his eyes with a grimace, he’s tired and laying in bed all day is boring so all he can really do is sleep because he understands the limits of his body unlike the others. He takes the peace offering Todd brought silently, the simple meal of rice and poached eggs bring a surprising longing to lodge itself into his chest. Swallowing thickly he nods in thanks to Todd.
He eats silently with his fork, craving food from home; Dumplings, Ma Po Tofu, Spring Rolls, Dan Dan Noodles… Unbidden, Junya Yisheng’s eyes turn watery and his shoulders start shaking but no tears fall.

Jason is concerned when he sees this. “Hey! Is my food really that bad?” He asks, trying to lighten the mood because he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with Pouncey right now. After a few moments of continued silence, he sighs. “Do you want a hug, kid?” When all else fails ask if he wants a hug, Damian is depressingly touched starved.

Junya Yisheng looks up at Jason, searching for any ill intent. His right eye twitches, Jason: favorite brother, close confident, protector, combative, bookworm, prying. He decides to take the risk, nodding slowly. Junya Yisheng watches wearily as Jason scooches from his spot at the end of Junya Yisheng’s bed into his personal space.

Jason makes his movements evident, letting his arms slowly wrap around Damian’s middle none-too-tightly since he’s injured. After a few minutes he slowly moves the half empty bowl of rice to the nightstand and softly begins speaking in Arabic. “.من فضلك قل لي ما هو الخطأ يا أخي الصغير، أريد مساعدتك” [“Please tell me what’s wrong little brother, I want to help you.”]

Junya Yisheng frowns shaking his head. He can speak Arabic but it doesn’t bring comfort to him like it does to, say, Dami or Amir. “Half-wit.” He mumbles, is Jason trying to “bring down his walls” so Junya Yisheng will be more compliant?

Jason huffs a laugh, wiping Damian’s sweat from his hands to his jeans. “ ‘m just tryin’a make ya’ mo’ comfortable, Pouncey.” He admits, so what if Damian being more comfortable includes him being more susceptible to answering Jason truthfully? He knows Damian won’t be too upset when he gets better, his ears will turn red and he’ll try to lightly stab Jason at best.

Junya Yisheng yawns, eyes half lidded and a small, amused smirk, on his face. At least he’ll get some entertainment from Jason making a fool of himself. He doesn’t even complain when Jason presses a cold compress against his right rib, right where it’s broken too, he’s reluctantly impressed. It feels good as well, having run out of his own instant cold packs in the last two hours or so.
Jason takes a breath, he doesn’t know as many languages as Damian no doubt does, but he’ll give it a shot.

“Español?” [“Spanish?”]

“Aburrido.” [“Lame.”]

“Français?” [“French?”]

“Vraiment?” [“Really?”]

Jason huffs, flicking the side of Damian’s head. “ ‘least give me a hint, ya’ brat.” He playfully teases, feeling Damian relax in his arms.
“So useless that you can’t even guess?” Junya Yisheng responds in his own teasing tone, which is about one-and-a-half tones lighter than his usual voice, very subtle (but Jason notices).

“日本語.” [Japanese.”] Jason responds, determined to win this game.

“ばか.” [“Idiot.”]

“Tu cacata carta est Latine?” [“You shithead, is it Latin?”]

“Vis, Todd.” [“You wish, Todd.”]

“Русский, он должен быть русским.” [“Russian, it has to be Russian.”]

“Это очень глупо с твоей стороны.” [That’s quite bayard of you.”] Junya Yisheng insults, amusement making his tone lighter.

“مقدس بھاڑ میں، کیا یہ اردوہے؟” [“Holy fuck, is it Urdu?”]

“مجھے امید نہیں تھی کہ آپ اردو جانتے ہوں گے۔.” [“I didn’t expect you to know Urdu.”] Junya Yisheng replies, pleasantly surprised. “لیکن نہیں، ایسا نہیں ہے۔.” [But no, it’s not.”]

Jason’s lips press into a thin line, he has maybe one more language that he’s completely fluent in before he’ll have to humiliate himself with improper grammar and halting words. He sees the pleased yet tired look in Damian’s eyes and can’t help but smile and dig his knuckles into Damian’s hair, enjoying the offended squawk Damian lets out.

“你知道,你懂这么多语言是不公平的.”[“You know, it’s unfair that you know so many languages.”]
Junya Yisheng can’t help the stuttered breath he lets out, biting his lip and eyes becoming misty home. “你无能.” [“You’re incompetent.”] Junya Yisheng mumbles.

Jason can see Damian’s misty eyes and wobbling lip, with his cheek pressed against Jason’s chest and looking away mulishly. “那么,这是和你哥哥说话的方式吗?” [Now, is that any way to talk to your older brother?”] Junya Yisheng just huffs, remaining silent in face of Jason’s teasing.

“不不不。你现在必须对我好一点,明星,我破解了你的代码。” [No no. You have to be nice to me now star, I cracked your code.”] Jason playfully demands.

“我不需要做任何事。” [“I don’t have to do shit.”] Junya Yisheng retorts tiredly, covering a yawn with his aching arm.
Jason’s lower lip twitches. “告诉我你的伤势,小兄弟。” ["Tell me about your injuries, little brother."] Jason softly demands, scratching the back of Damian’s head like one would a kitten.

Junya Yisheng thinks about it for a moment, he doesn’t like the manipulation Todd is acting out, but the man, no matter if on purpose or accident, has brought him comfort. Junya Yisheng’s lips purse before his face smooths out with practiced blankness. He might not have as high of a pain tolerance compared to the others but… saying his injuries out loud feels like finally signing the contract, yes he’s in pain, absolute agony, but he can handle it.

Taking a deep breath ow, Junya Yisheng begins. “我的胸部和腹部左侧有伤口。” [“My chest and stomach have cuts on the left side.”]

Jason continues to hold Damian loosely, face a purposeful blank as he listens to the horrors Damian inflicted onto himself.

“我的背上布满了鞭痕,我的一根肋骨即使没有骨折,也有瘀伤。" [My back is covered in whip marks and one of my ribs are bruised if not broken.”] Junya Yisheng admits, voice monotone. “...我的手臂被香烟烧伤,腿上布满了伤口。” […My arms are smothered in cigarette burns and my legs are layered with cuts.”] He finishes.

Jason’s heard worse, hell, he’s experienced worse, but to hear Alsaghir undergo such torture at his own hand breaks the Crime Lords heart just a little. With lips pressed into a thin line Jason asks. "...你已经修补好自己了吗?” [“…And you’ve patched yourself up?”]

Junya Yisheng nods silently, eyes struggling to stay open his rice was undoubtedly drugged. His fingers clench around Jason’s shirt.
Jason breaths a sigh of relief, thank fuck Damian isn’t stupid enough to leave his injuries without medical attention. “行.” [“Fine.”] He grumbles, seeing Damian fall asleep while leaning against him. “但你让我在你醒来时检查并洗澡。” [“But you’re letting me check and taking a shower when you wake up.”].

Chapter Text

So far, Paulina has to say that she enjoys existing. Her two kids, Marcus and Avery are two bundles of joy in her life that she doesn’t feel like she could live without. Their echoing laughter keeps her spirits high and seeing their cute, squishy faces gives her energy for the cruel days of coldness and isolation.

Especially when she’s “not allowed” to front often, she just wants to cook and care for the people she loves… But she’s not a bumfuck asshole who gets his giggles from torturing other like Darius so she impatiently waits her turn.

Her favorite “Batfamily” whatever the fuck that means member is one-hundred-percent Alfred. He reminds her of Grandma Freida, quietly doting but stern with a no-nonsense attitude and ferocious eyebrow raise. He’s annoyingly smug though, those thick lensed glasses can’t hide the mirth she knows he feels. She is not feeling paranoid thank you Callaghan.

Alfred has his suspicions over Master Damian’s changes in behavior, he is grateful that the young lad has finally ceased his defensive and confrontational behavior, at least temporarily. Alfred enjoys his newfound moments with Master Damian, he’s quite the talent in the kitchen.

Alfred longs to have more of these instances with his grandkids, to really feel the warmth through his old and weary bones. Master Bruce is simply too busy to retreat into the kitchen with Alfred, and other times Alfred is busy stitching his son charge back together after an exhausting night.

His heart aches at how disappointingly unavailing his attempts to teach his charges to cook has been. Master Dick always puts the heat too high and ends up divagated one way or another by something else. Master Tim’s appetite fluctuates to the point where he’ll either snack the entire time and become full or he’ll lose the urge to eat after finishing making the dish.

Miss Cass doesn’t particularly enjoy cooking, Alfred’s noticed. She goes at the task with a ferocity born of her previous training. He doesn’t want to stress his granddaughter so rarely calls for her company in the kitchen.

Master Steph doesn’t particularly care about cooking, she’s more than content to eat packaged noodles, simple sandwiches, and protein bars but Alfred manages to procure containers full of hearty and healthy meals for her.

He’s tried to offer Master Duke cooking lessons, but the lad would just grimace, claiming “I burn water Alfie, I’d be no help.” And Alfred isn’t one to push boundaries so he leaves the suspicious response alone.

The only grandchild he knows truly enjoys spending time with Alfred in the kitchen is Master Jason, and the lad’s gone for impressive amounts of time from the manor, leaving Alfred with Master Damian as a cooking companion.

Master Damian’s oddities are quite the interesting concept to Alfred, how he could prefer only vegetarian dishes one morning, to demanding vegan food for dinner, and then the next day he would be looking longingly at Master Dick’s bacon. How sometimes, he’s more playful (or as playful as Master Damian can be) with an uptick to his lip. Or suddenly becoming shy, avoiding eye contact and folding his arms across his chest.

The discrepancies in the lad’s body language become more obvious in the kitchen. Master Damian’s habitual actions of confidence, standing tall and moving with precision are replaced with crinkled eyes and eager hands, ready to chop, stir, flip, and blend.
To Alfred’s befuddlement, despite seeming more content Master Damian makes an increased effort to remain silent and occasionally winces when addressed. When the Young Master does speak it’s slow and cautious, purposefully lowering his tone.

After some trial and error Alfred has discovered that Master Damian will seemingly, without rhyme or reason, prefer to be called “Miss Damian” or “Miss D”. This only occurs when cooking with him, Alfred has noticed. Further digging provided no results and using the feminine title during meal times has been met with scorn.

Out of respect for Master Damian’s privacy, Alfred hasn’t gone through his closet to see which outfits he’s inclined towards (although his stock of laundry detergent is being lessened by someone other than him, Alfred can easily guess that it’s Master Damian).

Currently, Alfred is cooking dinner with Miss D’s assistance, he was going to make stuffed pork tenderloin but Miss D, in her new, quieter voice called it “…bland and boring” so she’s taking the reigns to make dinner under his watchful eyes.

Paulina is having the time of her life, quietly ordering Alfred around to make the crusty bread and being able to work in peace is like a dream come true. She hates British food with a passion, one of her co-workers is British and has the personality of a wet paper towel. She’s so condescending too! Always harping about something being “too spicy” or complaining that “yorkshire pudding” and “fish and chips” are so much better than American food. Paulina tries to be nice to her but Chelsea pushes her buttons like no other.

She’s annoyed and displeased at how dull everything available for her to cook is, but she’s going to feed her family properly if it’s the last thing she does! (And this endeavor might actually kill her because the Wayne’s have nothing good in their home to cook with!)

Paulina figured this would happen, offering to make dinner early so she could grab the proper ingredients. The tiger prawns, saffron strands, chorizo, and squid were easy enough to find, even for Old Al.

She does not allow Alfred near her pan while she cook’s, even though Paulina can feel the evil eye he gives her when she uses the cooking sherry and she ignores it. She relaxes so much that Paulina’s humming softly as she works.

Alfred notices the soft humming escaping Miss D’s mouth, it’s unusual and Alfred can’t help the gentle smile on his face, wrinkles pulling as he works on the crusty bread. Taking advantage of her relaxed state Alfred decides to lightly prod. “If I may be so bold,” He starts, garnering her attention. “where did you learn to cook like this Miss D? I hadn’t taken you as one to cook with such seasonings and fish.” He raises a brow, it is odd for Miss Damian to be using fish, perhaps she’s still discovering herself and has decided to try pescatarianism instead?

Paulina just grunts, ignoring the butler. She feels like Callaghan at his moodiest with her monosyllabic responses but she’s not about to out herself. Yeah, I bet you’re absolutely mystified at seeing actual flavor in food you old coot! she thinks fiercely.

Alfred sighs, having been in Bruce’s company long enough one must learn “Gruntonion” as Miss Steph has dubbed it, to communicate properly with his temperamental charge. Alfred, unfortunately, can hear the dour Yeah, what of it, you old fuck? loud and clear.

They work in tense silence for a while and right as Paulina is serving the food, a rather goofy smile on her face and pride bubbling in her gut as she looks at the spread. She ignores Alfred’s smiling face, he’s probably thinking smug thoughts about how wonderful her meal is going to taste compared to his British slop. She’d be happy too, if she was finally eating some real food after only having grits all her life.

Taking the pan of paella to the dining room with Alfred trailing behind her, she listens to Dick excitedly explain his day to the others, how he dragged Bruce into a basketball game that he “totally annihilated B in!” She can’t keep the smile off her face as everyone serves themselves, how Jason applauds her delicious food. Paulina feels like she’s floating.

Everyone at the table is a little suspicious at Damian’s behavior, how chatty and friendly he is, leaning against Jason’s side and closing his eyes, as if he’s soaking in the environment.

Bruce keeps his suspicions to himself with a stern eyebrow raise from Alfred, which he does to Tim when Bruce see’s his son looking contemplative.

After dinner and cleaning up it’s unanimously decided to speak of Damian’s odd behavior later. Later comes after patrol and Damian leaves to take a shower, uncharacteristically looking down on bathing in the Cave, staring incredulously at them while they mirror his expression before he leaves.

Dick clears his throat awkwardly. “Sooo, which one of you drugged Dami?” He asks, voice taking on a forced light hearted tone. He’s genuinely concerned with Damian’s out of character behavior, Dick thinks Damian smiled more tonight at dinner than he has during his entire stay at the manor!

Jason gives Tim a look but before he can say anything, Tim gives him the stink eye, voice groggy. “You think I’d willingly be near him?” He asks judgmentally.

Jason puts his hands up in surrender, that’s the voice of About-To-Drink-A-Monster-And-Coffee-Monstrosity-After-72 hours-Awake Tim. Last time he messed with that Tim programmed his voice modulator to cluck like a chicken whenever he spoke.

Dick looks Bruce up and down. “Well B? Anything to say for yourself?” He crosses his arms, Dick knows it’s not Jason because he and Dami have a cordial relationship that Dick is not jealous at, at all.

“It wasn’t me.” Bruce grumbles, eyes focused on the Bat-Computer, watching the manors security cameras.

Alfred clears his throat, instantly garnering the room occupant’s attention. “If you’re all quite finished,” He starts “I believe it’s imperative to tell you all that Master Damian may be deciphering some complex thoughts and emotions about himself.” Alfred holds up his gloved hand to stop the onslaught of questions surely brewing. “Master Damian has requested I refer to him as Miss Damian on occasion, which could be the cause of her unusual behavior. She’s taken measures to keep quiet about this, so be respectful of his choices.”

Tim’s nose scrunches up, fidgeting with a pencil. “So he’s… transitioning?” Tim mumbles, preoccupied with a file he’s skimming.

Alfred shakes his head. “I presume not, Master Tim, Master Damian is quite young after all.”

Jason hums, numbly dodging Dick’s tackle. “Think he’s uhh – fuck, what’s the word?” Yelping when Dick makes him stumble to the ground. “You think he’s genderfluid, Alfie?” Dick finishes, rolling off of Jason before he can retaliate.

“I suspect.” Alfred agrees.

Bruce buts in, clicking on a file on the Bat-Computer “It fits Damian’s symptoms, changed behavior, clothing, and pronouns.” He clicks on a still picture of Damian’s outfit. “I’ve never seen him wear such casual clothing.” Bruce remarks.

Dick squints at the screen, Damian’s wearing white pleaded pant and a dark teal turtleneck, before gasping. “I call taking Dami shopping!”

Jason loud protests over how he’s the favorite brother and should do it echo in the cave.

Chapter Text

Damian scowls from his spot on the couch. Usually, he’d be in a good mood, having just finished grooming Bat-Cow and feeding her apples with plenty of scratches in between, but he’s being interrogated before he can clean up. Richard continues babbling senselessly, the fresh scars on his back from Darius’ stint burn against his skin. It’s been, surprisingly, too warm, to wear his normal bandages and the wounds have finally clotted over so he figured petting Bat-Cow wouldn’t irritate anything. Now, all Damian want’s to do is rub his back against the couch, maybe Richard will notice the blood and leave him alone.

Amir isn’t helping, listening eagerly to whatever Richard is saying and cackling maniacally inside his head. Damian’s ears ring and he bites his lip to stop from shouting, finally tuning back into whatever Richard is saying.

“…and there’s absolutely no need to feel ashamed about it Dames.” Dick finished, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers and moving his lips into what should be a smile but is most likely a grimace.

Dick isn’t completely dense, he’s done research these past few days to see if Damian really fits the genderfluid role, he’s tried being gentle about it, but whenever Dick’s brought it up Damian would get this cute, twisted look on his face as if he can’t choose between calling Dick a “single celled specimen” or running away (most likely after maiming him, but semantics).

“Richard,” Damian starts, unable to keep the aggravation out of his tone. Amir continues laughing loudly and annoyingly. “what moronic plot are you planning on executing that has to do with me at this very moment?”

Dick pouts, propping a hand on his hip and using the other to point dramatically. “You weren’t listening, huh?” He playfully scolds, bringing his pointing hand to his other hip. “Well,” Dick huffs, using an easily replicated “posh” accent. “I would like to formally invite you to accompany me to the mall.”

“Why?” Damian seethes, done with Richard’s antics. He’s been fronting too long, it’s fraying his nerves and making him exacerbate perfectly cordial conversations. With a deep sigh ”Amir, please shut up.” Damian tries to listen with a little more patience.
Dick loses all of his exaggerated movements, ocean blue eyes crinkling in worry. He doesn’t ask if Damian is doing all right, that’s the quickest way to get confrontation from anybody, not just a prickly ten-year-old. He’s been so good-natured and affectionate these past few weeks… Dick thinks despondently.

Damian swallows as Amir finally stops laughing in his ears, rubbing his temple, Damian’s lips twitch downward. Patience is a virtue and all that crap, why is it so hard to think. He swallows again, mouth dry. “What do you need at the mall Richard?” Damian repeats, voice purposefully flat as he attempts to pull back his temper.

Dick’s lips thin at the dull and unfocused appearance Damian’s eyes are starting to take, making his voice softer and body language relaxed. Dick’s posture becomes open and movements purposefully slow and deliberate.

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” Dick keeps his voice even, smiling slightly. He’s disappointed but not about to let Damian feel bad over it, kid’s clearly going through something. And Dick wants to know, wants to observe Damian under a microscope to see what’s wrong and what he can do to make it better.

Damian is in a weird place mentally, he’s conscious but he’s not, everything is numb and his fingers sting with the cold. His inner monologue becomes hazy and fragmented, thoughts sluggish with audible sounds of crackling and hissing, like static.

His mouth moves without permission, biting his inner cheek with enough pressure to be grounding and not break skin. Blinking slowly, he responds. “I would be amenable to such excursion.” Damian tugs at the hem of his sleeves, everything is less intense than before but the pain is still there…

Dick see’s Damian swallow again, smile frozen. “Y-You don’t have to if you don’t want to Dames.” He repeats, caught off guard by the sudden change in disposition.

Damian smiles, it’s small and hesitant. “I would like to spend time with you Richard.”

Dick’s breath hitches seeing his younger brothers sweet, sweet smile. He wonder’s where the anger went with a wince, definitely not his most tactile moment. “Well… Alright then!” He claps his hands together. “We’ll be leaving in hmmm - ten minutes?”

Damian nods, his mouth moving again without his permission. “That is a adequate amount of time.” Without further explanation or farewell, Damian’s body moves to leave the couch and trek up to his room.

Once he’s sure the door is closed and locked it’s like a dam breaks open, tears well in his eyes and Damian breaths heavily. The… passenger is still there, if Damian could think clearly, he’d easily realize it’s Callaghan. Swallowing Damian tries to pull himself together, sitting on the floor and bringing his legs to his chest.

Air forces itself out of his lungs, breaths coming out wheezy. He tries to scream. Maybe? It’s a loud exhilaration of air. Damian’s head rests against his knees as he squeezes his legs.

Everything feels less numb as he sits there. He was angry, why was he angry? Richard didn’t do anything why why why why why why was he angry? He’s not supposed to be angry he’s not.

”Breath.” A voice demands

”Breath.” The voice is baritone.

”Breath.” The voice is deep and hoarse.

Amir chokes on a laugh, pressing a fist to his chest a few times. “Callaghan.” His voice is breathless, body forcing him to take, big, long, deep breaths.

It’s an odd experience, sharing a semi-conscious with Damian and Callaghan. Amir got pulled into this because it’s good at anger, at righteous fury, at fighting for the smallest bits of acknowledgement like a starved kangaroo. Damian is floating but not gone and Callaghan’s husky voice is a soothing guide.

Somehow this all happened for the duration of five minutes, plenty of time to stumble towards the bathroom and wash his face.

Walking back out after pat-drying his face and making sure his eyes aren’t red rimmed Damian grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in his room. After taking a few sips he sets the bottle onto his nightstand and amble over to the closet.

Damian wants to wear something neutral – a chill runs down his spine – and warm. He ends up choosing a large cream-colored sweatshirt and loose black slacks before falling into a daze again.

Amir changes, drinks some more water then puts the bottle back into his mini-fridge. He also grabs the small, black, canvas backpack with checkered stripes that he knows Damian likes. The bag has; his phone, a small sketchbook and pen, earbuds, his wallet, lip balm, some aspirin, and a packet of trail mix. As well as, two sets of throwing knifes, a stun gun, and pepper spray.

Walking downstairs silently, Amir continues breathing with Callaghan’s gentle instructions. Grayson is waiting at the manor entrance, wearing a black graphic T-shirt and dark colored jeans.

It’s silent as they walk towards Grayson’s vehicle. Grayson is awkward, obviously feeling conflicted over something. Amir sighs, the entire ride to the mall was filled with tension that Amir didn’t care for and is unmistakably causing Grayson to act antsy.

Feeling a shudder that isn’t completely his run down his back from the cold air, Amir continues allowing Grayson to wallow in anticipation until they enter the rowdy mall. Damian cringes back at the loud noises and bright lights, pressing subtly against Richard.

Dick looks down and smiles at Damian. Despite the incident earlier that makes Dick want to examine him with a magnifying glass. he’s glad Damian is back to acting more amicable, even if he’s clearly uncomfortable.

Dick pauses for a moment, getting a sense of déjà vu… I never told Dames why we’re at the mall!? he thinks, a bit panicked. He lets out a breath, playing it cool. He can be crafty and indistinct, slowly leading Damian to the food court.

Amir knows Grayson is up to something, from his body language to his face Dick is planning and guilty. Also, Amir knows he’s only ever that eager to stuff his face when feeling guilty.

Chapter Text

It takes Grayson precious minutes to finish his procrastination. During this time Grayson gets two soft pretzel bite packs (Amir refused his portion), some dastardly looking spaghetti, and a small cup of ice cream. Grayson wastes even more time walking around until Amir finally concedes and gets something to eat.

Grayson tries buying him pizza of all things, as if he would eat anything with such a sticky texture and slimy taste. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit.

Amir makes sure to glare fiercely at Grayson for such a slight against him, to which the buffoon just laughs, already walking elsewhere. After more directionless walking, Amir loses his patience and walks to the first food stall he sees, which happens to sell smoothies.

He orders an orange, coconut, and pineapple smoothie but Grayson gives him a look so Amir also gets a “Rustic Veggie Melt”. The wait isn’t horribly long and when Amir does bite into his panini, its decent.

Dick can’t help the fond smile on his face despite his growing anxiety, Damian obvious had to get the most disgusting sounding panini in existence. In Dick’s completely valid and obviously right opinion, avocadoes are gross and taste like dirt, black olives are overwhelmingly bitter, and nobody actually likes tomato slices, just use ketchup people!

“So, how is it?” Dick asks only a bit rhetorically. Dames would make it quite known if he found the panini “unsatisfactory” but it’s time for him to face the music.

Amir just hum’s softly, continuing to slowly eat. It feels like Callaghan’s and its appetites are combining, which is annoying because of the older male’s voracious appetite compared to Amir’s smaller one.

“That’s good.” Dick smiles, ruffling Amir’s hair quickly, so his fingers don’t get bitten off. They’re finally out of the food court and in the middle place where people sell little gadgets and electronics with the clothing stores only a little way ahead of them.

Dick’s eyes spot a cool stand filled with different jibbitz and he can’t help but walk towards them. The person running the stand, medium height with curly auburn hair and sun kissed skin is very friendly and Dick has a great time choosing different charms.

In order, he buys; Hello Kitty holding a giant strawberry, a boba charm with a face on it, a jiggly puff charm, a cupcake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, a cartoon bat, a cartoon cow, a charm with the word “SUPER” in a scream bubble, and a blue gummy bear. He makes sure to include Damian too, but the kids too grumpy and disgruntled for it so Dick buys a bunch of animal jibitz for his younger brother in secret.

The total cost doesn’t matter to Dick, happily conversing with the pretty woman, who apparently, is taking a gap year from collage and just moved to New Jersey from Florida.

Amir huffs in annoyance after the seven-minute mark, he does not care for Grayson and “Charity’s” conversation. Resorting to childish means, Amir pulls on Grayson’s sleeve, attempting to tug the much larger man away.
“Grayson.” It scowls. “I am going to commence walking without you.” He threatens, holding back a nasty smile when that finally causes the older male to listen.

Dick startles at that, pouting at his adorably impatient brother. With quickened farewells and a lighter wallet, Dick walks with Damian towards the clothes area of the mall.

He steers them towards the large fountain and trashcan’s, throwing away the remains of their meals before Dick takes a deep breath. Talking about this with Damian is going to be a possible landmine, he’ll have to be sensitive and blunt at the same time.
“Sooo how do you feel about clothes shopping?” Dick asks, shifting on the balls of his feet.

Amir’s brow furrows slightly, clothes shopping? That’s what got Grayson all worked up? Amir has no need for such lower-class items and its wardrobe is quite full. “What initiated this?” He asks instead of answering. Grayson has proven to be more frivolous towards junk food and often unnecessarily childish items in the past, this is outside Grayson’s usual range of actions.

Dick winces internally, just started the conversation and Damian’s already acting paranoid. Great. “Aw, c’mon Little D, don’t you wanna pick out some cool outfits for yourself?” Step one: Get Damian into store.

He mentally scrambles to identify what he’s feeling, it’s odd and unfamiliar. Callaghan takes moments to provide insight; that Amir feels guilty about Damian’s earlier distress stemming from his own actions.

Amir’s lips thin, struggling to suppress its annoyance. ”But I’m not the people pleaser.” He’s genuinely confused, does Callaghan think playing along with Grayson will rectify Amir’s actions towards Damian?

”It is perfectly acceptable to feel remorse.” Callaghan states. ”And the consequences of going along with Dick are only positive.”

Amir supposes that’s true, at worse he wastes a few hours and at best he gains Damian’s favor. The shield can be as vicious as a blackfish when he wants to be. Amir sighs, ”But it’s wasteful.” it internally bemoans.

He’s not lying, there’s not clothes in this mall he would willingly buy and use aside to appease Richard. And Amir doubts his choice of concealed, tight fitting clothes would be available at such a below par place.

Frowning only slightly, Amir accepts Grayson proposal. To which the immature man quickly darts his fist up and down, exclaiming an excited but quiet “Yes!”

”You could always buy something for Paulina, Layla, or Azul? I’m pretty sure Dami would be pleasantly surprised with some new toys…” Callaghan teases, chuckling when Amir’s cheeks tinge pink (and thankfully hard to spot on Amir’s dark skin).

Amr is taken to many areas, one of which is a sporting goods store. It’s only notable because of the neon hoodies Grayson was adamant about buying and how he almost shot himself in the foot when given a civilian standard bow.

Amir is unsure how Grayson managed to charm the store clerk into allowing him to touch it, Amir concludes that Grayson’s abilities would be better utilized elsewhere but it’s clearly Fathers fault for giving into the man’s whims.

Dick is having the time of his life buying inane crap on B’s dime, Damian’s having a good time to, he knows he saw his baby bro stifle a chuckle one or two times at Dick’s amazing puns.

Now that he’s figured Dames won’t run away at the slightest convenience and is cheery enough to indulge him in a few photo’s and general shenanigans, Dick finally takes the leap of faith and enters Hot Topic.

He knows it’s not the most “Damian” store ever. But there’s a multitude of cute and “girlish” things Damian might want to purchase if he feels comfortable enough. And if Dick’s younger brother tries to do it covertly Dick won’t say anything either.

He leaves Damian in the rather small store on his lonesome for some privacy. Did does need to buy a few things for Steph after loosing a bet. He locates the jirk (jean skirt or whatever they’re called) and a grey knitted jacket with star and skull patches with a little bit of help.
Dick is powerless to the allure of the giant pin container near the register’s. He grabs a few enamel pins, keeping a covert eye on Damian.
Amir is having a frustrating time, sometime since he’s entered the store with Richard, Mallory has invaded his conscious. Suddenly it’s only thinking about buying ”That cute bag or ”Those fun-looking earrings”. Taking a moment to re-center itself, Amir scolds Mallory. ”You cannot just become active like that Mallory, it’s irksome and hazardous.”

Amir rubs his temple, why Damian’s desire to be like Brown caused a split, it will never know.

Mallory is a typical, female American teenager. She has dark brown hair with bright red edges cut into a choppy bob and enjoy’s alternative clothing as well as pranks. Mallory has no qualms and worries about life besides being “a kickass teenager” and taking part in “Azul’s bum-fuck, booooring” classes.

She is excitable, impulsive, and not allowed to front in public. They have an image to maintain and Mallory’s spontaneity is not easily hidden.

Mal whines loudly, knowing that it causes Amir massive headaches. ”We never get to go places like this.” Mal huffs.
Usually they order items online that sparks their more unique interests, setting the address as one of Layla’s or Robin’s many safe houses. Mallory is clearly unsatisfied with “hiding her shame”.

Amir usually has a tight control of himself, but its earlier moments of mania seemed to have weakened him, easily being pushed back by Mallory’s brutish and crude attempts at fronting. With a mumbled curse and a twitch Amir is pushed back into the library where it surprisingly see’s Azul.

Azul is wearing an odd mix of casual and business with a ruffled sage green button up, a silk scarf around her neck, and loose muted pink pants. Her usual features of water eyes from lack of sleep and a messy ponytail that looks one head movement away from coming undone are unsurprisingly present.

“Azul.” Amir scowls, feeling light headed and tense. There’s nobody in the common area besides them.

Azul sighs, it’s deep and almost guttural. “You know attempting to suppress Mal is only going to be negative.”

Amir scrubs his face with a fist, slumping as Azul continues. “And I suggest you find a way to resolve your issues with Damian, else I get involved.” She says in a tone that’s anything but a suggestion.

“Yea-“ Amir gets cut off. “I’m not going to berate you, because frankly, I have no desire too.” She assures him, it’s not something either of them are comfortable with.

“Just – go calm down with Paulina and Callaghan, I’ll keep Mal in check.” Amir glares, Azul is, somehow, the laziest meddler to exist. It’s a contradiction of immense proportions that makes Azul quite irritating to be near.

“Go away already.” Azul huffs, waving her hand at the assassin. She doesn’t have the time for this posturing shit.

Amir frowns but complies, walking stiffy over to where Callaghan is just short of hovering with Paulina in tow. “Khala. Am.” It greets.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Mal is having the best time of her life. Sure, she’s probably going to get scolded to hell and back but she’s never gotten the chance to front outside of those dusty closets cosplaying as safe houses.

She can be “normal” thank you very much, she just doesn’t want to be! Everyone is so stuffy and boring and it’s suffocating in the library!

With a quietly pleased hum, Mal moves over to the sweaters, grabbing a big black one with a graphic design.

She continues buying all sorts of things; mismatched stockings, a thick choker, a long necklace, a lighter shade of black pleaded miniskirt, and some chains.

A strange man comes up to her as she shops, tall and bulging with muscles with irritatingly blue eyes. “Got everything you need Damian?” He asks, speaking way too familiarly with her.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Mal snarls, knowing she’s too weak to shove past him and shifting to get away quickly.
The man looks taken aback, like a startled puppy. Mal holds her items protectively, walking towards another area while keeping a vigilant eye on the man.

She’s only able to get one more outfit before checking out. The guy looks like he’s trying to corner her, so Mal makes haste.

Taking the money from her bag she hands the cashier the money and bolts, hearing the loud THUMP, THUMP, THUMP of the guy running after her. Mal runs with everything she has, chest heaving.

She lets out a startled scream as the guy tackles her unexpectedly just as she reaches the parking lot. The stun gun she noticed earlier is easily accessible in the little bags side pocket, Mal grabs it with shaking hands and digs it into the mans side. He’s saying something but Mal can’t hear past her own racing heartbeat and panicked breaths. He’s probably just spewing vile about assaulting her, so Mal doesn’t feel bad about jamming it into his side and letting rip.

She quickly scrambles away as the guys muscles contract and she doesn’t look back, sprinting off to who knows where.

Chapter Text

Dick groans as he slumps into one of the many chairs in the Batcave, he doesn’t understand how the situation could become so chaotic in seconds but anything’s possible, especially with someone as unpredictable as Damian.

He wanted to run after his little brother, worried and more than a little hurt. The only thing Dick did was ask a question, he doesn’t understand why it set Damian off. Everything was going so well…

Dick had to call “Road Laws Are Optional” Tim to drive him back to the manor, a few concerned bystanders looking about ready to call an EMT and Dick didn’t need or want that.

He needed to get out of the mall area before people recognized him or called the paparazzi. Dick was going to call Alfred but he’s more than thirty-five minutes out and Alfie would take twenty minutes tops so Tim was his next best bet.

The wound was taken care of quickly, of course Little D would have a stun gun powerful enough to puncture deeply and burn at the entry point. Dick’s honestly proud that Damian used a civilian esc weapon instead of a batarang or something of that sort.

The injuries not even difficult to take care of once his burnt shirt and flesh get flushed out of it. Just some ice and bandages and he’s done!
Bruce is busy clicking through the security camera’s in the mall and city with Bab’s help. He grunts in frustration, turning to his injured son. “Run by me what happened one more time Dick.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his curly black hair. “Me repeating the same ten things over and over again isn’t gonna help B.”

Bruce’s shoulders slump and Dick can’t but think he looks like the most pathetic, back alley, wet cat he’s ever seen. He sighs, “Fine.”

“I was telling Dames about how I wanna go shopping. I didn’t catch him at a good time, Damian was cranky and irritated.”

“Then?”

“He insulted me before going all detached. Unfocused eyes and monotone voice.”

“Next?”

“Damian smiled at me but it seemed to practiced, I’m eighty-two percent sure he just did it to throw me off.”

“Go on.” Bruce grunts.

“He leaves to get dressed for the mall, coming back down in a more comfortable style of clothing and was silent for the entire ride to the mall.”

Dick lets out a short hum. “He seemed pretty anxious when we got there.” Dick can’t keep the smile off his face. “Damian actually clung to me in his own emotionally repressed way.”

Bruce perks up at that, thinking hopefully that the dinner of paella and openness wasn’t a one-off thing. Speaking of… Damian was quite talkative but seemed to choose his words carefully. But that doesn’t explain him going from affectionate to aggressive so suddenly.
“Could it be environmental?” Bruce wonders aloud. “Overwhelmed and reserved because of your anxiousness and a new environment.”

Dick’s brow furrows. “He’s been to the mall before, B.” Dick responds dubiously.

“Yes, but has he ever been to a Hot Topic?” Bruce retorts.

“I don’t think seeing alternative clothing would be enough to send him into a panic attack.” Dick quips, rubbing his injured side.
Bruce frowns. “A new strain of fear toxin then.”

“That only affect’s Damian? That’s a stretch even for you.” Dick teases.

Bruce sighs, biting his cheek. It’s been only hours since Damian went awol and he’s worried sick. He doesn’t know what his son could’ve seen, what he experienced, for him to act like this. Perhaps he should get in contact with Talia? Damian has only been in Gotham for a year, there’s likely many things Bruce shamefully admits to not know about him.

Bruce is half tempted to just storm through Gotham like Jason seems intent on doing. He’s already gotten multiple reports from Oracle about destruction of property, speeding, and taking down around three drug trafficking rings. But, it would be a waste of time and resources, Bruce pulls his heedless belligerence deep into his chest.

Calm, Damian isn’t running away to Ethiopia to get himself killed. Damian is resourceful, Damian has assassination training, he can handle himself. It is summer, Damian won’t die of hyperthermia its only fall, and Dick said he brought a bag which certainly had money in it.
“How are you so calm about this.” Bruce grumbles, shoulder’s moving only slightly down in defeat. “There’s no video evidence of where Damian is, nor witnesses, and his trackers been disabled.”

Dick huffs, “I am worried Bruce.” He walks towards the Bat-Computer. “But I won’t start panicking for a few days, Little D’s resourceful, he’s fine.” Dick swallows. “If anything, it’s Gotham’s criminal underbelly we should be worried for.” He says, trying to lighten the mood.

Bruce shifts, blue-grey eyes squinting from overexposure to screens. “Has Tim found anything new?” He mumbles hopelessly, Barbara’s busy attempting to reroute Jason’s anger into something more productive than destructive.

Dick shifts on his feet, thinking of his bedraggled sibling. “Besides a sliver of what looks like the sleeve of a cream-colored sweatshirt in an alleyway near East End? Nothing.”

Bruce stiffens, “Selina’s territory.” His fingers itch to grab the burner phone in his utility belt.

“Duke’s already collaborating with her to search for Damian.” Dick assures, pressing a hand to his father-figure’s shoulder. “Go take a nap or something, you’re not much help when this frazzled.”

Bruce grunts, walking towards the low table covered in files related to different cases. He can hear Dick’s raised eyebrow, “I’ll tell on you to Alfred.” His tone alludes to it being a serious threat.

His jaw twitches, he needs to be useful, he needs to do something. Bruce wants to huff and stomp his foot immaturely, he wants to cover all his kids in ten-inch-thick; indestructible armor so they can go out into the world without getting hurt. Bruce turns to face his oldest, voice raspy with sleep as he rubs the irritation from his eyes. “You’ll keep looking?” He begs orders.

“Course.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Mal is really enjoying her new-found freedom, it’s been pleasant, and suspiciously quiet. She’s surprised to have gotten this much freedom from the prudes in the IW or not having been dragged off by some rando.

Well, that’s not completely true. She’s been almost mugged like six whole times at this point it was only twice but her point still stands and Mal got out of those disgusting clothes that made her think of kiss-asses inside some random diner bathroom. The sweater was comfortable at least so she didn’t throw it away, knowing someone else in the IW would throw a fit if she did.

Mal walks out of the diner, taking in a deep breath, nose hairs curling and dying at the mixed scents of sewage, toxic fumes, and human stink. She rolls her eyes, Gotham is so dramatic! Taking the doom and gloom to the max like some cheap movie set.

Stuffing the clothes into her bag, Mal huffs.What should I do first? She wonders. Crime would be boring, the whole cities full of crime. Alcohol’s out of the question, shit’s nasty. She could get high? But Mal has no clue what the drugs are cut with ‘round these parts… And getting a reliable dealer would take forever.

Cigarettes might work but she’d need someone to do it for her…

Mal whines, burying her face in her hands. Rebellion is so much easier when you have friends to do it with and aren’t on a time limit. Somebody's shadow falls near her, Mal stays deceptively still but she tenses.

“Now, what’s a kitten like yourself doing out here on your lonesome?” A light and cheery voice questions.

Mal glares, lifting her head. A sharp retort on her tongue until she sees who it is… Selina Kyle in her curly blonde hair and glowing teal eyes glory. Mal’s fingers clench, this woman could snitch and get Mal into trouble.

Baring her teeth like a dog, Mal wants to scream; claw out Selina’s eyes, and wipe off that eye-catching lipstick with claws of steel and vitriol. Instead she takes a deep breath, play nice she reminds herself. Selina is a potential alley, she might not snitch if Mal makes it worth her while.

She twists her mouth until it makes the right, pleasant, shape. Going from a snarl to a scowl and finally crafting the perfect smile. Her eyes squint, body language going from defensive to something calmer. Mal leans forward, hand on her hip. “Why do you ask?” She speaks innocently.

Selina’s eyes gain a sharp glint that Mal knows from experience means that she’s either going to really enjoy this or really regret it. Selina pouts, mimicking Mal’s posture and body language easily. “Well… I’m worried, obviously. Did you not expect your siblings and Father to sound the alarm at your disappearance?”

Mal slumps, voice defeated and whiny it's not completely fake. “ ‘re you going to make me go back?” She kicks the gravel under her expensive shoe. “ I just wanted some alone time..” Mal grumbles, sighing. She doesn’t want to go back to the IW, they’re gonna force her to stop fronting!

She watches Selina’s gaze soften “Was the assault really necessary then?” She teases. Mal just shrugs noncommittally, unsure if the blonde is talking about the creep at the mall, the two creeps she attacked for almost mugging her, or in general.

Selina lets out a dainty little laugh, completely unsettling and grating to Mal’s ears. She grits her teeth together, raising a brow. “Are you going to turn me in?” Mal repeats, more demanding this time.

“ ‘course not kitten.” Selina smiles mischievously, raising a brow. “You want to have some fun?”

Mal’s own smile is lopsided and promises a whole lot of chaos. Getting to partake in delinquent behavior and steal some pretty thing collecting dust in an old man’s closet? Count her in.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Mal is giddy as she gets ready for the caper, Selina brought her to a safe house much better furnished and comfortable than Robin’s place. She’s also looking at Mal like she’s a rubix cube with all the colored squares purposefully stickered a different color. Mal’s used to that look, not even paying attention to the older woman as she tries on the outfit provided.

It’s a pale purple long sleeve shirt and pants pair. It has geometrical grey and white lines running across the legs and chest, making a square shaped sort of figure eight and subtle padding. There’s a giant hood that when Mal tries on the top, covers her eyes as well.
She’s smiling like a loon the entire time, vibrating with excitement as Selina doesn’t even bother attempting to hide her obvious cataloging of what Mal’s doing.

“Ready to go kitten?” Selina asks with a smirk, suspicious of the youngest Robin’s behavior.

Mal beams, jumping on the toes of her feet with a nod. Selina seems surprised when Mal needs breaks from running across rooftops and isn’t intimately familiar with a grappling gun but she brushes Selina off.

They steal from a manor with easily bypassed security. Mal is thankful she doesn’t have to try and fight someone instead of feeling the absolute adrenaline of stealing, espionage is really more her style.

Selina even allowed her to keep the beautiful and authentic Padparadscha Sapphire and Mal already has jewelers lined up in her head, ignoring Selina’s inquiring questions as they climb, jump, and run throughout the night.

Chapter Text

Mal’s been hanging out with Selina for a few hours now, not counting the caper. She was going to ditch the woman but Selina made spaghetti and meatballs and there must have been crack in it because the meal was delicious.

She’s getting a bit fidgety being in one place, she knows. Selina is giving her a knowing look. Mal kind of wants to punch her but Selina would more than likely punch back twenty five times harder.

There’s a bunch of cats in her safe house, one of the tomcat’s is so unbearably cute and loving that he’s made a home on Mal’s lap as she sprawls on the couch. She actually took a shower after eating as well, Selina almost reminds Mal of her Mother. If Mother’s morals of child extortion and neglect were nudged slightly to the left to make room for theft.

Mal decides that she hates Selina Kyle, if only on principle. “Uuughhh,” Mal groans “you have any alcohol in this dump?” She asks Selina, who’s sitting at the table with some high-tech computer.

If Selina has enough resources to make spaghetti and meatballs she better have alcohol, Mal would settle for even a bottle of cooking sherry. Alcohol might be disgusting but at least she can get drunk and stop thinking with it.

She sees Selina raise a manicured brow through her half lidded eyes. Mal groans again, shifting to rub her eyes with her hand. Right. Little baby body.

“No, why would I?” Selina inquiries, curiosity thick in her tone.

Mal guesses she should pull herself together, start acting like one of the others who “blend in” better, but she doesn’t want to. She could leave, find a place that doesn’t raise eyebrows at ten year olds wanting to drink. Or Mal can put her acting skills to good use, a scared wittle baby just buying her parents a drink. Marginally less suspicious then buying coke. Maybe?

“Fuck this, ‘m leaving.” Mal mumbles, apologizing profusely to the kitty she’s disturbing before sauntering over to the door. She doesn’t bother listening to whatever Selina’s saying until the woman bodily stops her. Mal tenses, breath hitched and ready to defend.

“Where are you disappearing off too?” Selina’s voice isn’t hostile but Mal feels cornered all the same. “Outside.” She responds blankly, hostility will get you nowhere.

“But weren’t we having fun?” Selina pouts, taking her hand off of the kids shoulder. She needs to keep him here, and study Damian’s odd behavior. Selina’s as curious as a cat over it.

Mal’s lip twitches downward unpleasantly, “No alcohol and I assume no drugs?” she raises a brow. “I‘m not staying here.”

Selina wonders what this sudden fascination with drugs is for. She knows Bruce would never let someone so young partake in such behavior and she never took the newest Robin as the self-destructive type.

Damian doesn’t seem to be going through withdrawal, he ate a large meal, no shaking hands or red eyes, he might be restless but Selina disregards it as unrelated behavior due to circumstance.

“Why does the stockage of alcohol and drugs in my home matter?”

Mal runs her tongue over her teeth, because I need some, dipshit is not what she says. “Consumption and purchasing of those products is of interest to me.”

Selina raises a judgmental brow, “Aren’t you a little small to be interested in those types of things?” she blandly states, previous grandeur nowhere to be seen.

Mal rolls her eyes, she’s not gonna snitch about her running away but alcohol and drugs is where Selina draws the line? What a hypocrite. Mal blows a raspberry, playing up her childish mischief, it’s like watching a statue come to life in real time.

Selina lost her interest the moment Mal got the shiny gemstone, Mal frankly doesn’t care if the older woman snitches at this point. “Where’s the fun in that?” She pouts, opening the door a smidge and getting ready to make her escape.

The older woman obviously caught the movement but Mal makes a run for it, Selina predictably, doesn’t run after her. This is much to Mal’s relief because half way down the third level of stairs from the sixth floor where Selina’s apartment is, Mal had to take some deep breaths and rub the stitch at her side.

Selina has a fifty-fifty chance on keeping up so Mal books it, her head gloriously quiet.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Harley is running around Gotham just enjoying her down time, stopping some baddies and all the like. She's not Brucie levels of vigilante but if she sees some ickle babies being bullied Harley isn't going to pass up the opportunity to smash them to bits.

She's got a lollipop in her mouth that one of the tots gave her, it puts Harley in a good mood, she's practically skipping down nasty alley #612, only to stop short at the sight in front of her.

There is a very large man pressing what looks to be some kid in awesome punk clothes to the wall.

Harley pouts, well, we can't have that, can we? She saunters over, her colorful hair waving in the wind as Harley holds her hammer in a loose grip.

“Wha'cha got there Mister steroids sir!” She giggles, leaning forward with a little hum.

Budget Bane (BB) turns to face her, snarling. Now that Harley's closer she can see the indent where the tiny tot was likely slammed into the wall by the neck.

That's no fun.

“What do you want?” Mr. Stinky Breath and Yellow Teeth seethes, knowing better than to mess with the Harley Quinn.

Her lips twitches upward into a wide smile. “We~ll flattery will get you everywhere!” Harley exclaims, lightly bonking Muscle-man on the head to which he dramatically flinches back from.

Harley giggles at the reaction, bouncing on her toes. “Why'd ya have a tiny tot by the throat?” She asks, “I didn’ think Bane was in the traff’ackin’ business?” Harley's tone is entirely friendly yet the poor guy looks like he's shitting his pants.

“He's not.” Henchie Man responds.

She just swings her hammer pointedly.

“Th-This kid was tryin'a rob me so I'm teachin’ ‘im a lesson.”

Harley's head tilts, looking at the ickle boy who seems to be having trouble breathing. She'd recognizes those jade green eyes anywhere, although the panicking position is new.

With a deep breath Harley positions her hammer upwards, ready to strike. “All right ya overgrown teletubbi, han's off ta’ kid.”

Bane's minion doesn't cower but it's a near thing, sucking in a breath before steeling ha himself. “Back off, Quinn.” he snarls, pointedly slamming the kids head into the wall again.

“Nah.” Harley snarks, slamming the buff guy into the ground in two swift strikes.

She's gives a dramatic sigh, swiping the nonexistent dust off her hands and setting down the hammer before turning to face the slumped tiny-tot.

Harley chews on the stick that's left of her sucker, shuffling closer. Harley gently nudges Damian's prone form with her foot.

Her eyes sparkle with mirth, now that Harley knows it's Damian, she can only assume he's rebelling! This is gonna be fun!

“Why'd you even try an’ steal from one of Bane's ants, huh?” Damian doesn't look sick besides the bruise around his neck and some blood on his forehead. why didn't he fight back? How odd.

Harley crouches down, wondering if the newest bat is unconscious. “Kid?” She nudges him again, “Kiddo?” Her manicured finger pokes Damian's cheek. “Tiiiiny-toooot!” Harley drawls, tugging weakly on the boy's hair.

All she gets is a few pathetic grumbles, like a ruffled and wet cat, Harley can barely contain herself at the cuteness!

“You're gonna haf'ta stay awake for me kiddo, m’kay?” Harley loosely runs her hands over Damian's body, looking for anymore injuries.

“Oi! Oi!” She lightly taps Damian's cheek with her hand. “I said no sleeping!” With a disgruntled huff Harley grabs a sucker from her purse, sorting them until she finds the blue raspberry flavored one, if she's gonna help the kid he can have a stained tongue.

Harley unwraps it with nimble fingers. “Here, focus on this chickie.” And stuffs it unceremoniously into his mouth.

Obviously Damian gains a bit of consciousness and Harley braces him as best she can before hauling Damian over her shoulder like a sack of rice.

“Hmmm Leslie's or Daddy-Bat, chickie?” She wonders aloud, knowing the concussed minor couldn't answer her.

Spitting out the sucker stick she continues, having finally stepped out of bacteria funhouse #429. “Well~ Noccy's prob’ly gon’ be real pissy if I bring ya’ to tha’ doctors without his permission an’ if Ickle Chicken Win’ ain’ here yet I ‘sume your on ya’ own?” Harley asks rhetorically.

She brings a hand to block the nonexistent sunlight from her eyes, scanning the rooftops as if Dick will pop out of the horizon like particularly deadly storm of confetti.

Harley shrugs the shoulder not being weighed down by a birdie. “Guess not.”

Harley hums a cheery tune as she continues walking through Gotham, people stepping away to give her an easy path almost makes Harley's heart flutter.

Damian is a limp noodle on her shoulder as Harley finally treks back to her and Ivy's house, the heavy, earthy scent of flowers permeate the air.

“Ya~hoo! Wifey Ivyyyyyy!” Harley shouts, setting the smallest bat on her hyena hair covered couch.

She saunters over the the bathroom, setting her hammer against the wall for now as Harley looks through the sink cabinet for the medicine box.

With a triumphant exclamation of noise, she stands and walks back over to the -she pets his cheek- definitely unconscious bat.

Bud and Lou are hovering around the unfamiliar person, sniffing Damian and drooling. “Aw, look at my bwood-firsty boys!” Harley coo's, petting Bud's head. “Does he smell yummy? Ooh do ya’ jus’ wanna eat him up?” She's now scratching behind Lou's ear with a wide smile.

“Ya’ can't though, no no, he's a ickle wittle Wayne, not allowed to eat ‘em!” Harley finishes her baby-talk with one last pet to each of them before returning her attention to Damian.

With a huff she runs her fingers through his hair.

Harley quickly goes to the kitchen, grabbing a rag and wetting it with cold water then taking out a pack of frozen peas before walking back to the unconscious kid on her couch.

She cleans the blood off his forehead with gentle strokes, letting her babies sniff it with a chuckle when she's finished. Harley sets the rag beside her, setting the peas on Damian's neck to hopefully reduce swelling.

“Ya’ wan’ some pain killers kiddo?” She wonders aloud. “I don’t think ‘m mean enough ta’ inject ya’ with something while you're unconscious. Noccy's paranoid heart might burst!”

She finishes up with a simple spritz of saline solution, waiting a few moments, patting it dry, and covering it with a Hello Kitty band-aid.

Harley rolls her eyes, stretching her arms upward. “Why don’ ya just stay restin’ an’ I'll hook ya’ up with tha’ good stuff when you're awake.” She nods, as if Damian contributed to her one-sided conversation.

“Buddie-Boy and Lewie-Guy ya’ two make sure to watch him, alright?” Harley smiles fondly, giving her two babies one quick peck on the wet nose each.

“I'm gonna go make tea.” She hops off the couch and takes the wet and blood stained rag from Bud's mouth. “Silly boy.” Harley chuckles.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

By the time Damian's come through Harley's already demolished a kettle of tea, explained the situation to Ivy, and wiped off her chipped nail polish before painting them electric blue.

“Sheesh, aren't ya’ gonna wake up from tha’ pain soon?” Harley pokes the injured bird on the side, she noticed his tender ribs earlier and avoids that area.

As if speaking the moment into existence, the kids' lashes flutter open. Harley mutters a quick “Hallelujah.” before bunkering down to examine him.

Mal is disoriented as she awakens, everything blurry and kind of bright, her arm quickly moves to cover her eyes, holy shit my head hurts.

She can't stifle the groan she lets out, trying to swallow makes it feel like a cactus is stuck in her throat.

She whimpers, curling onto her side.

Mal attempts to catalogue what she remembers. There was this guy, he was really buff and really tall, wearing some weird BDSM mask and latex? Mal wipes her eyes on her arm, leather? No. That's not important, why did she try messing with him? What did she want?

Thinking really, really hurts.

”You have a concussion and bruised neck.” The literal last person on Earth that Mal wants to hear from states.

“I gathered as much.” Mal thinks, sighing aloud.

”Because you were being stupid.” Azul lectures, ”Going after one of Bane's henchman with zero formal training, and for what?” Azul rhetorically asks. ”Since you were curious about his Bane Venom.”

Mal rubs her temple, “Shuuuut uuuup.” she whines.

Mal hears a dramatic gasp from somewhere close to her, ”Where am I, anyways?”

“Why birdie-boo, I haven't even said anything yet!” The same person who gasped dramatically exclaims. Mal can't hold in her whimper, the voice is just left of being grating.

Taking an ill advised peek, Mal see's a middle aged woman with blonde hair that's styled blue and red respectively at the tips of her pigtails sitting next to her. She quickly covers her eyes again.

”Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley's house.” Somehow, Azul manages to inject if-you-weren't-a-dumbass,-reckless, -and-impulsive-teenager-who-doesn't-think-things-through,-this-wouldn't-have- happened perfectly into those six words.

Mal rolls her eyes, Harleen continues speaking. “I know ya’ have ah concussion, want anything for it?”

This makes her pay attention, stretching sore muscles and keeping a hand on the peas so they don't get dislodged.

“What do you got?” Mal croaks, God, I would murder somebody for a bottle of water right now. Azul thankfully seems content to go back to just observing.

Harley raises a brow, she never took Damian as someone who would take drugs from ex-rouges without fuss or extensive testing, maybe it's the concussion?

Still, Harley's the one who decided to play host and she'll continue to do so. Her voice is gentle when she asks her next question.

“Would ya’ like some water first chickie?”

Mal hums shortly, if she wasn't in so much pain she could be sleeping about now. I wonder if Pamela would sell me some narcotic plants.

”Our bag was stolen.” Azul informs her. Mal just has to take a deep breath because dammit…

“Damian's not going to be happy about the clothes and Amir -”

”Stop…” Mal begs, cutting Azul off. She thankfully does, but the infuriating woman's silence screams smugness.

Harleen comes back with a cup of water, audibly setting it on the coffee table beside Mal. This is a problem because she does not want to get up, at all.

”I'm the only reason you're not being kicked out of the conductor's seat, I suggest you behave.” Azul's voice is a bit more serious than before.

“Behave” in this context likely means taking care of this fucking concussion, which is so ughhh.

You never were going to let me do what I wanted to do, were you?” Mal accuses, to which she only gets, ”Drink the water Mal.” in response.

Tears prick her eyes, as Mal sits up, not just in pain but also, in a less dramatic sense, betrayal.

”Paulina gets to smoke.” Mal petulantly defends herself, taking a sip of the cool water.

”I'm not Paulina's handler. And she doesn't smoke nearly as often as you would do drugs, if permitted.”

Mal sniffles, wiping her eyes with a mumbled curse. She sets down the cup sending a watery glare to Harleen.

Harley raises a brow, is Damian's pain that bad? Or is this something more?

For now she doesn't pry, silently sliding the bottle of Tylenol across the coffee table. “You can take ‘em now, but it's advised to wait twenty-four hours.” Harley flaps the hand with still drying nail polish in the air casually as she says this.

Mal silently pops two pills in her mouth while maintaining eye-contact with Harleen. She ignores the painful constricting of her throat and just grips the peas tighter.

“What do you want?” Her words are a question but said as a demand. Azul put her in a pissy mood, plus the lecture she'll get from Amir and Damian over losing their stuff just leaves Mal feeling wrong-footed and annoyed.

“Well,” Harley starts, not at all surprised by the animosity. “I wanna know what'cha were thinkin’ goin’ after one of Bane's ants.”

She holds up a hand, seeing that Damian is about to interrupt her. “But. I gots this thing called tact, which I know Brucie lacks. So I'm not gonna interrogate ya’ righ’ this moment, however, I do wan’ answers eventually.”

Harley scooches a little closer to mini-monster, holding out the hand with dried nail polish for him to shake. “Capiche?” She figures having the terms laid out flat would soothe Damian's ruffled feathers or whatever is going on with him.

Mal rolls her eyes, mumbling a quick “Sure.” without any actual promise to stay true to her word.

She did something stupid and now Harleen wants to make a spectacle of it? Well too bad because it's none of her fucking bussiness.

Harleen stares at her like she knows Mal's lying through her teeth but doesn't say anything about it.

Mal shifts to get more comfortable on the couch, you shouldn't do much more than rest n’ relax with a concussion, Mal knows that much.

“Ya’ should drink some more water ‘fore conking out again chickie.” Harley's voice is purposefully gentle and coaxing.

She gives Harleen the bird before finally closing her weary eyes.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

When Mal finally comes to again, she's blissfully alone. Although a show is playing on the television, some sort of news channel, at a low volume.

With a little bit of concentration, she can hear Harleen speaking in her high pitched and raspy cadence to another person with an orotund voice.

Mal tilts her head to the side, the peas are gone and her neck hurts. Blinking the blurriness out of her vision, Mal can see she's still on the living room couch and the voices are coming from the kitchen, possibly dining room.

She's only awake for a few moments before someone's thumping steps come towards her. She must've accidently dozed again, because the next time she blinks there's a man with a strong jawline, curly black hair, and sky blue eyes staring at her.

Mal stares right back at him, is that green in his iris?. “What.” She questions in a raspy voice.

“Ya’ had us worried, pipsqueak.” Jason responds, his words throaty with poorly concealed anger and anxiety.

“S'not… my problem..” She mumbles back, eyes struggling to stay open.

Jason just huffs, fingers twitching as he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He wants to interrogate the little brat, demand to know why he's injured, and acting like nothing is wrong.

“If ya’ were gonna run ‘way, ya’ could've stayed at my place.” Jason mutters, taking deep breaths to calm the Pit turning in his gut and clogging his throat.

“Ahem.” He starts, only to stop when Harley puts a hand on his shoulder and Jason sees that his Qamar is back asleep.

He sighs, “I had a whole monologue planned.” Jason mutters dejectedly to Harley's mostly sympathetic ear.

“There, there.” Harley chuckles, patting Jason's shoulder. “Keep me posted, kay?” She steps back as Jason gently lifts Damian into a princess carry.

She watches as Jason nods and slowly walks towards the door. Harley's not to worried, she would've kept the baby-bat for herself if Harley didn't think Red Hood would've massacred the entire city looking for the kid.

She wanders over to the kitchen again, plucking the flowers from their stems and placing them on a tray to dehydrate as she hears the bat's commotion outside her house.

“How do you plan to transport him without a car!”

“I'll figure it out, fuck offDick!”

Chapter Text

Jason's been irritable these past few days, he knows. Aggressive, vicious, blood-thirsty, pugnacious, all these emotions were building up inside him. The only way to soothe is to fight.

Every punch landed on a goons skin, stark and purple, was like a gentle pet to his chest. Every rapist that bled out on the ground was actively seeping away his anger. Each child saved made something settle in his chest, but the emptiness was slowly decaying his innards.

So yes, Jason will admit that he went on a very justified rampage and that being directed like an angry bull by Oracle was likely for the best. Jason trusts his abilities, but it's the thought that counts, maybe.

Jason's not sure what to feel at this point. He's peeved at Oracle for leading him along but more annoyed with himself for being so out of it as to let her do that.

Maybe he should get her a gift? A weighted blanket or something with FUCK YOU in bold print. Yes, that would convey his thoughts and feelings nicely.

Jason shakes his head, blinking rapidly. Sunny's sitting on the chair across from him, on the other side of the bed Alsaghir’s sleeping in.

He's doing some weird contortionist shit, Sunny's legs are bent all the way to be parallel with his shoulders. Sunny's wrists cover his nasty fucking feet and he has twin needles in his hands, crocheting.

“Oi.” His voice is gravelly, previous adrenaline rush making energy drip slowly from his pores. Jason's been up for five days, five days of Pit Rage. “Get ya’ crusty ass toes off m’ chair.” he's so tired.

Dick hums noncommittally. Bruce has been a real piece of work these past few days, they've all been stressed but Bruce is the actual worse.

Alfred made more bread this week than the last three months, the manor is spotless. Cass has been taking longer with her ballet classes, Steph's stress eaten hundreds of dollars worth of junk food, Duke ran himself ragged trying to find Damian only to be strung along by Selina.

Tim helped where he could but Dick knows that he's already stretched thin. Dick himself was barely holding it together by day three. The only other hint they had to go on besides the video footage that might've not even been Damian is that Duke found his bag.

Well, parts of Damian's bag. If Dick were to guess what was in it before Damian was robbed How the actual hell did that even happen? he'd say everything but the sketchbook and lip balm are unsalvageable.

He doesn't know where everything else got off to, knowing Gotham, probably some random kid or homeless person. Besides the lip balm and sketchbook, Damian's phone was found almost crushed to pieces.

“Hmm, so many different flavors of anger, you should be a gelateir.” Dick is emotionally and psychically spent, the methodic motions of crocheting are the only thing keeping him together.

Held together by yarn like a soulless puppet, Dick cringes internally.

Jason raises a brow, it's been maybe twelve hours since he blew up at Bruce for thinking he's entitled to Damian's company. Hell no, kids on lock-down until Dick gets out of Canadian Goose Mode and maybe Jason needs to relieve some of his own worries.

(Dick would maybe argue that Jason's behavior is comparable to that of a crow, dive bombing perceived threats and staying around the manor to mostly look after Damian.)

“The fuck does anger an’ ice-cream haf'ta do with ya’ gettin’ your bacteria infes'ed feet off my furniture.” Jason bites back flatly, keeping his eyes on Damian's still form.

“I can hear you monologuing, Jaybird.” Dick smiles emptily at his brother. “I bet your inner English teacher is going on and on about different adjectives for anger.”

Dick's smile becomes a little bit more real when he sees Jason snarl silently in response, lacking heat.

He knows he's right and the warm smugness makes everything seem just a little less heavy.

Their mutual brooding is broken by Cass entering the room. Originally Jason was adamant about “no-bats”, which would only technically bar Bruce from entering his safe house. Dick found great pleasure in informing Jason of this and he ranted for almost an hour before changing it to “No; bird, bat, cat, or car part themed vigilantes allowed.”

This of course, still allowed Orphan. And Nightwing isn't specific enough of an animal for Jason to fight him over it.

Cass brought two plates of food, she sets Dick's plate pointedly on the bed Damian's occupying, in front of him. Dick can tell it's a roast beef, swish, and onion sandwich with barbecue chips. His favorite comfort food. Dick smiles warmly, choking out a soft “Thanks.”

She nods in response before putting what's now identified as Jason's plate on the armrest of his chair. His plate has a calzone with a side of roasted broccoli.

He ignores it and she frowns. “Eat please.” Cass’ voice is gentle with worry and care.

Jason continues staring intently at his little brother, practically still an infant. He's on the edge of spiraling, Jason's tense and a dark hazy color threatens to envelope him.

Cass huffs, moving the plate so it doesn't fall. She climbs onto Jason's lap, pleased when he instinctively holds her so she doesn't fall. Cass wraps her arms around his large frame in a non-restrictive hug and starts humming softly.

Jason eventually snaps out of it, his food is cold by then and Dick is back to crocheting with his baby pink colored yarn.

He starts petting Cass’ head like she's a particularly bold and cuddly house cat. Her thick hair is grounding against his fingers. Jason's chin touches the top of Cass’ head, a silent appreciation passing through the two of them.

She crawls out of his lap after some time, sliding the cold meal towards him with silent warning to finish it or else. Jason is in a daze as he chews the flavorful calzone, watching Cass gently straightens Disco with half lidded eyes.

Disco, surprisingly, uncurls with deceptive ease. He's smiling his plastic smile, the one that makes Jason want to dig a knife into his face.

Jason takes a deep breath, he's high strung and stressed. Acting aggressively would be counterproductive.

He finishes the calzone, stabbing the broccoli with his fork. Dick's being corralled to stand, his arm over Cass’ shoulder. Acting aggressively would be counterproductive.

Jason huffs, pressing a palm to his eyes as Disco and Cass leave the room.

Damian's chest rises and falls in even breaths. The swelling on his neck has gone down, Damian's forehead wound is sealed with medical glue. Everything is fine.

Another bite of broccoli. He hears one of the doors of his safe house shut. Cass must've taken Disco to bed. Jason runs a hand through his hair, he feels disgusting, sweat and grime coat every crevice of his body.

Jason swallows, the sun is just peaking over the tall buildings scattered through Gotham. He really wants a shower but the baby bird needs watched.

Maybe we really should've tied him down.. Jason considers, stretching his stiff legs.

Cass walks silently back into the room and Jason just waves her off silently, standing with a huff. “ ‘m takin’ a shower.” His voice is low-pitched and tired.

She just stands there, presence like the faint flapping of a butterfly's wings. He doesn't have enough rooms in his safehouse for four people to have a bed. At most he has two for when Lian and Roy come to visit.

Jason walks past Cass and clutches the door frame, tilting his head towards the living room. He has a decent black couch that used to be dark purple leather. It's somewhat sentimental, with how many times he's bled on her.

Do you want the couch? he asks with only the minute movement of his head.

Cass taps her foot on the ground, wordlessly stating stay here.

He nods and then walks back into his room (the one Damian's staying in) grabbing a pair of blue Wonder Woman pajama pants with Diana in uniform and her logo in a repeated print. Jason also chooses a dark grey sweatshirt that has Diana's logo outline in red, blue, and yellow respectively. It is tilted on the chest and reaches from the collarbone to the armpit.

Jason drapes the clothing over his arm and on his way out the door, he affectionately ruffles Cass’ hair.

His shoulders slump as the bathroom door shuts behind him.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Damian eventually gets back to Wayne Manor, much to Bruce's relief. Thankfully, it's only four days later. He understands the protective urge, what with Damian's odd and erratic behavior.

Bruce had planned on giving Damian a lecture. His son is mostly healed with five days of bed rest under his belt and Bruce is dumbfounded over Damian's easy compliance with it.

He knows his own “bullheadedness” is a genetic trait. Bruce's presence seems to just materialize the headstrongness in his son's and daughters, much to Bruce's and Alfred's chagrin. (Mostly his, Alfred is a fond enabler).

None of Bruce's children (and Bruce himself) will stay on bedrest for more than forty-eight hours, by then Alfred would have to hold them down. So Damian's almost… eagerness, is another tick to Bruce's increasing list of out of character and concerning behavior.

Although, only in his lonesome thoughts will Bruce dare hope that this is Damian opening up in his own special way. There's not a guide for taking care of ex-assassin's who are also growing preteens and the only experience on this he has besides Damian is Dick and Bruce has long since repressed those memories deep, deep down.

He hasn't told his kids his theories, not until Brue can ensure it's fact instead of speculation (and maybe not even then). However, Dick and Jason possibly have their own theories after being in an enclosed space with Damian for four consecutive days (he knows Nightwing, Red Hood, and Orphan haven't been patrolling as of late).

Duke has described Bruce's current conduct around his youngest as “a fruit fly swarming a rotten peach” but he also heard Steph's reply of “It's how he shows concern, you'll get used to it.”

Bruce wasn't spying, he just happened to be around the corner and heard their conversation. He aptly increased both their situational awareness training and went on with his life.

He's not overthinking it. Bruce got all his kids back only a short time ago and it's a delicate and exhausting balance to keep them all content or baseline disgruntled.

People he has actual risk and interest in, not like certain people at galas where he only needs to shine his insincere “Brucie” smile to get them off his back. Bruce is bad at interpersonal relationships, it's a well known fact and Bruce is attempting to excel at it, but as Jason likes to point out he's “just above incompetent”.

So yes, he's hovering but boundaries are very arduous to keep up. Bruce can see his kids frustration and it's reflected onto him. Bruce can't be everything his kids need and it's aggravating to say the least.

Bruce reminisces over that night when he held Damian, the soft and vulnerable version. Damian clearly needs Bruce to be pleasant and kind, but has he been too extreme?

His heart rate is forcibly calmed, Bruce's face is impassive, the only spectator to his anxiety is Clark Kent (who is off world).

Bruce knocks on Damian's door almost inaudibly. He only hears Damian's soft contemplative hum because Bruce was just about holding his breath.

He opens up the door, his eyes immediately adjusting to the low light. Damian's wearing an oversized black tank top and wide leg, dark grey lounge pants.

He's sitting on top of a multitude of blankets and pillows, looking wholly unimpressed. Bruce's eyes almost immediately fall to Damian's arms, his most scarred visible body part.

Junya Yisheng scowls at the male. He knows of Bruce almost intimately. Jason or Alfred are tolerable, Junya Yisheng cannot fucking stand this man. He presses his nails to his palm with a grimace.

“Stop ogling.” Junya Yisheng's voice is sharp, You think I'm going to endure this shit from you.

He unclenches his hands, shaking them. Junya Yisheng curls his arms in front of his chest defensively.

Bruce's lips thin at the harsh tone, Ah, so I'm not getting soft Damian. Shameful disappointment paws at his gut.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce's tone is withdrawn, more Batman than Bruce.

Junya Yisheng swallows thickly, Bruce's tone is exactly like “Robin, report.” and it makes him want to pull out his hair. He scratches slightly at his arms, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

Except Junya Yisheng isn't an insignificant ant to be squashed or contained. So Bruce is much more like a large cat, maybe a tiger, eyeing the wild boar.

He nods, fingers twitching. “Nearly recovered.” Junya Yisheng's voice is croaky, he doesn't want to speak to Bruce.

Bruce's years of training doesn't allow obvious body language, but his soft exhale of breath might as well have been a loud and disgruntled sigh.

Junya Yisheng's fingers still, he fights back the urge to demand Bruce out of his room. Is that all you wanted? he mentally sneers, Robin, report.

Bruce awkwardly stands by the door, he didn't expect Damian to pour his heart out to Bruce but “nearly recovered” wasn't much other than a flat statement.

“...Do you need anything?” He internally winces at how cold his voice is.

Junya Yisheng huffs softly, unimpressed. Although a mental poke doesn't let him remain in sullen silence. With great reluctance Junya Yisheng mutters “Tea.” to his… adult unit.

Bruce waits in expectant silence, tea is an ambitious term.

“The one … Quinn gifted.” He mumbles, just wanting Bruce out of his room.

Mrs. Quinn's homemade tea leaves make acceptable tea, the chrysanthemum is subtly sweet with an enjoyable honey tasting undertone.

Actually, Junya Yisheng doesn't know if Bruce is capable of steeping the flowers himself, having a butler to do the miscellaneous tasks for him all his life most likely dropped his IQ.

“Please.” Junya Yisheng reluctantly whispers to finish his sentence, looking out the window and the grey rolling clouds.

“Okay.” Bruce's own awkward tones have relief buried in them, Junya Yisheng imagines him scrambling out with his tail between his legs and ignores the large male.

Junya Yisheng and Bruce are at a stalemate, awkward and uncomfortable. An unidentifiable amount of time later, Alfred joins. Junya Yisheng is not sure what Bruce wants, standing at his door like a particularly smart hat rack.

He gave a demand, even said please, what more does he fucking want!?

Junya Yisheng rubs his eyes, resisting the urge to scream at Bruce and Alfred like the child he isn't “Pennyworth.” He makes eye-contact with the butler. “If it's not an imposition to you, I request a cup of Quinns tea.”

“Right away, sir.” Alfred's tone is pleasantly blank, as always. He makes haste (as much as his old bones are able) to the kitchens for Mrs. Quinns bag of loose tea leaves.

It's a nicely decorated bag with thick light purple colored paper covered in stickers. Said stickers mostly show as black currants and bright purple jellyfish. The middle of the bag has Chrysanthemum Tea written in bold “delicate flower” font.

Bruce isn't quite certain why Damian's acting as he is. He was more than agreeable only hours ago. Damian's ten-years-old, that's too young for hormone imbalances, he's pretty sure.

Bruce mentally screams in anguish, his face looking as emotive as “a rock with a face painted on it”.

“Damian—” he starts.

Junya Yisheng attempts to be pleasant, he really does, but Bruce's presence, the authority he carries himself with…

Junya Yisheng takes a deep breath, tone only moderately frigid. He swallows, running a hand through his hair.

“If you would kindly get out of my room, I'd appreciate it.”

Bruce gives his son a scrutinizing look, Perhaps he is only tired, Chrysanthemum has relaxant and anxiety reducing properties. “Al–right…” Bruce doesn't stumble over his words.

“Rest well, son.” He finishes lamely.

Junya Yisheng's lip twitches, humming softly in response and continuing to look at the dark clouds, promising rain.

Bruce finally leaves and the miniscule tension in his shoulders loosen, Junya Yisheng lets out a breath shaking his head.

He shifts on the bed, hanging his arm over the edge. Alfred comes in with weary eyes and stiff shoulders.

Junya Yisheng gives him a look and the butler doesn't relax but he looks less like he's preparing for conflict.

“Your tea, sire.” His voice has an edge to it, inquiring that Junya Yisheng doesn't care to answer.

“Many thanks, Pennyworth.” Junya Yisheng's own words are a tired mumble.

“You're welcome Mister…?”

Junya Yisheng glares, of course. “Damian.” He raises a challenging brow.

Alfred sighs, setting down the delicate China. It's a set Master Dick bought as a joke. Black with fluted edges and a bat wing shaped handle. The rim has faux lace and a singular black bat on the inside.

“I found cigarettes and a lighter in your bathroom vent, sir.” And I know Damian has a track record of slapping cigarettes out of Jason's hand when he attempts to smoke in his presence. is pointedly implied although Alfred's tone is completely pleasant.

Junya Yisheng takes a long and drawn out sip of his tea. Slurping only the slightest bit to get an eyebrow twitch out of the butler. “And?” His eyes are half lidded, uninterested.

“Sir.” Alfred sternly reprimands, he's not going to push too hard but, it's difficult seeing his charge struggle like a small, drowning animal, over emotionally charged situations.

He huffs, rolling his eyes. Alfred is not one he'd call emotionally inept, so of course he'd connect a few dots, and have a couple theories.

Groaning softly, Junya Yisheng rubs a rough hand over his face. “I'm not going to tell you shit.” He states plainly, undoubtedly rude but uncaring.

There's your crumbs, not outright denial or firm acceptance. It's fluid and an obvious annoyance to Pennyworth.

Alfred shifts, catching himself from going into an interrogation mindset. The corner of his lip twitches, it's amusing with his mustache Junya Yisheng thinks.

“You'll speak up if it's debilitating, please?” Alfred clasps his hands behind his back, demanding but softness is obvious in his tone. Alfred has practice with this, corralling young men to sleep and helping his charges out of their suits after a long night. All he can do is ask.

Junya Yisheng clears his throat, his response an unenthusiastic, “Demanding.”

Alfred raises a pointed brow, he's endured Master Bruce's monosyllabic responses for longer than Damian's been alive.

He blinks, a chuckle bubbling in his throat. Clearing his throat again Junya Yisheng's frenzied thoughts somehow produce, game meets game.

”Damian Wayne you will cease attempting to assume responsibility for this body.” He thinks steely, getting a wisp of discomfiture gliding like ice throughout his mind.

Junya Yisheng hums judgmentally, it's both for Alfred and Damian, but Alfred doesn't retreat, unlike Damian.

“I cannot guarantee anything.” He finally secedes after a guttural sigh. Twisting his neck to look out the window, it's drizzling.

“But you will try?” Alfred is hopeful, watching the Young Master’s half lidded eyes lazily track the rain.

Junya Yisheng doesn't give his signature noncommittal shrug but it's a near thing, his ribs are still tender.

Alfred doesn't leave, continuing to observe him. Junya Yisheng scratches his neck, the air feels stale.

“Stupid fuck,” he mumbles to himself or Alfred he doesn't know. ”Maybe.” Junya Yisheng responds a bit louder.

Alfred lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you.” His voice flows like liquid silver.

Junya Yisheng's lashes flutter, another sip of tea enters his mouth. “Get out.”

The butler doesn't respond, walking closer to the bed and moving an unfamiliar green throw blanket to cover Damian. Alfred pats his thigh with casual affection. “Ensure the tea is finished, if you please, sir.”

Junya Yisheng hates how relaxes at the touch, Alfred turns off the light with a quiet parting. It's almost 9 o'clock so the vigilantes are suiting up by now to Junya Yisheng's knowledge.

The soft glow of his vined fairy lights makes the room dim instead of completely dark. His eyelids feel heavy.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Kit is groggy when it awakens, the world is blurry. There's a knocking on the wall… no door.

It doesn't like waking up, especially in an unfamiliar environment, which usually means it failed the tests.

At least the blankets are warm… Kit thinks, usually it's left on the floor or restrained. The knocking continues, “Cesser…” [“Stop…”] it mumbles, but of course that does nothing.

A person enters, they're short and light skinned with a dark mop of hair. Kit rubs its eyes. They don't look like Alain.

Kit curls further into itself silently, if Alain isn't appearing the test isn't over and she's so tired and achy. Kit doesn't remember all that happened to get onto this bed and that scares her. She's usually so much better with training.

A shiver runs down its spine, watching the person wearily. Right when they – she thinks it's a he – get to the bed Kit does sit upright. Failure brings punishment, but this isn't Alain and it might be a test.

“Where's Al-Alain..?” She mumbles, the male has what it can identify as English words on his tilted phone screen but Kit catches the glimpse of Russian features on his face.

He raises a brow, Kit doesn't like that. His body language is defensive, perhaps gearing for a fight? Handlers traditionally are harder to read and impassive.

Lounge pants and a tank top aren't its preferred attire, Kit notices as she attempts to avoid the males eyes.

Alain requires her to dress up, become immersed into the scene and make the event more real. Kit's learned to endure the short skirts, objectification, and unwanted touches.

She's a bit lost in thought, Alain doesn't like her daydreaming. Kit pinches its thigh, distantly noticing the male (she mentally dubs him as “Ray”) track her movements.

“Why're you acting so weird..” She hears Ray grumble rather offensively. Kit isn't acquainted with this man, it doesn't know how to act. Its handlers are usually adults, teenagers — Ray looks sixteen to seventeen years old — are custom for scenes but Kit isn't aware of what she's supposed to be playing!

Frustrated tears prickle in Kit's eyes — Alain smiles sinisterly — but it still purses her lips childishly. Bratty, petulant and easily to manipulate.

“Why aren't you answering my question?”

Ray raises his other brow, now he just looks silly. Kit swallows a giggle, she's frustrated and confused but negative emotions are intolerable.

“I don't know who Alain is, Damian.” Ray scolds. It doesn't often get new names for scenes, this must be a special occasion.

Kit shoves down the squirming discomfort at not knowing where Alain is, she likes the codependency but he often gets annoyed with Kit when Alain isn't feeling self-satisfied.

Ray quickly goes to his tablet, Kit's glad she profiled him correctly as the inquisitive type. It wants to know where Alain is but she doesn't think Ray will find anything, especially since he wasn't lying about not knowing of him.

“Why did you attempt to run away?” Ray's blue-grey eyes are probing and searching but Kit doesn't feel ants crawling down its arms so she remains impassive.

With the information that “Damian” attempted to run away and how expensive the room looks, Kit presumes this could be a “butler and master" scene, but Ray is dressed in a well worn hoodie and jeans, honestly looking like he rolled out of bed with his outfit on.

Kit shifts, her thoughts racing. Arranged marriage is more likely, those types of scenes are Alain's favorite and Ray looks only months older than her.

It settles for a non committal hum, there's too many variables and not enough information.

Ray sighs, scratching his neck and setting the tablet screen down on the mattress. “You're acting irregularly Damian, and I need to know why.”

Kit would be intimidated, but it can see that Ray's on his last nerve. He's been studying or researching, trying to figure something out and it all loops back to Kit.

She hides a wry smile in her knees as Kit wraps its arms around its legs. Stress in the shoulders, insomnia eye bags, faintly shaking hands, and minimal worry in the eyes.

“I'm stressed.” Kit mumbles, enjoying the stunned look Ray gives at its openness.

“That's it?” Ray grumbles, searching and expectant. Kit wiggles its fingers, wondering if she should take the lead.

Kit hums softly as it wonders, Do I need to have sex to extract information or just calm Ray down?

She doesn't have any of her tools, she can't look around with eyes on her, not even the barest hint of formaldehyde nail polish is on Kit's finger tips.

Frustrating

It stretches her legs, bouncing slightly on the mattress, more foam than spring. Kit extends its arms and makes grabby hands, “C'mere.”

A new wave of confusion joins Ray's previously stunned look but he complies.

He sits next to Kit, looking distraught when she cuddles against him. Its chin rests against Ray's shoulder.

He shudders and Kit giggles, nipping his earlobe. Ray actually flinches and sputters. “Dude, what the fuck!” He stands. “Are you high!?”

She shudders, Ray looks so angry. Kit presses a hand to its mouth to suppress giggles. Ray looks disturbed, angrily storming out of the room.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Bruce watches with thinly veiled interest as Tim speed walks into the kitchen with a purposefully blank face and hands with an unusually intense tremor.

He opens his mouth to say something but Tim coldly says “Zip it.” before he can get a word out. Tim waits impatiently for the coffee to brew.

Bruce and Alfred stare at him with raised brows, although Alfred doesn't stop cooking the pan of scrambled eggs on the stove. He sets down his newspaper, watching his son intently.

Tim takes a deep breath, swallowing a big gulp of burning hot coffee. He ignores Alfred's displeased “tsk” with practiced ease. When the burning in his chest goes down, Tim slides over to the table and sits next to Bruce.

“Y-You need to deal with that.” He points to the hallway, most likely to Damian's room. Tim's eyes are haunted.

“Tim, your -” Bruce starts.

“I'm not calling Damian an ‘it’.” Tim snaps, running stressed fingers through his hair.

He shudders curling against his cup of coffee. “He's acting so weird, curling against me like some fangirl and then –” Tim swallows down bile. “he bit my earlobe Bruce.”

This stuns Bruce, he's rendered speechless long enough for Tim to polish off the rest of his coffee, mutter something about needing an acid bath, and slinking off with a piece of french toast in his hand.

Alfred looks at Tim's back with a disapproving frown. Bruce eventually reboots, forkful of bacon that he was automatically scooping into his mouth falling. His eyes are wide when he mutters ”Sensually!?”

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Bruce is only a little ashamed to admit that he avoids Damian's room and the Manor altogether after that revelation.

Damian's attitude has been a coin toss from what Bruce has observed. The stress and anxiety of talking to his youngest makes Bruce's throat feel tight so he leaves the situation the either fester or be dealt with by someone else.

Alfred's narrowed eyes when he passes by Bruce in the Batcave don't go unnoticed but Bruce is accustomed to gut clenching guilt and ignores it.

He's accepted that emotional preteens and sentimental conversations aren't his forte. Bruce's fingers itch to text Dick about what happened. He knows Jason would be stubborn, more trouble than it's worth and Cass would be disappointed in him. Her onyx eyes would stare into Bruce's soul and find him lacking.

It's well into the night before the world sharpens again, he's disgruntled to be left to his own devices for so long that starting patrol now would be pointless.

There's a lukewarm falafel wrap plated next to his work station. Bruce grunts as he stands, back aching and cracking.

He wants to go to bed, he's beaten despite doing nothing all day. Bruce should check on Damian.

Bruce is silent as he takes the elevator back to his office. Walking towards his youngest's door like a man on death bed. Bruce sighs, is Damian going to be angry or flirty?

The concept is still difficult to wrap his head around. Those are two very opposing emotions. Bruce hopes his son is feeling better, he's consumed by curiosity but it's the dreadful kind.

Bruce steeles his shoulders, however he immediately relaxes them to look less intimidating. Bruce knocks firmly on Damian's door and hears (what he assumes) is Damian's breath hitching, Bruce can feel his own breath stopping in his chest.

“Damian?” No response, Bruce's lips thin.

Soft crying, he just about squeezes the handle off the door. “Son, I'm coming in.” The door isn't locked, surprisingly.

What Bruce see's might permanently raise his blood pressure. It's so vulnerable

Damian is on the floor, knees curled to his chest and wearing different clothes than from this morning. Damian's hiding his face but Bruce doesn't need his imagination to know how red-faced and watery eyed he is.

Damian let's out another few hitched breaths, muffled and quiet. Bruce walks cautiously closer, taking care to not stalk over and startle his son.

He crouches down to be level with Damian, attempting not to crowd over him. Bruce hears mumblings of jumbled Arabic, something about a prince? It's not something he's going to touch on right now.

“Damian.” Bruce reaffirms.

Dami whimpers, curling further into himself. Robin is suddenly silent and it echoes in his brain. “B-Baba?” He sniffles

Bruce reaches a hesitant hand to gently rub Damian's leg. Up and down slowly. It's almost appalling, how just last night Damian was cool and disinterested, then (according to Tim) erotic, and now he's all soft again.

Bruce can’t outright ask if Damian’s bipolar or histrionic, not only would that upset the preteen but Bruce can’t be sure Damian knows he’s acting in an odd way. Bruce frowns when Damian shifts away and is about to tug his hand away only for Damian to shift to his knees and press against Bruce’s side.

Dami hiccups quietly, worn out from crying. He’s not even sure why he’s upset. Well, he is but it’s really not that upsetting that Dami needs to cry over it! He just really dislikes Kit. She makes him uncomfortable and sad with her big round eyes, hollow and dark. She’s the only other person besides Layla with ant-rop-mor-hic (anthropomorphic) features. Kit doesn’t look particularly like a boy or girl with shaggy reddish-brown hair and large fox ears with fur of the same color. It sometimes changes clothes, Dami unwillingly knows that her favorite outfit is an amber color jacket that's really baggy on her and knee length black shorts. Damian says that Kit is at least a few years older than him but Dami doesn’t want to play with her anymore than it wants to play with him.

Dami relaxes further as Baba’s arms wrap around his middle. He wipes his tears on Baba’s silky pajama shirt and sniffles again. It’s been forever-times-a-hundred since he’s seen Baba so Dami’s making up for it now!

He can’t even be upset with Baba over it, Darius did bad things to Amir which made Damian and Robin all stressed and made everything so messy and then Mal ran away (Robin said it’s in her nature but she’s still in time-out) so that Dami hasn’t had the op-tuny (opportunity) to come out and play!

Dami doesn’t want to be all sad and sleepy this time with Baba! He was already the first time and then he met Blue and so what if they haven’t come looking for him!

“.أنا أحبك” [“I love you.”] Damian mumbles, his head resting under Baba's chin. Baba's heartbeat is steady and comforting.

“I… love you too Damian, but you need to tell me what's wrong.” Brue's voice is a low whisper, soothing like a tide against rocks on the beach.

Dami nods, although he doesn't know what Baba's talking about, maybe why he was crying? Dami wants to tell but it's a secret.

“...لا يوجد شيء خاطئ” [Nothing's wrong…”] he reluctantly replies, tongue numb in his mouth.

Bruce continues to be gentle with his guarded son, pressing a soft kiss to Damian's fluffy and unevenly cut hair. “I don't believe you.”

Dami preens under the attention, he's quickly calming down with his Baba's presence. Dami shrugs noncommittally at the accusation, he can keep a secret.

Seeing that he'll get no response, Bruce mutters an encumbered, “How can I create an environment where you feel safe enough to confide in me?”

It takes him a few moments to sparse through that long English sentence. He's frustrated that Baba isn't speaking in Arabic, he knows Blue must not know the language but Baba has no excuse!

Dami swallows down his frustration, ”Ummi wouldn't make me feel like this. he thinks unbidden, then shakes his head because that's ungrateful.

He rubs his eyes, “.أشعر بالأمان” [“I feel safe.”] Dami mumbles petulantly, holding Baba's shirt in a light grip.

Bruce sighs, “Okay.” he agrees reluctantly as Damian yawns only minutes later “Are you tired?”

Damian's ribs should be a little more than tender by now, enough to possibly start light patrol again.

Dami shakes his head, he wants to spend more time with Baba… but it's pretty late, and he's sleepy.

Bruce takes initiative, so far he hasn't had a bad reaction when picking Damian up. At least when he's soft and vulnerable.

He can't push, prod, and discover when Damian's like this, he fears that part being locked away forever then. But Damian's so reserved otherwise.

Bruce sets Damian gently onto the plush bed, breath hitching when his son clings to Bruce with the softest of whines.

“Do you want me to stay?” Bruce mumbles, body stiff with anxiety. He relaxes minutely when Damian silently nods and sets himself down onto the bed as well.

“Damian, I need to turn off the lights.” Damian shakes his head and Bruce frowns slightly. “I'm coming right back to bed bud.” “...تعهد ?” [“...Promise?]

“Yes.” Bruce sighs, taking thirty seconds to turn off the light and make it back to Damian's bed.

He’s stiff as a board, allowing Damian to maneuver his body to whatever is comfortable for him. And it ends up with Damian and Bruce turned towards each other on opposite sides of the bed. Damian holds his hand and covers himself with a dark colored blanket and Bruce does the same.

“.ليلة سعيدة يا أبي، أنا أحبك” [“Goodnight Baba, I love you.”]

Bruce nods back, “Sleep well.” he whispers, not taking his eyes off his son. Bruce can't sleep, he wasn't productive at all today and now he's restless.

Bruce watches as Damian's full lashes flutter shut, face relaxing. He's content to just lay in bed with Damian, although despite himself Bruce does end up falling asleep.

This is a Trigger Warning for: Child Sexual Abuse Material (CSAM), minor giving a blow job, minor naked with adult, (rightfully) suspected past SA, panic attack. If any of these are things that would cause the reader discomfort or distress, skip to the end of the Chapter.

Damian is a bit disoriented when he awakens, there's a heavy weight on top of him, almost crushing but gently holding.

He gasps with fear, shifting to get out —

—Amir is uncomfortably pinned against a bed, instincts taking over he scratches at the weights shoulders and —

—Azul whimpers, buckling her legs with a scream building in her throat —

Kit squirms, for some reason its breaths are short and eyes watery. She blinks, calming down easily.

Someone is holding her like a teddy bear, it's not often that after missions and sessions the people stay. Kit tilts her head, examining the unfamiliar male. He looks burly and strong, until he's awake Kit's going to hesitantly settle “Howard” into the dumb jock category.

It slides out of the hold, sitting on her knees and pouting down at Howard. Unless this is a mission Kit would already be cleaned up and deposited into its bed, seeing as she's such a deep sleeper.

This has to be a client or something of the sort? Kit doesn't want to fuck him, but she rarely has a choice. Looking around the room, Kit notices that it's the same one from earlier with shaking hands guy.

So this is possibly punishment… it sighs quietly. The clothes are different as well, a pale purple hoodie with a rottweiler on the front and smooth green pajama pants.

Kit hasn't been so… covered, in a long time. It's almost nostalgic. She stands from the bed and walks over to the bedside table to look for lube.

It finds a few children's toys, knives, and papers. No lube. Disappointing.

Looking around, Kit bites its lip. No coconut oil or lotion? She takes a chance, looking over to Howard to make sure he's still breathing easily and sneaking over to the bathroom.

It's a nice bathroom, the familiar scent of antiseptic filling Kit's nose. She looks around for a bit and eventually gets to the cabinet under the sink.

Parsing through boxes of medical supplies it does find a coconut face moisturizer, unrefined too, lucky me.

Creeping back towards the king sized bed, Kit sheds her clothes. They land in a silent pile and it leaves the underwear for last.

The boxers are always disorienting, Kit doesn't like having the flappy penis on her own body. And it's so hard to lubricate herself, Kit has to crouch like a crab so she's not sitting on her hand.

Kit bites its nails, they're too long so preparing herself would be painful. When that's finished she opens the container, taking a generous scoop and applying it to her hole.

It moans softly as her hole gets stretched and prodded. Kit feels empty and too full at the same time and it reveles in that feeling as she looks over Howard.

How should I do this? it wonders. Howard is lying awkwardly on his side so Kit gently moves him to lay on his back.

Kit straddles Howard's hips, she can feel how thick and muscular he is under her thighs. It could just rub against him until they both reach fulfillment but that'd be pretty silly.

She squirms down, a sense of satisfaction enveloping her at Howard's hitched breath. Kit tries to move his beefy legs but they're so heavy and it's breathing heavily by the time Kit is able to fit between Howard's thighs.

“Merci le seigneur, il ne s’est pas réveillé…” [“Thank the lord he hasn't woken up…”] it mumbles, not even Alain is this big.

Kit wonders if she should pull down his pants, she doesn't want to be punished further for making a mess.

It feels a whine at the back of her throat, Kit couldn't possibly bring Howard's hips up enough to pull down his pants.

Kit grumbles, using an open palm to press against Howard's limp penis. Once it's just stiff enough she leans down so her face is level with the man’s crotch.

Kit pushes her face against it, sucking and kissing through the thin material of Howard's pajama pants.

She does this for a bit until Howard is satisfyingly straining against his pants. He arouses some, pressing calloused hands to its hips. Kit obediently gives a performatory moan and tugs at the waistline of his pants.

“Bon garçon.” [“Good boy.”] it absent-mindedly mumbles when Howard lifts his hips. Kit is distantly glad for some action to finally happen, she's naked and this room is unexpectedly cold.

Kit shifts to straddle Howard's hips, its hole perfectly positioned to absorb the male's leaking cock. Kit's breath hitches, right when Howard's warm length brushes against her walls and she's suddenly held by the hips and pinned to the mattress.

It whines, squirming. Her wrists are held really tight and Howard's massive body weight has its legs secured to the mattress.

“Damian!?” Howard's crystal eyes are wide as labored breaths get forced out of his chest.

Kit's a little confused but, not alarmed, by the shouting and misnaming —Alain often calls it his petit renard [little fox]] — but “Damian”? Why on earth would the joy carrier do these activities?

Unless Howard knows about them… in which case is he calling for Damian or telling her to act more like him?

How would Damian act in this situation? Kit wonders as Howard opens and closes his mouth multiple times then uses the hand not occupied with restraining its thin wrists to pull up his pants.

Damian is usually peppy and happy? Maybe he'd be crying now…

Kit squirms, tears building in her eyes which make Howard look panicked(?)

“Damian, please tell me what's going on.” Bruce demands, his voice low and threatening.

She whimpers and let's a sob build in her throat. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll d-do better! I promis’!”

Kit watches with excitement at how wrongfooted Howard looks. “No, Damian you're fine!” Bruce rushes, conflicted between running a soothing hand across his son's hair (he's sobbing so loudly, buddy please don't cry —) or pushing him away in disgust.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Reminder that this is Bruce POV so Kit will be “Damian” and its pronouns will be assumed as He/Him

Bruce wakes up to a heat in his groin he hasn't felt in a long time. Bruce doesn't get wet dreams and Alfred does his laundry so cum soaked boxers have long since been a thing of the past out of sheer embarrassment.

The groggy haze of not fully being awake yet tells him it's possible he's possibly had a wet dream but when he cracks his eyes open he doesn’t recognize the room as his, why am I in Damian’s room?

Like a strike of thunder in a storm, Bruce is awake and prepared to attack his assailant. There's a weight on his lower abdomen and a pressing warm to his penis. It's possible Bruce could've wet the bed, which he hasn't done since he was eight, so it's moot point and Bruce flips them over so he's on top of his aggressor.

As expected, they're small and lithe, squirming and whining to escape as if they could manipulate him —

Bruce finally analyzes their heart shaped face, high cheekbones, button nose, arched brows, thin green eyes.

Green eyes oddly like Damian's. Bruce blinks “Damian!?” he finally wheezes out, his thoughts racing.

Bruce knows that he's gaping, mutely pulling up his pants. He doesn't have a contingency for this why doesn't he have a contingency for this!? Bruce has never shied away from the dubious morality his plans take, but no amount of planning and forethought could have Bruce thinking of this!?

Technically, file 5E-1721.9 has that contingency in the event Damian is kidnapped and brought back (5E-1721.7) or made a sleeper agent for Talia on a honeypot mission. Mind control can’t be ruled out…

But then his son starts thrashing and crying like a scared kid instead of an actress with something to prove.

“Damian, please tell me what's going on.” Bruce demands, his voice low and threatening. If he’s being mind controlled Bruce knows he could quickly overpower and make Damian temporarily indisposed..

It's so pitiful, almost unreal what happens next. Damian let's out a heart wrenching whimper and sob.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll d-do better! I promis’!” That part confuses Bruce, do better not to act oddly (shut down and not allow help) or to exceed at this convoluted blow job?

Bruce takes a breath, it doesn't help much. “No, Damian you're fine!” either outcome is horrifying and wrong. He's never done well with children crying, always awkward and wrong-footed but it increases tenfold when one of his children breaks down like this.

He needs to think like Dick, he needs to be pleasant and happy and comforting. Bruce takes another deep breath, out of his depth but trying.

”Its not mind control. It's not mind control.” Bruce mumbles none-too-quietly and Damian doesn't even look ruffled, he just continues to cry.

“Do…you need a minute to calm down?” Even Bruce cringes at his words. He needs to get out of these pants and take a shower. Bruce doesn't think he can't stand another minute with his

son, who's crying with spit stained lips and a container of coconut oil that's been pushed to the side. Bruce cannot take his eyes away from the surprising expanse of scars all across Damian's body.

Bruce starts to wonder about the validity of Damian experiencing a panic attack or flashback. He's certainly had his own share of them but he can't be certain because he doesn't know his son. It's a humbling and terrifying thought. Talia would know, but Talia's with the League of Assassins, she's a member of the organization that made Damian what he is…

Children’s actions are a reflection of their environment and not even Alfred's rigorous polishing could buff that silver.

He was out of it at the beginning, he didn't catalog Damian's face before he yelled but with how loud his son is being now (which by normal standards is still pretty quiet) Bruce is 80% sure he would've woken up before had Damian been crying then.

And if Damian knew what he was doing it was because someone had taught him. Someone had taught his ten-year-old son seduction and honeypot at the least.

Bruce thought himself desensitized to violence and gore. He's seen countless trafficking victims and dead kids with only a pit in his stomach. But this is his baby, his youngest, most malleable son. He feels bile in his throat.

He takes a deep breath, back in the moment. Damian is doing more whimpering than actual crying, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“I'm going to take a shower. During that time you're going to calm down, clean yourself up, and get dressed.” Bruce commands, probably less empathetic than he should be.

Bruce continues staring at the point between Damian's eyes, continuing when he nods. “Then, we're going to talk.” no more secrets. is heavily implied.

Damian takes a minute before nodding again, more hesitantly. Bruce does not care, this is future Bruce's problem. He stands and makes sure Damian isn't injured (his wrists are swollen and Bruce feels guilt —) before leaving a bit hurriedly.

Chapter Text

Paulina doesn't understand why she has to be the one fronting —well she does— but its stressful. She likes cooking and seeing happy faces, Paulina's more likely to get caught smoking right now more than anything.

Her fingers are eager to do so but, she can't due to Steph staring so intently at her. Paulina tries not to be annoyed because she knows that Steph is just worried although she doesn't need a bodyguard.

”Honey, you're scrubbing your skin red.” Callaghan's monotone voice mumbles into her ear.

“Sorry.” Paulina grumbles back as she takes a deep breath to ease the throbbing in her temple.

Steph isn't watching her right now, she's not even in the bathroom but Paulina's skin itches anyways.

She grabs the shampoo, squirting some in her hand and scrubbing it into her hair. Paulina didn't originally plan to take a full shower but she finds them calming enough and Steph can wait.

Paulina can't find any conditioner and a whine escapes her mouth. She rests her cheek against the porcelain and counts back from ten.

”I can switch with you if you want?”

Her lashes flutter, contemplating. “You don't like fronting.” Paulina likes the sound of her voice, she's the only one who speaks aloud to the others.

”C'mon, I don't think you can take an interrogation right now.”

Paulina's vision goes blurry and she feels like she's floating momentarily before Callaghan recedes again.

She finally nods, bending her legs to sit in the tub and with only a breath Paulina is back in the library. Kit's resting on her pink beanbag.

Callaghan shudders uncomfortably. He dislikes fronting but he knows Lina would be upset if any of the kids would have to weather the upcoming interrogation. They often did this in the LOA, but Amir was much more insistent about fronting in that environment.

Azul could possibly stand in, but she's just as likely to say nothing or make the situation worse than be helpful.

Callaghan sighs as he stands up and grabs a thick towel, wrapping it around his body and stepping out of the tub. There's no clothes inside which is a frustrating lack of insight.

Callaghan sighs, deciding to work backwards. He goes to the sink and uses another black towel to dry his shorter than he's used to hair.

When it's suitably fluffed up Callaghan then grabs a toothbrush and brushes his teeth for ninety seconds and spits out the toothpaste then rinses his mouth and toothbrush before brushing his hair.

Next, opening the mirror cabinet Callaghan grabs some face wash, uses it and pat dries his face. He repeats these steps with the facial serum and moisturizer that he rubs across his neck and face.

Finally it's time to face the music. Of course Callaghan has to do it covered in only a towel. He opens the door a crack, Steph is spread across his bed and playing on her phone. “St—” Callaghsn starts before cutting himself off. “Brown.” He watches her perk up, possibly attempting to be subtle with her analyzing gaze.

“I need clothes, so get out.” He's ruder than necessary but that's common for Amir.

Steph bites her cheek, likely contemplating the merits of what could happen if he's left alone for sixty whole seconds.

“Please.” He pleads which finally gets her to get up and walk towards the door.

“I'll be right outside.” Steph warns with pity in her tone.

Callaghan wonders if she's been debriefed, he doesn't think he was showering that long. Callaghan grabs a beige cashmere cardigan and large black jeans. He throws the damp towel onto his bed for now. Callaghan slides on a pair of boxers and socks then changes into his clothes before opening the bedroom door.

Steph is standing on the right side of his door like a bouncer. He tilts his head, garnering her attention.

“B's rounding us up in the living room, c'mon.” Steph smiles but it's less grandeur than normal.

The trek to the living room doesn't take long although Callaghan drags his feet the smallest bit.

The living room has the more comfortable furniture as it's for personal use instead of guests. The sofa is a dark grey with three cushions and a longer outward fourth cushion.

There's a matching loveseat to the left and a large chestnut colored chair that almost looks awkward with how monotone the rest of the room is and a couple of beanbags. In the middle of the living room is a dark wood coffee table that currently holds three cups of hot chocolate, a cup of coffee, and a cup of hot tea on coasters.

The hot chocolate is for Steph and Duke from what Callaghan guesses. The third cup is either for Tim or Bruce with the tea obviously being for Alfred.

Callaghan's distantly disappointed that he's not getting any hot chocolate. He swallows down the craving and finds a suitable corner of the couch to curl into with one of the blankets previously draped over the sofa on his shoulders.

“Guess this is going to be a whole production, huh?” Callaghan mumbles bitterly.

Steph sits on the next cushion over to him, giving space but still being close. Callaghan appreciates it.

More people trickle in. Duke and Tim sit on the beanbags, Bruce finds a place on the loveseat, and Alfred stands off to the side like a protective ghost.

Callaghan gives the butler a look but Alfred only asks Callaghan “What would you like to drink?” before walking to the kitchen as everyone's situating themselves. Bruce is staring, Duke and Tim are mumbling to each other, and Steph is biting her lip while staring into her hot chocolate like it holds the secrets to the universe.

Alfred comes back, holding a mug of hot chocolate with whip cream and chocolate shavings. Callaghan salivates, taking the warm mug in both hands and he must look either extremely pitiful or extremely frightening because Alfred moves to sit on the chair with the twitch of his lips.

Callaghan shivers with pleasure. The italian hot chocolate is rich, creamy and delicious. He needs a moment to just hold the spoon in his mouth, not even caring that Bruce is cataloging his every moment.

”I would die for that man.” Callaghan mentally declares to Alfred. Azul, of all people, chuckles at his words.

”You could be fronting right now.” He threatens unseriously, not one to cause undue stress.

”No thanks.” Callaghan can hear Azul's grimace.

“Okaaaay.” Duke starts, almost cringing at the immediate ten pairs of eyes on him. “Not that I don't love your hot chocolate Alfie, but why're we here?” Duke directs the question mostly towards a stone-faced Bruce.

“Damian's being interrogated.” Tim replies, his eyes locked on the glorious cup of coffee on the coffee table like a predator. His eyes dart to Alfred, fingers twitching to make a quick dash.

Bruce takes initiative as he slowly, tauntingly, takes the cup and drinks a slow sip. Tim scowls.

Steph groans, throwing a pillow at Tim. “I didn't sign up for the Mental Health Circle!”

Callaghan's brow furrows. He thought he was just going to get badgered with pointed questions until they run out of steam but apparently this whole operation has a name?

“Hey! I thought we agreed to call it The Interrogation Intervention of Mental Health and General Noseyness!”

Duke bats a hand at Tim's shoulder. “Chill dude, you're gonna summon Dick with those terrible naming skills.” Steph nods solemnly in agreement to which Tim quietly tells them both to “Fuck off.”

Steph takes another sip of her hot chocolate. “Alright, what'd Damian do to need an intervention?” She's the slightest bit more animated.

Callaghan sits like a wallflower, enjoying his hot chocolate.

“Damian.” That single word drops the mood and conversation fast enough for somebody to get whiplash.

“Are you —” Bruce gets cut off by Tim. “Aren’t we supposed to be waiting for Dick, Jason, and Cass?” He looks around as if his words alone will summon them. It's not completely improbable in Cass’ case.

Bruce grunts, “I didn't want them to be forced out of their beds, they can be debriefed later.” Duke gives a loud and pointed yawn. He needs to be up in an hour for school.

Steph rolls her eyes, “You can go back to sleep Sunbug.”

“But I don't want to miss the drama.” Duke pouts. He knows his source of gossip (Steph) would embellish everything to the point of buffoonery.

Tim scoffs and nudges Duke with his shoulder. “Just doze, you should be trained enough to still pay attention when half asleep.” it's said teasingly, almost like a challenge.

Duke just rolls his eyes and takes the offered shoulder, ignoring Steph's teasing of black cat and golden retriever getting along.

Tim's hands are geared to begin texting Dick with a play-by-play account for him to read in the morning.

“Why don't we ask the young Master what he wants?” Alfred asks pointedly, bringing attention to Callaghan's tense and curled up form.

“No. This is mandatory.” Bruce grunts.

Callaghan sighs, licking his spoon. “Ask away.”

There's a subtle shock about how unresistant he's being but Callaghan wants this over with.

“First, explain what just happened between us in your room.” Bruce demands.

Tim perks up “Yes, what happened. You were really tight lipped about it B.”

“You..” Callaghan mumbles, voice picking up to a monotone line “I woke up to you lying on top of me.”

Bruce nods.

“I reacted with unnecessary alarm.” It's weird to talk about one of his kids as himself.

“So you injured him?” Steph snickers, Bruce is at least five times larger and heavier than Damian so it's an amusing thought. She wonders why this would require the Mental Health Circle.

“You haven't been in the Manor often enough to see how weird he's been.” Tim explains, brushing off Alfred and Bruce's stern looks.

“Why was your first instinct to do what you did?” Bruce asks gruffly.

Duke grumbles at how obtuse and secretive Bruce is acting over this. Just interrogate Damian on his lonesome if you aren't going to let the audience know what's happening.

Callaghan swallows, taking a break to drink more of his cocoa. “You can be more graphic Father. Tact doesn't suit you.” Tim whistles at the dig, typing purposefully loud. Steph also smiles.

Callaghan faces Steph and focuses on her hands. “I woke up and attempted to sexually advance Father.” He states calmly. it's weird calling a man who could be his twin “Father”.

That certainly got a reaction. Callaghan snickers behind his cup. It's sad that Kit's how she is, but there's not much he can do to change it.

“In duress.” Bruce defends unhelpfully.

Callaghan nods, “Then Father pinned me to the bed and made a tactical retreat from my room once he came to his senses.”

“Clearly it's still too fresh for Master Bruce to talk about. Shall we move on to other topics? Perhaps less severe?” Alfred asks (it's a thinly veiled demand)

Bruce clears his throat, “Yes.” Tim interrupts whatever he was going to say.

“Dick's asking about gender fluidity aaaaand Damian having a stroke!?” Tim looks up sharply at Callaghan, assessing.

“Shouldn't Dickie-poo be in bed?” Steph grumbles “Old man needs his beauty sleep.”

Duke rolls his eyes, replying just loud enough to be heard but with the distinctive drawl of sleep, “Nah, he's too nosey for that.”

There's a silent moment of comradiance. Dick is the most obvious about his noseyness, with Tim being a close second.

Callaghan frowns, genuine confusion in his voice. “I've never had a stroke.”

He wouldn't put it past the anxious older sibling to mistake a concussion during patrol as a stroke.

Practically everyone frowns as Tim reads off his phone. “Dick says that two months ago you came to him and were; uncoordinated, had slurred speech, mental confusion, and rapid eye movements.”

Tim scrolls, “And you weren't sensitive to light so it couldn't have been a concussion.” he looks up at Callaghan.

“I don't remember that…” he admits.

Tim hums and continues reading, “He said that you had on black pajama pants with stars?” Tim's a bit surprised by that, he always took Damian as the ‘if I don't wear proper pajamas to bed my day will be ruined’ type.

Callaghan shrugs in a ‘what can you do?’ manner, scooping more of his hot chocolate and ignoring the question.

“Shelving that for now…” Steph butts in “Gender fluidity? Are you genderfluid Damian?” She asks with excitement, staring expectantly at the youngest vigilante.

Callaghan doesn't wish to disappoint her but he silently shakes his head, to which she deflates comically.

Alfred lets out a pointed and dignified cough. It's just enough to get everyone's attention. “Why aren't you being truthful?” he asks nonjudgmentally.

Callaghan's brow furrows. Tim, Bruce, and Steph's anticipating eyes don't bother him. “I am.” He firmly states.

Alfred looks at him with his sad and imploring dark brown eyes. Callaghan might die for Alfred's hot chocolate but he wouldn't be vulnerable for it.

Technically they're not genderfluid. They're different people with different gender orientations.

Callaghan sighs uncomfortably, he's not going to admit to being a system so maybe mental health issues and living as genderfluid would mask it? “Maybe. Sometimes.” He admits with vulnerability purposefully injected in his voice.

Steph makes an aborted motion to ruffle his hair while Alfred just nods. Nobody besides Steph seems surprised. It seems Callaghan's been a recent topic of gossip. He's a bit uncomfortable being out of the know, what can and can't be revealed, how obtuse can he be without being called out for it?

Callaghan sets his hot chocolate down on the coffee table —he'd be remiss to spill it on the couch, even accidentally— and “subtly” scratches his wrist, riding his sleeve up just enough to show the circular bruises Bruce gave him.

It's a great topic changer, Alfred looks at Bruce, affronted. “You didn't say he needed medical assistance Master Bruce.”

Said man has an ashamed air around him, looking away guiltily.

Callaghan keeps his act up, “It's just a few bruises.” he mumbles defensively.

Alfred sighs softly. “I'll get you a cold compress and something for the pain young sir.” He stands and makes his way to the kitchen.

Callaghan grimaces and looks away from Tim's imploring eyes.

Everyone sits in awkward silence until Bruce awkwardly demands. “...Back to my topic. Damian.” He turns his head to look directly at his son.

“Given your circumstances, I'd like to understand the factors that led to your outburst.” Bruce is oddly formal for the setting, getting a disgruntled frown from Duke.

“It was instinct, I apologize Father.” Callaghan whispers, working hard to inject sincerity into his voice. Perhaps too much because when he looks up with his head tilted down, Bruce has scarcely covered suspicion on his face.

Callaghan swallows, he's a great actor, thanks.

“I don't want another circumstance of mind control.” Bruce finally mutters coldly.

Steph breaks the tension with an obviously fake cough. “Lacking --" Cough "-- tact --" cough cough "-- Bruce.”

Tim, who's had around six years experience of being Bruce's empathy translator, cuts in. “Where were you when it happened Damian?” He looks sympathetic yet calculating.

Alfred comes back and silently hands Callaghan the rag wrapped ice pack and a Tylenol. He takes the pill dry and presses the ice pack to his left wrist.

“In my room.” Callaghan mutters, Tim doesn't look convinced.

“So you just panicked, out of nowhere, because you woke up with a weight on top of you.” Were you having a nightmare? And what triggered it? is on the tip of Tim's tongue.

“Yes.” Callaghan is firm with his reply. Tim doesn't look convinced but drops it, although Alfred and Bruce likely won't.

“Are you homesick?” Bruce's miniscule sense of delicacy seems to have gone out the window with all the dead ending Callaghan is doing.

“No.”

“Damian, we're only asking because we care.”

“I know, but nothings wrong.”

“Yes there is.” Tim cuts into their monotone argument. Duke has fallen asleep by now, and Steph is struggling to stay awake.

Good, she's passed 42 hours without sleep by now. Tim observes.

Callaghan's shoulders rise to his ears. “I have no desire to ‘spill my guts’ so to speak.”

“How about this, there's six topics that were previously going to be discussed. Can you answer two of them truthfully?” Alfred pauses “Of your choice, of course.”

Callaghan slumps, looking down. His hot chocolate is cold and out of reach. Callaghan brings his knees to his chest, resting his face on them.

“What're my choices?”

“Parasomnia, stroke, genderfluid, bipolar disorder, homesickness, hormonal imbalance.”

Callaghan lets out a flat hum. “I'm not homesick.”

He's really not. Nanda Parbat means nothing to him, The League of Assassins are nobodies, and Talia is just another face.

Callaghan actually isn't completely sure what his purpose is. Damian is already the content teenager of the group, Amir is easily able to blend in, and Robin certainly doesn't need assistance.

That's why he doesn't like fronting and has made himself more into a caregiver like Paulina. Callaghan knows he doesn't have a strong personality, he's just a thirty-something year old who's cordial with others and likes chocolate.

He doesn't have a natural longing for anything; like Azul with research and sleep, Dami for parental affection, or Junya Yisheng wanting their body to heal in a safe environment.

“Okay, then can you explain what you were feeling when you went into my office and Dick's room some time ago?”

Callaghan wishes Bruce would be more specific. Robin really likes stealing Dick's clothes so they go there often and Bruce is almost always in his office so being in the room could refer to any instance of just being called in.

“Which instance?” Callaghan asks softly, he's getting a bit overwhelmed again with the feeling of the couch against his body, being in a familiar (unfamiliar) room, and interacting with people he only cares for by association.

”You really should calm down.” Azul says, more sympathetic than usual.

Callaghan grimaces, yes he should. Whenever he thinks these dour thoughts he has to go to his “unsettlingly emo” (quote from Paulina) corner of the library and brood.

He clears his throat as Bruce continues. “When you had the knitted green blanket and were talking in Arabic… asking for Talia. Then with Dick, you were demanding to know where my office is.”

Callaghan's lips thin, he finds it hard to describe others emotions. “I… was distressed and missing Mother.”

All of the occupants could detect how detached that statement was, none of them look impressed either. He switches the ice pack to his other wrist. “It was a moment of weakness.” Callaghan responds flatly as he shrugs.

“...That is literally the least you could admit.” Tim grumbles.

If the only “odd” behavior that's common knowledge is Dami then Callaghan doesn't have to admit too much. Besides Jason and Alfred who might have to have their own debrief. It's truly a miracle that Dick's not around more often, he's more emotionally competent and would surely figure them out if he put effort into it. (It's a good thing he started to back off when he mentioned the time Dami visited him at breakfast).

Callaghan forces a blush to his cheeks (by thinking of that time in college when he and Flint got caught in the janitor's closet…) and looks down. “I just… wanted a hug.” he admits with embarrassment.

Bruce softens almost instantly. Damian's words are awkward and hesitant yet endearingly vulnerable.

“Bleh.” Tim mumbles, sticking out his tongue. It's not loud enough for a civilian to catch but Bruce, Damian, and Alfred notice it.

“What? This seems like a conversation for someone who's not me.” Tim shrinks slightly under Alfred's look but he's not the needed buffer for this conversation.

“Quite so young sir.” Alfred starts “Could you perhaps help Miss Steph and Master Duke to bed?”

Tim huffs, hauling Duke from his position on lying against Tim. He slowly walks out and finally out of ear-shot.

“So you ‘wanted a hug’? Could you expand on how you were feeling, Master Damian?” Alfred steamrolls whatever Bruce was going to say.

Callaghan looks away, thinking about what to say with little help from Azul (who's also blocking the others from attempting to interrupt).

Alfred the Cat saunters into the room, Callaghan focuses on him. He smiles as the cat gives one dignified meow before moving to his lap.

Alfred the Cat flicks his tail at Callaghan's face and sits down. He obediently pets the cat's head.

“...I felt fragile and… childish.” Callaghan admits, abashed.

Alfred smiles. “Thank you for complying.” His voice is smooth like silver. “Are you up to discussing another topic?”

Callaghan unsuccessfully hides a yawn as he nods. Hopefully answering two of their questions will get them off his scent for a bit.

“Good. Are both of you ready to speak about what happened earlier tonight?”

Both Callaghan and Bruce incline their heads in agreement. Although Bruce looks like a scolded child.

Tim comes back and takes Steph off the couch. He quickly makes his way back out of the living room.

“How did you feel when you woke up?” Alfred asks, staring not unfriendly at Callaghan.

“...Alarmed.”

“And..?”

Callaghan shrugs again. He doesn't know Kit's thought process, just that being in a compromised position caused her to take control. Paulina will likely probe the anthropomorphic after its nap.

“What about you Master Bruce?”

“Reactive.” Bruce grumbles, his sexual endeavors have been the culprit of many unsavory situations. His reaction was spontaneous with adrenaline.

They talk for maybe an hour, well Alfred does most of the talking while giving Callaghan foreboding looks.

Callaghan does eventually give something other than one word responses but Bruce doesn't make that progression.

Alfred does bring out three more cups of tea. Callaghan doesn't pout at the lack of hot chocolate.

By the end of the conversation Callaghan is feeling quite tired. It's almost dawn, the sky turning a soft grey from the peeking sun.

They agreed that Damian's training was what led to the instinctual response it did and apparently he has a negative reaction to waking up under people. The conversation only switches briefly to Bruce's own adverse reaction.

Callaghan leads them both to believe that Dami's softness and childishness was simply a contrasting reaction to a nightmare. Alfred and Bruce don't completely buy it, but Callaghan didn't expect them to. Finally, it's time for the siren's call of sleep to be answered. Callaghan stands giving one last observation to the other adults. Bruce looks raw and uncomfortable while Alfred has hidden anger in the lines of his face.

He leaves them to it as it seems like Alfred is eagerly taking the chance to speak of a few more deep rooted issues.

Setting down the now half melted ice pack on the coffee table Callaghan wonders, If only Jason was here… That would be an interesting conversation.

”Agent A's going to force Batman off patrol for at least two days..” Robin bemoans.

Callaghan lets out a sigh of relief as Amir takes control again, instantly being surrounded by moody children.

Chapter Text

Duke groans as he pulls at the neck of his suit. The gala is stuffy and overcrowded and Duke feels like they've been smiling for hours.

Well, overcrowded might not be the correct word. The ballroom is spacious enough for everyone to be four feet apart with tall pillars and large tables of food.

And it's a pleasantly chilly evening instead of the constant thunderstorms last week brought. That was a tiring time to be patrolling, and Condiment King attempted to make it rain mayonnaise at least every few hours. Just the thought makes them shiver with disgust.

Anyways, Duke's only here because he lost a bet with Dick over how many bowls of cereal he could eat in a minute. Which was, in retrospect, pretty fucking stupid of him.

At least Cass is with him as she's a real one. Steph, — the absolute traitor — is hiding with the food tables and picking at the sushi.

Dick was pouty once he learned that Damian was joining them at the gala and wanted to join as well. Which had Duke contemplating murder as that stomach ache was for nothing. But Jason came and saved the day, saying that Dick had to “honor the spoken contract”.

Usually only one or two Wayne (& Brown / Thomas) kids join these type of events. Rouge attacks are so common that galas are practically a dime a dozen and thinly veiled excuses to party at most.

At least there's fundraisers, Bruce is being a braggart about something or another to a pair of old ladies who seem to be acting like he's their grandson. (The cheek pinching and smiling is traumatizing —)

Anyways, Jason is being the buffer to Damian's usual gruffness as they wander about.

Jason's public persona is actually kind of funny, Jason “Jace” Todd-Wayne: the street kid that Bruce “Brucie” Wayne saved before he could be corrupted. The public reason for Jace's sporadic appearances is due to being hurt on a trip to Ethiopia as a kid, and then hospitalized for years as a John Doe and that Bruce had only found out about what had actually happened to his son a few years ago.

Everyone is very sympathetic and Jace enjoys talking about his volunteering at different places and the people he met due to the experience.

All around Jace is surprisingly kind and innocent to the point of occasionally coming off as naïve. It's hilarious.

Duke doesn't really need a public persona, he's nice and a little sarcastic but still labeled as being the “boring one” online. Which, Duke is glad to be as it keeps the disgustingly high percentage of racist in “high society” off his back.

Cass is in the same boat as him but she gets the “disabled and dumb” label included. Lots of condescending assholes talking loud and slow like she's a particularly inattentive toddler.

Damian doesn't really have a public persona besides being “shy”, borderline indifferent and “imprinting” on Jace.

Gossip outlets absolutely ate it up as well when it became clear, they said that Richie was a bad influence with his flimsy and playboy attitude. They wrote how “Seeing Damian accompany Jace like a baby duckling warms this reporter's heart, we all know animal loving and innocent Jace will be the one to soften his rough edges.”

Duke doesn't know how the public is fooled. Even the morons that write these gossip rags have to actually see Jason “Brickhouse” Todd who's barely holding back from punching the elitist he's talking to right!?

Tonight's biggest public display would have to be Damian's outfit though. He's wearing a dress and getting hounded on by swarms of reporters for it.

Surprising, Damian looks in his element with thinly veiled insults and death threats mixed in with wide innocent eyes and a shy demeanor.

After what happened a few days ago Duke wonders if this could be a coping mechanism. What changing outfit styles would have to do with it he doesn't know but it's just a thought.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Jason, Dick, and Azul are definitely an odd sight to onlookers. They're in the shopping district, much higher quality than the dump of a mall Grayson took Amir to.

Ever since Callaghan “came out” as genderfluid, being more than Damian became much easier, like a breath of fresh air.

They haven't reaped the full benefits as it's only been a few days but Azul is enjoying being more herself during her and Jason's book club time.

Azul is fronting right now, shopping with these two buffoons sounded interesting and the rain is soothing to her senses.

They're in Grayson's large car because of the rain. This is distantly upsetting to Azul, walking in the rain is one of her favorite pastimes. Although her face doesn't show it, eyes half lidded and face blank.

At least this will be an amusing time instead of when she had to patch up their body. She shudders at the phantom pain, rubbing her arms.

Neither Grayson nor Jason notice, too busy arguing in the front seats.

Finally the car gets parked at a boutique as she, Jason, and Grayson “need” new outfits for the gala. Azul plans on getting a dress. She's not going to be fronting, parties make her want to crawl under a bed and never come out, but Layla, Paulina, and Kit are keeping a running commentary.

Mal isn't joining and is still grounded for her stunt but she's the most eager for this trip. There's a bell ringing as Grayson opens the door, Jason is gently holding her smaller hand.

The worker is a short and thick male, he has salt and pepper hair and a bush-like mustache. He oozes cruelty, eyes dark echos of storm, and clothing slightly disheveled as if he does a lot of running around.

“ ‘lo. We're lookin’ for cus'om suits.” Jason greets, wrangling Grayson into standing still with his free hand. They're the only people present and Azul catalogs all the exits.

The male smiles, showing off slightly yellow teeth and very heavy cigarette breath. The scent only clings to him and his uniform instead of the store. “Yes-Yes, welcome to Glamour House, do you lovely people have an appointment?”

“Should be under Dick Grayson.” Dick replies, his voice more entitled for the public.

“Oh yes, I'll be with ya’ shortly” The male nods, Azul finally cares enough to look at his name tag. ‘Alastair’, what a dull last name.

The experience was more monotonous than she thought it would be. Jason and Grayson chose simple tuxedo's and then gave their measurements for Alastair to customize.

Grayson chose a white notched lapel tuxedo with a forest green vest. It certainly fit his tastes of eccentricity. While Jason ended up picking a simple black turtleneck with a white button-down shirt and black blazer. It was much less customizable besides the white slacks he also selected.

The process was dragged out because Azul wanted a dress, much to Grayson and Jason's childish glee. Alastair looked skeptical though, looking behind Azul as if waiting for a “proper young lady” to show various dresses to.

“Excuse me? Could you please show me your expanse of dresses?” Azul asks with a thin smile when the silence lasts too long.

Grayson looks ready to fight, what a tempered man. Jason is holding her arm protectively as if to shield her from nonexistent vitriol.

Azul pats Jason's hand and gives Grayson a stern look. They back down like good guard dogs.

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

“Why yes!” Alastair exclaims, rubbing sweaty palms together. “It's not often we get young men such as yourself who are interested in eccentric clothing.”

She mentally rolls her eyes at the blatant bigotry. “Is that going to be a problem?” Azul asks, voice sweet and cloying like honey. “I wouldn't want my choices to go against such a fine establishmen's philosophy.”

Azul knows Alastair's getting commissioned a large sum of money for this. At least fifteen-thousand dollars he'll be out of, if he refuses Azul.

Azul is wearing a more… feminine outfit. Certainly more revealing than she'd usually choose with a cropped cherry red sweatshirt that barely shows off her belly button and high waisted leggings. She also forgone the hair gel today so her messy hair “artfully frames her face” as it became a unanimous decision to grow it out some time ago.

Alastair expectedly folds, guiding her and the entourage to the women's section as she valiantly refuses to even glance at the appalling amount of ruffles and eye watering colors in the preteen and kids section.

Azul's first choice is a high waisted strapless black dress with a layered lace skirt and an odd neckline.

Jason has finally let go of her hand and Grayson is looking around for childish and downright ugly dresses.

Alastair hums thoughtfully when he sees her choice. “Yes… I can work with that.” His eyes jump from Azul to the dress. “I would have to add sleeves to accommodate your lack of bosom but it could work..”

”That skirt looks like a bathrobe, get something else.” Layla loudly demands.

Azul has to agree, the dress looks cheap and the jewel in the middle of the breasts isn't likely to be real.

She repeats such critics to Alastair who flushes with embarrassment and walks towards another dress with determination now that he's “getting a feel for your style”.

Jason and her follow, the male snickering behind a hand at how tacky the dress looks. Azul elbows him in the side but privately agrees with the sentiment.

The dress is of the form fitting black sequin variety with a square neckline.

Azul looks at Alastair, unimpressed. “Are you trying to waste my time?” She doesn't wait for him to respond, having Layla guide her to another choice of outfit.

Azul doesn't have much of a “fashion sense” or opinion on feminine objects, Layla is easily classified as a “fashion diva”, Paulina is a tomboy, and Kit just wears whatever it's given. So this is more Layla’s territory but Azul is enjoying her time.

Layla chooses a lacy pale purple and strapless dress with pink flowers at the waist and a short train. It's decent quality and Layla claims it would “make people underestimate them.”

It's definitely more childish and Azul is uncomfortable just looking at it but presses on despite the fact.

“Hm. That's definitely mo’ casual than gala don'cha think?” Jason teases, although his eyes are soft so Azul ignores him.

The bust is too large for their flat chest… Azul needs to purchase a sleeveless padded bra as well…

Alastair is standing to the side, judging the pair like they will decide to steal something if he takes his eyes off them.

Until Grayson rudely interrupts, charging in and practically gasping at the outfit. “Oh.. that's a pretty revealing outfit bud..”

Azul blinks, “The dress is knee length.”

Grayson still looks uncomfortable which is not her problem but Jason seems prepared to back him up, which is…odd. It's a perfectly normal dress.

“Can we pick your dress for you? Pretty pleeeaaase?” Grayson suddenly begs foolishly jutting out his bottom lip and puffing his cheeks. Azul is uncomfortable, looking at Jason for support but the male looks excited…

Her heart clenches at how eager he looks.

”You're so weak-willed.” Layla drawls.

Azul hides a blush as Jason assures her, “If ya' still wan’ to get this one go ‘head. But let us dress ya’ up?” He almost pleads.

Azul is weak, She nods.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Dick is eager to spend time with his younger brothers. Damian is very hot and cold these days and being grounded for running away and electrocuting Dick has definitely caused Damian to ignore him more often than not.

He's ready to body slam Joseph Alastair for how he's looking at Damian, who's slowly being shimmied out of his shell. The man might undo all of their progress!

Dick's a bit hurt that Damian's practically clinging to Jason. He wonders if Jason will end up being injured too like Dick was during the whole mall affair.

“Excuse me? Could you please show me the dresses?”

Damian is unexpectedly cordial although the venom hiding in his voice is lethal in its own right. He even said please.

Dick side eyes Damian because saying please to a “nobody, less than a peasant” is a huge improvement.

He certainly senses the movement, giving him a hard stare then patting Jason's hand. Dick pouts, a protest on his lips.

Damian then completely ignores him asking Joseph with a shockingly innocent voice. “Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

“Why yes!” Joseph practically screams, continuing his greasy defense. “It's not often we get young men such as yourself who are interested in eccentric clothing.”

Damian's reply brings a sardonic tear to Dick's eye and a warm sense of pride. Probably only a month ago Damian would've just attacked the civilian for such words instead of remaining cool.

He doesn't really pay attention to what Jason and Damian are doing. The owner of the establishment has been someone he wanted to check out for a while. Glamour House is suspected to be a front for money laundering. It's not a big deal in the wide scheme of things but the money's being funneled to some shady places.

To keep suspicion off of him, Dick visits the pair every so often with ruffled and bowed dresses in bright colors. Damian is endearingly annoyed while Jason joins in on ribbing the youngest.

He sees them finishing up, and Joseph Alastair looking ready to kick the group out so Dick joins them one last time.

The dress Damian ended up choosing is very pretty. It's also surprisingly soft looking with muted color and soft pink flowers. It's also mature with a cinched waist and sleeveless of all things.

Nooo you're a little baby, don't choose this dress! Dick internally cries out with agony. He just about shakes Jason's shoulders but he takes the very subtle hint to agree with Dick.

He can see Jason's agreement wavering which yes, Damian looks like an adorable and content kitten as he looks at the dress so Dick pulls out his trump card.

“Can we pick your dress for you? Pretty pleeeaaase?” And Damian agrees which causes him to beam. Dick darts around the store with a determined brow now he has to find a dress Damian will actually like that doesn't look fit for someone at least six years older.

Dick doesn't acknowledge Jason's “If ya' still wan’ to get this one go ‘head. But let us dress ya’ up.” Okay so maybe it is presumptuous to assume the seal eyes had worked but Dick is excited.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Azul is left to either wander or stand silently with Alastair as Jason and Grayson run around the boutique. Azul has no interest in the man's company but her older brothers are acting ridiculously secretive and keep shooing her away.

So… Azul is bored. She keeps out of sight from Alastair and decides to explore. It's not entertaining, no secret knowledge to be gained or books and the like to discover. Breaking into the cramped office is childsplay and the locked desk is nothing more than a minute task.

Jason arrives in the office as she's sorting through the papers. Lots of incriminating evidence that is vaguely interesting.

“Hm?” Azul looks up, stopping her reading.

“C'mon nosey, Disco's gettin’ antsy.” Jason rolls his eyes fondly. “An’ leave the ‘crim’nating evidence, Wing's already on the case.”

Azul bites her lip. The words are humorous, how a money laundering front is somehow in debt needs to be studied.

“Oi. Get'cha butt over here.” Jason playfully demands while still standing unconcerned at the entrance of the office.

She grumbles, setting down the papers and reorganizing Alastair's desk. “It was just getting interesting…” Azul complains softly. She walks over to Jason and lets
him ruffle her hair.

“Yeah? Tell me ‘bout it.” Azul stays close to Jason as they walk back to the boutique area of the building.

“They've managed to acclimate close to a million dollars in debt.”

Jason snorts, “Ain't this a front?”

Azul's voice is soft as she nods. “And they have connections to the New York Mob as well.”

Jason can't resist the eye roll, “Fuckin’ New York!?” He quietly shouts with disgust clear in his tone although he quiets down when Disco comes back into view. He's hiding a baby pink dress behind his back, it's what they decided on for the baby-bat.

Azul is suspicious of Grayson, who is shifting from one foot to the other with nervous anticipation.

“Sooo Little D, whadda'ya think!” Grayson flourishes, showing Azul a… not awful dress. It's certainly something fit for Kit and that's the most positive aspect of the dress.

It's a baby pink tulle dress with thin straps and a small breast area. The entire thing is covered in another layer of matching mesh with scattered silver leaves and faux sleeves.

Azul swallows back a biting comment. “It's… acceptable.”

“Aaaw! I'm glad you like it!” Dick agrees. Damian isn't being completely enthusiastic but Dick didn't expect much else. He could've chosen a dramatic and sweeping black dress but Damian obviously doesn't completely hate his choice if he's not already verbally ripping his older brother to shreds.

So what if Dick's being adventurous? He wants to see his cute little brother in a cute pink outfit!

“C'mon! C'mon! Try it on!” Dick hassles, holding out the hanger and shaking it. He makes a face at Jason, who's looking a little constipated in his direction.

Azul sighs, waiting until Grayson is done acting like a kid on sugar and then taking the hanger. “Sir?” She asks, finally acknowledging Alastair and his down turned lips. “Where are the fitting rooms?”

Alastair's face smooths out again, “Over by the shoe racks."

Azul nods in thanks, “Please wait here; Jason, Grayson.” She makes her way over to the shoe isles and sets herself inside the fitting room.

It's small, she didn't expect a large room but Azul can barely hold both her arms out at once. There's a floor length mirror and an overhead light above her with a hook and green metal bench for her clothes.

Azul undresses, not sparing even a moment to look at her figure in the mirror. The dress fits well and accommodates Azul's flat chest.

Running her hands through the fluffy skirt proves that the material isn't horrible. Lips thinning, Azul does a slow turn to see the dress spread around her.

Gathering her bearings takes only one more deep breath before Azul unlocks the door and steps outside. Being bombarded with the flashing of a camera. She grimaces before relaxing her shoulders.

“Grayson.” She is pleased at how immediately chastised he looks. “I told you both to stay put.”

Jason grins at her mischievously, “We're just eager ta’ see ya’.”

Grayson seems to take that as a cue to rush towards Azul. She tenses but Grayson just wraps his arms around her and squeezes tight. Azul holds a whimper between clenched teeth.

“You look adorable Damian!” Grayson cheers, nuzzling the top of her head. Azul's ears redden and it only takes her a moment to attempt to push away the deceptively hefty muscles that feel like they're crushing her.

Azul looks at Jason, forlorn. She silently begs for help but he ignores her. “Grayson.” She seethes.

He whines but unhinges from her. She steps back, uncomfortable with the prolonged contact. Azul closes her eyes, counting to five, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Jason side eyes Disco, Pouncey is unusually cordial then frustrated for seemingly no reason. He's sympathetic, kids probably stressed. Jason holds back Disco from speaking, letting Damian self soothe.

Azul takes a deep and not at all calming breath, finally bringing her hands to her sides. “I am feeling…”

Dick perks up like a bloodhound. Talk about feelings? In this family? He's so proud! Jason rolls his eyes and Dick can hear the you're so dramatic but he's too busy bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“sensitive.” Azul finishes lamely, flushing at Jason and Grayson's gleeful faces. “So no more hugs Grayson.”

Disco nods with a dour face. Jason pats his shoulder consolingly, “You'll hafta put ‘way the octa’pus limbs for now. How sad.”

Disco whines and curls into himself as if he's melting. Jason grins at Pouncey, who's lip is twitching upward.

He perks right back up though, a beaming and mischievous smile on his face. He bounces over to Damian and stands close but not overbearing. “So I'll still get to shower you with my adortion, pretty pretty princess?” There's a tinge of teasing in his voice.

Azul bites the inside of her cheek, nausea turning in her gut like a hungry snake. Azul takes a step back and shakes her head. “Don't call me that.”

Dick falters, understanding threaded in his tone. “You don't like being called princess?” Azul nods.

It feels wrong to be called princess, as if she's a shadow of Amir. However, she logically knows it's not the case even if he's her companion. The words. “Prince” and “Princess” don't have positive connotations assigned to them. There was an Amira, “Princess”, Amir's shadow and opponent. She became twisted and pulled until only a lightless being of shadows remained.

Thankfully, she doesn't exist anymore, purged like the rot from a grand oak tree. Azul hypothesized that Layla came after, the mystery of night. The improved substitute. Less Ra's Al Ghul's perfect descendant more Talia's daughter.

Damian laments over Darius’ continued existence but there's nothing to be done. Talia programmed him, he's as much of Talia's creation as Damian, Dami, Amir, and Layla are. The treason, disloyalty, and feeling of familicide would demolish every sense of being and individuality existing in the current space.

Azul is pulled from her thoughts by Jason, tugging on her arm. “What can we call ya’ then?” A fond smile is on his face. “ ‘cause ya’ look absolutely stunning.”

“Oh! I know! She's a soft, pretty, and squishy mellow!” Dick makes a movement to squeeze her cheeks but doesn't actually attempt to.

Azul has to pout, feeling calmer than before. Jason shakes his head, “No I think dimples would be better.” He teases and rubs his knuckles over Damian's curly head of hair.

Her lips twitch, “You impose either of those names on me and you're dead.”

“Ah!” Dick shouts, beaming, “is that a smiiiiile? You like these names you prickly pear??”

Azul wipes the faint smile off her face just to further provoke Grayson. “No.”

“I don’ think so…” Jason conspires “that was a pretty smiley face.”

Azul steps back and uses her outfit to distract the teasing pair, twisting it in her hands.

“This dress is rather childish” she stands awkwardly, doing a restrained twirl. Finishing with an unimpressed look at the two “and the color…”

Dick grins, “But you'll wear it? For us?”

Azul gives them exactly seven seconds to sweat with anticipation before conceding. “Yes.”

They both cheer rather boyishly. Azul huffs and walks towards Alastair, who leads her to the raised platform and floor length mirror for the outfit to be fitted. It takes only a few moments and the lingering touches are suitably punished with sharp glares.

She goes back to the dressing room with a slight crease in her brow. Dressing quickly, Azul sighs when she opens the door, once again in her civilian outfit with the dress folded over her arm. Jason is holding the pale purple dress Layla picked and she takes it with a sigh.

Handing Jason the baby pink dress she closes the door once again to undress and change. Surprisingly, the unfitted dress presses comfortably against her skin. Layla's pleased hum feels like a warm skewer through her back.

Azul blinks, rubbing her eyes to offset the sudden headache. She's definitely been fronting too long.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Dick is worried over Damian right now. He didn't think “Princess” would be such a triggering nickname for the youngest and now he feels guilty.

Although it makes sense, “Prince” would be an understatement to Damian's position in the league so using it as a term of endearment would be, with further thought, inconsiderate.

Duck winces, Yikes, I'll have to apologize.

He's been slipping, acting gauche and juvenile. Dick is over the top and dramatic but this is a bit much even for him. Unfortunately, family drama is stressful and apparently that means he's shifted to acting like a teenager again. I miss my old coping mechanisms.

Dick grumbles, bouncing on the balls of his feet while Jason fidgets with his sleeve and checks his watch every fifteen seconds.

“Damian's been in there a looong time right?” Dick asks rhetorically as if he hasn't been watching the ornate clock tick-tick-tick on the wall.

“ ‘s been fifteen minutes.” Jason grunts “I'm gonna break down that fuckin’ door.”

Apparently he wasn't very quiet with the threat because Joseph Alastair looks affronted. He puffs up like a peacock, likely about to make a speech. “Zip it, wrinkles.” Jason cuts in.

Dick knocks on the door, gentle and calm. “Dami-cakes, you've been in there awhile, everything alright?”

Jason wrinkles his nose at the cringey nickname. Breaking the blank facade of coldness taking place on his face.

“Da-mi-an.” Dick tries again, every syllable being enunciated with a loud knock. He doesn't hear any movement through the deplorably thin walls. “We're getting kinda worried bud, can you at least say something?”

There's no harsh breathing or the rustling of fabric, just the low ringing of the fluorescent lights. It's chilling and Dick frowns. He turns to face Jason who also has a pensive look on his face.

“Mister Alastair.” His voice is sickly sweet yet sharp like a blade that goes unnoticed until you're already bleeding out.

“K-Keys are right here!” the businessman squeaks.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

When Amir wakes up it needs a moment to reorient himself. With dozens of other people likely using his body when he wasn't present, this isn't a surprise.

Although it's usually not this troublesome. Taking quick stock of his body, Amir is in ideal condition besides some dizziness. So why am I in the medbay?

He doesn't need to open his eyes to know where he's laid. The bitter smell of the air, the almost bone chilling cold characteristic of the cave, acid coating Amir's mouth, and the muted squeaks from overhead bats.

Still not opening its eyes, Amir sits up with his back propped on a pillow. Taking a deep breath Amir finally catalogs his surroundings with open eyes.

Obviously it was correct in the assessment of location but the reasoning for being in the Medbay still eludes him.

Amir looks to the IV injected into the inside of his elbow. The liquid is clear, likely Saline. Did whoever was fronting while he was away pass out?

There's a suitably minor amount of people willing to front. It's difficult to center himself but Paulina and Damian are the two who come to mind.

Rubbing his head, Amir looks at its outfit. The probability of Paulina being the cause has gone up substantially.

They were… going shopping, yes? It remembers discussing that with Grayson who wanted to do more “bonding activities”. That would explain the garment bag at his bedside then, otherwise Pennyworth would have already gotten rid of the clutter.

Amir hopes it wasn't another low-end establishment that doesn't at least have a seamstress on staff. Although if that was Grayson's choice, hopefully the weight of ruining Father's legacy at the upcoming gala kept him out of such places.

Amir opens the bag curiously as its phone is unavailable and nobody else is there to keep him company.

It's… stunned at the choice. Paulina doesn't like dresses, she prefers bright pink shirts and capri pants and it doesn't think Damian has ventured into cross-dressing territory. If anything, the teen would definitely be too self conscious to not need support when making this decision.

Perhaps Grayson bought it? Amir folds the back of the dress towards him. The size is small enough to only be suited for Amir or another child's body.

There's a knock at the door. Amir frowns, it doesn't want to speak and the room is spinning too much to move. It hopes someone perceptive is at the door.

.-- .... .- - / -.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / .-- .- -. - ..--..
What do you want?

There's a pause.

“May I come in, chum?” Father asks.

Amir shrugs, then remembers that Father can't see him. It knocks against the bed frame again.

-.-- . …
Yes

Father enters and scans the room. He eyes Amir for a worrisome amount of time.

“Is your throat injured?” Father mumbles, stepping closer.

-. —
No

Amir doesn't shake his head as that would only aggravate its intense headache.

“You fell unconscious.” Father informs him flatly.

It barely resists rolling his eyes. Waking up in the Medbay with a Saline drip and no visible injuries? Amir never suspected that.

He hums quietly, still unable to make himself speak.

“Do you remember what led to it?” Father checks, doubtlessly scanning for signs of concussion.

It doesn't have a concussion, or maybe he does. The deja vu from Mal is spinning. Or maybe the room is just spinning anyways.

Amir switches to sign, it's easier to remember and he's been hitting the bed frame hard enough to lightly bruise its knuckles.

No. He presses an open-palmed thumb against his forehead then crosses his arms while bringing out both its pointer fingers. Amir doesn't mean to do it, Cain uses the two signs all the time: Father-bat.

Father smiles and Amir thins his lips. It was an accident and unprofessional. Apologies.

“That's quite alright son.” Father makes an “X” with both his pointer fingers on his forehead. Amir's sign name: Loveson.

Amir nods shortly, its vision momentarily swimming. Shopping with Grayson and Todd?

He doesn't bother using their sign names. For Grayson he twists a slightly bent hand over his nose “Circus”. Then holds out both arms and squeezes its fist, “Motorcycle” for Todd.

Father hums quietly, running a cool hand through Amir's hair. “You fell unconscious in the fitting rooms.”

Not for the first time, Amir internally bemoans at how weak the others are. They get overwhelmed and overstimulated for seemingly no reason, fragile. It hates the others sometimes but, I'm a protector so the others being weak means I'm doing my job. Amir consoles himself.

He doesn't ask “Why?” Father will likely ask that and he'll need to give an answer. Although it is unusual for Damian to act in such a way and shopping is… most likely not too stressful for Khala.

Its not bleeding (so Amir didn't pass out from blood loss), and any questions over Amir's supposed “self-harm” will cause it to metaphorically shut down. Father must know this, a shifting look in his eyes and an inquisitive tilt to his mouth, just barely holding back the demands and questions.

It smirks internally, shrugging to those unasked questions with stoic innocence.

Father almost scowls, but Amir catches it before his face smoothes out again. “Your recent behavior is concerning.” He muses, perhaps a little cruelly. “It's conceivable that I'll have to bench Robin until it's solved.”

It's not shocked by this revelation, looking Father in the eyes fearlessly at the blatant blackmail. Status is optimal. He signs stiffly.

Father sighs, “These incidents are adding up Damian, I need to know you're okay.”

Amir frowns but doesn't respond. It pulls back from the touch, he's not uncomfortable with but making a point. It raises a brow, Everything revealed soon.

The corner of Father's eyes pull with agitation. “Will you at least admit as to why you're signing? Does your throat hurt?”

Amir doesn't want to move his head at all and settles for a more infantile Feel fine. No want to talk.

Father's shoulders slump, Amir is playing at his compassion. Cain primarily uses ASL to communicate and it imitates her demeanor perfectly. A skittish but trusting butterfly, ready to fly away at the least bit of prompting.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Bruce was worried when he first got Dick's only slightly panicked phone call over Damian's sudden bout of unconsciousness.

He paced nervously as Alfred assessed the boy for possible injuries. Only for nothing to come up. Damian is injured, sure, skin covered in recent looking welts that seem self-inflicted and it's just another one of many, many things his youngest seemingly can't hold Bruce in confidence for.

It aches and burns, he wants to hold Damian close. He wants to chop off those hurting and injured hands so that something better may come from it. Bruce sighs, if only it were that easy….

Damian was assessed to be healthy with his headache from hitting it and falling being the only outright adverse symptom. So it wasn't blood loss, he's not bleeding out or sick, blood sugar is fine so the falling unconscious went largely unexplained.

The weather was typical rain so Damian couldn't have overheated. He found Damian's blood pressure as lower than average and inserted a Saline drip into the crook of his elbow.

Hence, Bruce has deduced Damian's symptom of falling unconscious from dehydration and not eating. It's an easy fix but he never categorized Damian as so absentminded. Although, that label doesn't make sense especially with how meticulous and routine Damian is with his day.

The gala is viable to be the stressor in the situation. Alfred has a firm ruling over the catering and running crew so he's been temporarily relieved of his usual duties to supervise them.

This is only Damian's second third hosted gala. Technically on the higher side due to one of those galas being attacked by Two-Face only minutes after everyone arrived. That was a terribly hectic situation.

He wondered if it was a good time to mention his theories from the couch. That Damian didn't feel like himself and was acting younger, that he just wanted comfort and Talia's presence.

It's not, the questioning would lead to nowhere and Damian doesn't need more stress right now if the gala is already producing negative reactions.

Speaking of, the gala is scheduled for tomorrow and Brucie Wayne needs a new suit after an incident involving champagne and little girls with their mothers lipstick.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Layla isn't exactly uncomfortable being surrounded by the relatively wealthy and pompous, if anything she's in her element, but the lack of power and status she has in these buffoons eyes is maddening.

If Howard Garvhance knew that she could slit his throat with a toothpick, he'd quit bombarding her with questions if only out of self preservation.

Of course, Layla wouldn't do something so unsightly in public and surrounded by civilians. Mother taught her of espionage, of flirting and subtle intimidation, being underestimated but a threat all the same.

Father attempts to chase her away from the slightly more sophisticated commoners. He stays close and keeps a hand on her shoulder. Layla has respect for authority, especially Mother, Father, Grandfather, and the few tutors who weren't murdered by her own hands, but how exactly is she supposed to build a rapport and establish connections with Father either hanging off her or making a nuisance of himself.

She eventually escapes Father's clutches, making her way over to Todd who she knows Azul is fond of.

Speaking of the fool, Layla might've fronted if she knew Azul was going to fall unconscious because of her hypersensitivity. The damned woman made a fool of herself for exactly zero reason's.

It was humiliating to be held so tenderly, and Grayson watery eyes were nothing short of disturbing. Including that they had the audacity to have Pennyworth change Azul from the dress she was wearing.

Layla never wants to be man-handled like that again, and she'll lecture Azul until her ears bleed to make sure it happens.

Dear Auta, she misses Damian. He's a happy-go-lucky idiot but at least he's not brainless like these civilian imbeciles. And she needs to debrief Amir over the situation, because Azul is untrustworthy in regards to imparting truthful information unto others. Fronting is truly such a pain…

Rubbing the gold leaf ear cuff that's wrapped a small part of her ear is the only fidgeting Layla allows herself before taking another sip of her sparkling mineral water.

Todd is speaking amicably to a young woman with plain brown hair and eyes with a fitting fairy blue dress. Her Father is the recent heir to some lapidary company. There's high suspicion of foul play, seeing as Gene McKenzie was second in line for inheritance with his father's sudden passing and older brother signing away the right to the company to Gene.

It's all faintly amusing, Savannah McKenzie seems like a perfectly sweet young lady, if a bit bumbling with her manipulations. Obviously “new money” or however that term goes with how hard she's attempting to look like she fits in.

Layla smiles against her glass. She almost wants to help the poor girl, but it'd be a waste of resources. At most, the connection with mining companies known to look the other way would be interesting. Therefore, not much to hold her attention.

She see's Gene coming towards them. He looks similar to Savannah but his hair is long, curly, and bleached besides the roots.

He's subtler than his daughter, but not by much. Layla can see the future marriage proposal from miles away. Although she cannot fathom why Gene would go for the proverbial bottom of the barrel.

Even Grayson, who's a well known cop (and wasn't it interesting to find out what New Jersey considers rich people think about the police force, “Always asking for handouts, those greedy bastards.”) would be smarter to tie themselves to than ‘English Professor Todd’.

Or, if Gene had higher than room temperature IQ he'd have his daughter going after Drake who's acting CEO of Wayne Enterprise if not Layla herself, who would have a wonderful time shredding apart Savannah's self esteem.

Gene is going on about how his “Sweetheart Savannah” loves animals dearly and would love to coordinate a fundraiser or volunteering event with Todd.

Said “Sweetheart” is nervously scratching her arms so Layla decides to cut in. “Mr. McKenzie?” She asks politely.

Gene's attention is immediately on her, and playing into the persona, Layla shuffles slightly so she's more blocked by Todd's large figure.

She revels momentarily in the thought of how difficult acting like a shy pikas will be for the others at future galas. Stifling a smile she mumbles “Isn't Miss Savannah allergic to animal dander..?” against Todd's arm, just loud enough to be heard.

She's shy, not submissive and subservient. Oblivious in the sense of “how unsettling that dark skinned boy looks”. And she is unsettling with the wide smiles and dead eyes, but the comments regarding the color of her skin are unnecessary. Layla's not ominous because of her ethnicity, but because of her training and status that even these sheep instinctively feel.

Mr. McKenzie talks at Todd for a while longer before Drake's lingering form catches her eye. His form is comparable to Thomas’ with the restricted body language and carefully blank face.

Drake's “public persona” is exactly how he is in private; obsessive and overworked. Although, the etching of self consciousness is replaced with tired bravado.

He's nibbling on a cucumber sandwich next to one of the numerous appetizer tables. He wasn't enthusiastic to take part in this event but Pennyworth swiftly reminded Drake that he's missed the previous three.

The only reason Drake isn't being crowded is because of the constant maniacal “I'm always working” energy around him despite being only occupied with the finger sandwich.

Inspiration unfolds neatly in her chest, Layla takes a moment to bid Todd an emotionless goodbye. She pecks his cheek, the three inch pale colored heels taking her meager height to a suitable 4"11.

Layla floats (much more elegant than a stalk and less ordinary than a saunter) over to Drake. He looks spooked, alarmed even. If the male only had civilian available defenses on his person Layla would assume he's about to spatter her eyes with pepper spray.

“Why so tense, dear brother?” she smiles like a doll, eyes uncontracted.

“Why are you acting like a possessed doll?” Drake demands with a whispered hiss.

“I'm experiencing joy.” Layla blankly retorts, holding out a hand “May I have this dance?”

Suspicion flashes across Drake's face like a lightning strike, blink and you'll miss it.

“...I'll have to politely decline, Damian.”

Layla hums softly, missing the gunshots that would usually follow the command. A lady follows rejection easily but an Al Ghul demands compliance.

“But you appear so anti-social, scaring the civilians.” She teases.

Drake's shoulders hitch before relaxing again. “You're acting very punchable right now.” he retorts before grabbing her offered hand.

They sway to the music, an endearing sight of the youngest child and middle child bond. Layla guides them more towards the other guests. There are a few people dancing to the low and smooth music of the older and younger category.

Layla and Drake catch a few eyes but it's under the radar. There's a subtle fight for dominance, Drake must believe his superior height allows him the right. Layla quickly corrects this with a bruising kick to Drake's leg and a tightened grip against his hand.

Drake is disgruntled, attempting to disengage after the dancing extends three minutes. Grayson flutters around them like a nitpicking fly until Layla allows Drake to dip her and finally finish the dance.

Grayson theoretically scoops her up with a few swift movements. His dancing is less serious with its playful and jerking movements.

Layla allows it because the male seems to have something on his mind. “Hey Dames, enjoying the party?” She nods with a mild response, “It is acceptable.”

Grayson's face spasms with a toned down from usual grin.Guilt? Is that guilt Layla see's in his eyes?

“So sorry about calling you that word earlier” he spins her slowly, as the music has calmed to the slow swaying of the violin bows once again. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Layla needs a moment to remember what Grayson's talking about until she remembers Azul spiraling over the inane title of Layla's predecessor. Princess, ’that word’.

“Your attempts at sensitivity have been noted and subsequently disregarded.” Grayson's lips part, as it'd be wise to beg for forgiveness. “I hold no resentment for your earlier actions.” At least not in public, where the air they breathe is laced with microchips and the floors have slow invasive eyes.

Grayson hums, his attention diverted. He spins Layla one last time before stopping with theatrically fast breath. “Would you like some punch?”

Layla quickly stops the sneer spreading across her face at the question. She'd be better off drinking orange juice rather than that ‘concentrated fruit’ crap.

“Sparkling mineral water… please.”

Grayson nods with a beaming smile and saunters over to one of the many tables. She sways to the low music impatiently.

Cain takes the moment of solitude as her cue to make conversation with the heiress. Layla saw this coming, keeping the fellow assassins in her line of sight at all times. There's something unpleasant in the blankness of Cain's face as she subtly transforms from aimless doll to predator.

Layla is certain that no one else follows this, too self absorbed and unobservant to see the fearsome wolf that hides behind the facade of something human.

“Cain.” She greets the woman blandly, locating all the crevices and folds Cain is hiding weapons on her person.

Cain fixes her face, twisting it into something soft, the doting yet quiet older sister. Indulgence lays across her features like the subtle flick of a mascara brush.

“Damian.” she greets verbally, taking Layla's hand and kissing the back of it as if Layla is a maiden in need of wooing. “Are you enjoying the gala?”

Layla lets her hand fall limply to her side. “Hardly, with the dearth of intellectually stimulating company.”

Cain hums quietly but before she can give a verbal response Grayson returns and the moment of inattentiveness allows Cain to disappear like a wisp in the wind.

Layla cradles the hand Cain pecked before taking the offered drink and continuing their discussion.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Cass is curious about the littlest family member. After being integrated he seemed well adjusted besides the heavy angryfearfulreplaceable on his shoulders and face.

Cass doesn't know how to help him, or at least she didn't. It's not exactly a secret but she's on speaking terms with the Siren's. Harley has been a goldmine of opportunities to “therapy the fuck outta the bats”.

So, she is aware of the bubbling theories within these circles about Damian's condition. Cass firmly believes that Damian has DID or OSDD-1 after some moderate investigation of her own.

The theory isn't concrete, pieces of the puzzle constantly being moved and discarded as Cass continues to observe Damian. She hides in the shadows as he's hounded by Bruce and manipulating the McKenzie's. He notices her for certain, as he's too trained not to and Cass is careful to keep her sneaking abilities just civilian enough to not raise suspicion.

She finally approaches the target youngest family member when Dick leaves to get refreshments, his shoulders light with relieflovecaring. Cass has to alter her approach when Damian unexpectedly shows affectionexcitementlonging like she's seen Edan in math class give to her crush.

Cass flirts at baseline, stopping her nose from twitching with amusement. Damian has never shown such interest in her before… Cass leaves before Dick can confront her and slips a hand in her pocket to inform Harley.

Chapter Text

Amir woke up horrifically late the next morning. Maybe it would've been acceptable if someone such as Damian was fronting but whoever switched off his six alarms is going find themselves grievously injured.

It's vaguely curious over who fronted last night, Amir‘s dressed in bell bottomed leggings and a t-shirt. Just nondescript enough to be anyone's doing.

He rolls over in bed to revel in seconds worth of laziness before getting ready for the day. As Amir walks into its bathroom he glances at the mirror for a moment before stopping.

Makeup..?

It's no stranger to makeup, in the event of presenting as a civilian for whatever reason having subtle eyeshadow would give the illusion of Amir's eyes being larger and more innocent with strategically placed highlighter and blush emphasizing the fullness of his cheeks.

Although the current look seems to have been done for a more mature look instead. The dark eyeliner is styled in a simple wing with small stars drawn in the corner of Amir's eyes. Gold colored eyeshadow was used sparingly around the lid, he believes the technique is called “smokey eye” or something of the sort.

Amir's brow twitches, whoever did the look is undoubtedly talented yet had the audacity to not wipe it off before bed.

It crouches down, taking all of ten seconds to procure said makeup wipes from the cupboard. Amir peels open the container and rubs the wipe over his face.

He throws the wipe in the small metal trashcan next to the sink and runs a hand through his hair. It forgos the usual skin care routine and quickly brushes its teeth before heading back outside of the bathroom.

Amir opens his walk-in closet and searches until he finds a black turtleneck and grey cargo pants. Returning to its bedside, Amir picks up a hairbrush and absentmindedly pours cardamom tea leaves into the portable electric kettle.

The kettle is a recent gift from Pennyworth, Damian said it was given unprompted and Amir hasn't bothered investigating further since it's such a inconsequential matter despite the obvious lie on the butlers part.

Amir appreciates the duality of the machine. It further hides the oscillating preferences of beverage as Amir is aware Todd has caught onto Paulina's preference for coffee.

It's just grateful that most of them prefer tea with few discrepancies other than Robin's infatuation with jam being added to theirs and Dami having a fondness for high sugar concentrate juices.

It stops brushing its hair and straightens out his blankets and pillows before beginning a basic morning stretch.

Amir has little plans for today besides sharpening its weapons and training so the lay-in was perhaps advantageous.

The kettle turns off with an audible click just as Amir finishes. It smirks slightly at the synchronization.

While waiting for the tea to cool off Amir checks on the small window box of blueberries. He grabs a cup and fills it with water to hydrate said plant.

The blueberries are Dami's passion project of sorts. The bushes only produce a handful of berries at a time with white Kurume Azaleas flowers mixed in as well.

The box is largely useless, especially because Pennyworth keeps a garden of fruits, vegetables, and herbs sectioned off in the backyard anyways, but Amir allows the indulgence because it makes the child happy for some reason.

Amir walks with the cup still in his hand back to the electric kettle. It opens the container and pours the tea into his cup. The liquid is scalding but Amir still takes a sip, the inviting smell wafting in his face.

It continues drinking the tea, relishing in the taste and warmth. Amir does stop after a couple small sips, the indignity of having a burned tongue giving him caution.

Setting down the cup it grabs one of the many mounted katana's resting on the far wall and securing a lubricating oil as well as an oilstone from its sword-care storage trunk.

Amir situates himself on the floor with a rag and begins.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

It's not sure how much time passes, hand sharpening his swords has always been a comforting experience. Amir loses time but it isn't upset over the fact, remaining loosely connected to the present as one sword after another passes his calloused hands.

It runs out of tea to drink eventually, making an entire kettle more would be excessive so Amir refrains despite craving another cup.

He licks his lips, sighing. It eventually notices the faint rumbling of his stomach with a frown.

The clocks block letters shine 3:49 in red. Amir's been up for almost five hours. It should eat something, hands not stopping in their sharpening and wiping.

I should finish this first. Amir decides, he's not even sharpening the swords anymore, having moved on to shuriken then daggers and the odd polearm.

He's pleasantly surprised nobody has come to bother it despite the long hours of isolation. Amir huffs, standing on long since numbed legs.

“I've been quite productive.” It tells the room while stretching. Amir pats nonexistent grime and dust from his body, rubbing his ears and feeling oddly restless.

It spends another fifteen minutes carefully putting the weapons away, sheathing and storing the various tools back into their proper places.

Amir stretches again to keep muscles loose and makes way downstairs from his room. There is no one to obscure its way to the kitchens and Pennyworth is nowhere to be seen.

It opens the fridge, quickly surveying the inventory. There are a couple of thawed chicken breasts, a bag of bagels, greek yogurt and cottage cheese, fruits, eggs, vegetables, leftover lasagna… Amir closes the fridge and checks the pantry, where he finds many boxes of cereal, a bag of flour, sugar, instant oatmeal, rice, and spices among other things.

Coming across a container of tortilla’s has him deciding to make a chicken wrap. He brings the tortillas as well as cayenne pepper, black pepper, white pepper, salt, paprika, garlic, and oregano to the counter. Preheating the oven, taking out a chopping board and placing two chicken breasts onto it.

He takes only a few moments to precisely cut the chicken into bite sized cubes before adding lemon juice, oil, and the spices into a bowl. Amir mixes the coating together and covers the chicken with it then makes haste to dice lettuce, red onion, and tomato. He then uses the greek yogurt, sriracha, cilantro, and seasonings to make a sauce.

It places the chicken onto a greased tray and into the oven and starts a mental timer for eighteen minutes.

Twelve of those long minutes are spent conversing with Robin over the training regime it’s following with the last six used to appease Alfred the Cat who made his way to the kitchen for food.

Amir gives Alfred the Cat a warning look before taking the now steaming chicken out of the oven and turning the appliance off then assembling his late lunch. Two compact chicken wraps are put onto a plate then cut in half at an angle.

He puts away the ingredients and wipes down the kitchen counters.

It holds one half in its mouth with a hand, the plate in his other. Amir makes his way to the library at a steady pace. The manor still appears empty.

He pulls the right book, stepping into one of the many entrances to the Bat-Cave. Loud punk music hits its ears once he's at the end of the short tunnel.

Such loud and incomprehensible
music; is Todd or Drake present?

Amir finds the answer to his question with a few more steps, Todd is working on one of his many motorcycles.

He frowns but accepts Todd's company, the Bat-Cave is a communal space after all. Amir goes to his locker after setting down the chicken wraps. He changes into a loose fitting dark grey top with matching pants, a lighter colored version of its League of Assassins training uniform.

When Amir gets out of the dressing room Todd is unashamedly snacking on his chicken wrap. It jabs two fingers into Todd's side for the slight.

Todd eyes him, swallowing a large bite unabashedly. “This y’urs Veggie Tales?” He questions with a raised brow.

Amir nods shortly without an ounce of shame.

Jason sets down the plate, Damian must be in one of his moods.

“What'cha doin’ down ‘ere anyways?”

Motions towards his outfit in an up and down movement. “Training.” It grabs the second half of the wrap he ate on the way to the cave, leaving the rest to Todd.

Jason hums thoughtfully, “Wanna spar?”

“Later.” Amir decides, finished with the short interaction he makes way to the large area with the entire flooring's substance being of a firm training mat.

It stretches for thirty minutes before standing to grab a training sword. Todd's music is still loudly playing but Amir doesn't focus on that.

He starts with stiff sword movements, slowly gaining a more fluid momentum and attacking the training dummy.

It sets down the sword, beginning flexibility and gymnastics. Amir sits down with his legs spread into a split, moving his torso forward with its legs rejoining behind him.

Amir pulls its legs up, keeping his back flat as his feet arch inches from his head. Amir uses his thighs to roll forward, springing into a standing position.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Minutes pass, or perhaps another few hours as the banging of Todd's music turns into soft jazz instead.

Amir takes a sip of water from a water bottle he grabbed from the cooler sitting against the farthest wall of the Batcave.

Looking over at Todd shows a dirtier version than earlier. His bangs cling to his forehead with a grease stained shirt and hands that won't stop fidgeting with a screwdriver.

It walks over to Todd, tapping his shoulder. “Are you up for sparring?”

Todd nods, “Yah, give me a sec.” He mumbles, grabbing an equally dirty rag and wiping his hands on it before making way towards the bathroom next to the changing rooms.

He comes out with cleaner hands and a washed face but still in the white tank top and grey pants. Todd makes way towards the training mats and Amir follows.

Todd stands at the other end in a relaxed position. “Swords or fists?” He asks shortly.

Amir positions his fists into a starting pose with Todd following easily. It commences with a pounce which Todd gracefully dodges despite his large frame.

He knows not to go all-out, that working himself to exhaustion when sparring with Todd is something his akh finds displeasing. So it's more of a game, Amir's first, second, and third attack leave minimal impact but Todd gathers an amass of bruises on his arms from blocking its kicks.

Amir's solar plexus throbs with the impact of Todd's shoe. He responds in kind with a chop to the neck, this causes Todd to stumble only minimally and because this is a spar Amir doesn't take the fault to press his body weight against Todd and slam his head against the ground.

Instead; Amir makes a sweeping motion with his legs, further imbalancing Todd. This leads Todd to lunge for his thigh, grabbing it tightly and swinging Amir away.

It lands silently on light feet, Todd springs forward with a grab to Amir's arm. Amir lets the grip take hold and crushes Todd's left foot with its own before curling his knee forward and making an impact on Todd's stomach.

Todd grunts, tugging harshly on its hair. Amir glares back, twisting Todd's wrist and forcing his body sideways. Amir then sends an elbow to the males windpipe which makes Todd let out a predictable wheeze.

Todd clenches his legs around Amir's, causing the younger to go down with him.

They stay in the pile for a few seconds, neither of them breathing any heavier than if they were walking.

Todd does something Amir can honestly admit to itself, was unexpected.

He grabs Amir's arms with a tight grip, positioning onto one knee and jumps up, pushing Amir into the air. It uses the momentum to land a sharp kick on Todd's shoulder due to the male's immobile position.

Amir manages to get Todd on his back again. He has a tight hold with his legs wrapped around Todd's own and his nails digging into Todd's inner elbow.

Todd squirms half heartedly, leaning forward to headbutt Amir's chin.

Amir huffs at the unintelligent and frankly childish action, relaxing its hold on Todd's body and standing when the male went mostly limp.

It decides to do a back handspring away from Todd, smartly choosing not to be within grabbing distance. Todd rolls onto his stomach with a huff, “I yield.” he grumbles.

Amir sneers, the spar went on for less than half an hour. It swallows back a comment about how pathetic Todd is for the surrender. It's different with the Wayne's, more lenient where you're not supposed to spar, train, and work to better yourself to the point of (preferrably) severe fatigue.

Amir clears the not at all helpful thoughts with a shake of its head.

“Uuuuugh, brat, get me a water, please.” Todd groans theatrically, mumbling something pertaining to old age and decaying bones.

Amir follows the request easily enough, although the defeated member of a spar isn't usually awarded such a commodity grabbing another cool bottle and getting just close enough to roll the beverage over to Todd.

“You've barely passed the age of twenty-two. Cease your tiresome nagging.” Amir intersects flatly when it becomes clear Todd is seeking a reaction.

Todd beccons Amir over and it complies, sitting down on the dark blue training mat near Todd.

After a couple moments of blissful silence, Todd opens his mouth again. “So.. ya ready to admit what ta fucks been goin’ on lately?” He asks flatly, staring right at Amir.

It considers lying only momentarily, it knows Pennyworth and Todd are in cahoots so Todd's definitely heard of Junya Yisheng's and Pennyworth's interaction, as well as more recently with the Interrogation Circle.

“Do I have to?” Amir responds petulantly, pouting frowning stubbornly.

It knows Pennyworth extracted a form of promise from Junya Yisheng, to which the doctor’s been annoyingly vague about. Amir doesn't like not knowing things, but Junya Yisheng's pride won't allow him to admit to such discrepancies.

“Nah.” Jason shrugs, observing how restless Damian is acting. Although it could be a ruse, Jason isn't as self absorbed as Bruce or Dick to try and solve every little mystery like a scientist observing a rat.

Although there is a morbid curiosity about it, that much he'll admit to himself. Kind of hard not to, with how shrouded in mystery Damian's made himself out to be and the repulsive revelations from Brutey Bats tactless questioning.

Ten mother fucking years old and a child soldier. Damian deserved none of the bullshit he had and continues to have to deal with. The next time he sees Talia and this “Alain” he'll —

“Todd.”

Jason blinks, noticing a loud snapping noise irritably close to his face. He swats it away. “Stop that.”

Amir complies, lowering his hand and regarding Todd with a critical eye. Said male huffs much like a disgruntled horse would.

“If you're busy spacing out, I'll gladly leave you to it.”

Jason waves a hand, “Nu-huh, you're not gettin’ out of this tha easily.” He stands, knowing that Damian will follow him.

He makes way to one of the many upholstered benches scattered around the cave. He sits on the one only paces away from a table. The table has a few case files on it, a quick glance shows something about human trafficking and self imploding microchips.

Jason's attention is brought back to his youngest sibling when Damian sits next to him. “So,” he finally starts, “I noticed some changes ‘bout ya’.”

Amir silently rolls its eyes “Do tell.”

“Well; I've heard Talia call you she in the LOA, yur sudden patience to do our book club, how paternal ya’ act sometimes.”

It's lips twitch downward, “..Mother had me do espionage training, the books you choose are… interesting to read, and..”

Amir isn't actually going to answer the “paternal”part of that statement as it only pertains to Khala.

Todd raises a brow, “And..?”

Amir shrugs, “You're entitled to your wrong discoveries.”

Jason snorts as he roughly ruffles Damian's hair. “Tha's BS and we both know it.”

Amir shrugs away from the touch with a neutral face. “Can't you just give up? I'm fine.”

Todd rolls his eyes but his words are soft, “Why don't you trust me Akh.”

“I… trust you, just not with myself.” Damian admits (of course its Damian, Amir could never be this soft and vulnerable. No matter how fake it is.) , rubbing his arms to self-soothe. “I trust you on the field to have my back, I trust you not to poison the food I eat, I trust you to have good taste in books.” Damian takes a steeling breath “but I don't trust you to act … negatively if I reveal the restricted parts of myself to you and the others.”

“But I do know you.” Jason has a look on his face, it's more comforting to Damian than the male would probably ever know. “I know you're a reserved kid who could kill me in thirteen hundred ways with a stick, I know you secretly like drinking coffee despite claiming otherwise, I know you love Batcow the most out of all your animals, I know you enjoy walks during the seldom sunny days in Gotham.”

Damian frowns, shaking his head. “You don't know me.” He repeats adamantly.

Jason is just as resolute with his response. “Then help me get to know you.”

Damian stares into those light eyes, an instinctual trust forming before his eyes. Damian was always this way, formed this way with a longing for family that he forces himself to shut out. On bad days, his throat burns with the need to reveal himself, but it's enough, just enough that he can be the perfect son and perfect sibling behind the scenes.

Damian takes a calming breath, he's not as smart or talented intellectually as Amir or Robin is, Damian likes to create and dream but he's nothing close to incompetent.

He maintained secrecy, even in his most unrestrained state and it will stay that way. He can string the Wayne's (plus Duke Thomas and Steph Brown) along, Damian will accommodate these suspensions and everything will be fine once again.

“I..” Damian wipes at his stupid, emotional eyes. “I'm scared..”

Jason reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Damian's middle. “It's okay to be scared, but you need to be strong, okay? Be the brave Pouncey I know you are and let me help you.” He brings a hand to Damian's unruly black locks, running his hand through them. Reminiscent of all the times in the League Jason and Damian had been in this exact position.

Damian, because he's always existed, no matter how repressed he was.

He doesn't do anything as undignified as sniffle, Amir would give him a verbal beatdown over it no matter how lenient the assassin is with Damian.

“I'm going to ask a hard question, okay?” Jason suddenly asks. Damian can guess off the top of his head that it has to do with Kit.

He's not upset with the young fox despite her temporary subjugation of the good will Damian has garnered. Damian doesn't need concern, although he's not sure what would be better than tolerance.

Damian dislodges from Jason, his eyes forcibly dry from tears. He looks at his older brother expectantly and Jason delivers.

“Who is Alain?”

Damian sucks in a sharp breath, fuck. The reaction is too obvious, Jason looks concerned. Damian swallows, of course Kit would share that name. Paulina said that it mentioned a “Ray” and “Howard” when offering what happened.

He's gotten complicit, there's a delicate balance between being so happy that it's unnerving and too emotional that you put people off.

Damian takes a deep breath before replying. “He was one of ou— my mentors in the league.”

Jason processes the minimal information easily enough. He's a bit surprised at the news, having thought that Damian mostly self-studied starting around toddler age or just worked with Talia.

He's determined to figure out how “Alain” comes into play as a person. The name is pretty common (even as a surname); French, Welsh, or Filipino in origin just off the top of Jason's head.

But how Damain acted after asking for Alain is where Jason is interested. Where was he, to act so childish and frankly, girly. From Tim's recounting of the event, Damian was acting like a less tactful Savannah McKenzie (although that wasn't a high bar to begin with).

“One of ‘em?” Jason asks with false casualty.

Damian hums, nodding. He knows of Alain but can't say that he's interacted with him.

“What'd he teach ya’?”

Damian mentally rolls his eyes, what a subtly leading question.

“...Espionage.” He responds softly.

“Oh yah?” Jason hums, entirely unconvinced.

Damian shifts to press his face against Jason's side. How is asking about Kit's teacher supposed to be helpful to Damian? Isn't Jason supposed to be wanting to get to know him not Kit and its problems?

Jason wraps an arm around Damian's middle, letting him take a moment of breath. “Tell me ‘bout ‘im?”

Damian doesn't shrug, but it's a close thing. He huffs instead. “No.”

Jason exhales, frustration bleeding into his tone. “Why not? I can't getta know you if I don' know of an’ ‘bout the people who shaped you as a person.” he plans on leading up to it, Big Bird will probably help, Jason doubts he'll even have to ask.

Generally talking about others is much easier than talking about yourself but the insight is typically invaluable.

“I…” can't, Damian doesn't say, he couldn't describe Alain's physical features much less who he is as a person. He could lie, but it won't be detailed or believable.

“He trained… to increase my.. substance resistance and.” Damian stops for a moment, stalling. “mental facilities.”

Jason can only assume that Damain's round-a-bouting way of avoiding the topic of what sounds like constant drugging and torture at the least.

Thinking back to Lizard's debrief of the situation (more of a panicked text chain that Bruce predictably wanted a full incident report on), Damian was erratic and eager to please. Tim claimed that his eyes were saccading everywhere as if unfamiliar with his environment and a momentarily unresponsiveness to his own name.

The self punishment (pinching thigh) was self explanatory if suspiciously obvious, Damian “looked close to tears at the simplest of questions.”, he admitted to being stressed with simple prompting.

Most of all, Lizzy claimed that Damian was acting sort of manically childish with
hidden smiles and slurred words.

Jason can't doesn't want to even begin to think for the horrors this “Alain” person put Damain through for that to be his mindset when awakening.

Jason hums, perhaps it's gonna take a more delicate hand to extract that particular information from Damain. How would Jason even lead up to it? Mentioning the LOA would be off the table as Damian obviously has a few, if any good memories of that place.

He needs to find something easier to talk about, at least to stall Damian's quickly dwindling willingness to speak of the subject…

“Wat ‘bout Talia? Heard you've been missing her.”

Damian can't stop the frown twitching at his lips. Now Jason wants to talk about Mother? Damian is self aware enough to know how complicated… everything pertaining to Mother is. He and Robin have interacted with her the least (of the “Core Four”), with Robin uncaring of their relationship and never actually having met.

He plays a pretty good “civilian child” as Mother puts it (as if his entire purpose and being could be summed up in two measley words —). So his own interaction has been minimal compared to Amir's own.

Dami would probably have the most grounded thoughts about Mother. Amir see's her as a figure head and Damian can only really compare her to a distant relative you see every couple months.

“Why are you asking about Mother.” Damian bluntly states, he doesn't ask because Jason is being ridiculous. He wants to know about the people who shaped Damian but chooses only the minefield people to ask about.

“Like I said, yuv been missin’ her, so I figured you'd wanna talk ‘bout her.”

Damian closes his eyes with defeat. He sighs tiredly, “Just admit to your hidden query.” Damian mumbles.

Jason isn't surprised Damian would bulldoze over his not-so-subtle leading interrogation, although the tired tone is unexpected.

“Memory loss, acting childish, asking for a parental figure..” Jason leans forward so he could turn his head to the side and make eye contact with Damian. “Do ya’ see where ‘m gettin’ at with this?”

Damian shakes his head numbly, acting childish shouldn't be what Jason is insinuating as a red flag. Was the crying too much? Damian wonders.

He usually has a better hold on his emotions, but he'd thought that Jason would sympathize with him more at the sight of tears. Damian is disappointed in himself, I made a fool of myself for nothing..

And “asking for parental figures”, how vauge. Jason could be talking about anytime any one of them asked for Bruce for any number of things.

Jason sighs, drawn out and pained. ”Of course I'll hafta make ta fuckin’ speach.” he mumbles under his breath.

“Assumin’ yur regressin’ involunt'ry, do ya ever feel shy an’ um— clingy?” Jason looks unusually uncertain, a sense of foreboding enters Damian's thoughts like the darkening of clouds before a storm.

Shy and clingy… is Jason talking about Dami? Or maybe Kit since he did ask about Alain… ? Maybe Jason is being unsure because of how disgruntled a majority of the others would be at those terms.

“No.” Damian lies, stone-faced.

Jason gives him a knowing look, “ ‘m tryin'a be gentle ‘bout this but if yur gonna be blatant in lyin’ I can lay out ta facts for ya.”

Damian remains stubbornly silent, making an effort to keep his curiosity unidentifiable.

“Ya wanted a hug despite not usually speaking out physical contact, when ya were interacting with Disco and Brutus both times ya had a unfamiliar blanket with you, Disco said ya were close to tears at one point, ya let Disco hold yur hand and Brutus pick ya up.” Jason continues counting each inconsistency with his fingers. “Ya were wandering around obviously looking for sumthin’ or someone. Very obviously lost.”

“...I experienced distressing dreams on both occasions, leaving me feeling emotionally vulnerable and in need of reassurance.” Damian lies lamely, although the nightmares would have to be extreme to actually affect anyone that much it should hold up to slight scrutiny.

“Lie.” a voice whispers behind him. Damian turns with false casualty to be face-to-face with Cassandra Cain's insightful brown eyes.

He can hear the frown in Jason's voice despite not facing the male. “This isn't an interr’gation, Cass.”

Cass smiles like a bunch of spiders make up her mouth, thin and itching to move, unsettling. She also dips her head, like a doll that momentarily disconnected the strings keeping it upright.

Damian gnaws on his cheek as Cass moves, rolling the chair typically situated in front of the Batcomputer across from Jason and Damian.

You different from yesterday. Cass leans forward, her face eerily blank. See no intrigue in eyes, no desire.

She signs slowly, as if the voiceless movements of her hands imitate how she would be speaking, slow and confident like inescapable quicksand.

Jason raises his brow, he figured that Damian was just doing the “civilian personality” bit they all do. He didn't see any exceptionally deep sonder in Damian's figure or face, especially not directed at Cass.

“How diff’rent?” He speaks up.

Damian’s face blanks instinctually at the scrutiny of his two most insightful siblings.

No confidence, only inconsistent empty face. No challenge, fight of mind for secrets, not joy. More excited. Fake? Despite bringing her hand from right to left, curling her pointer finger, and jousting it back out, Cass continues looking stilled and reassured in her words.

Damian's ears ring, left eye twitching in annoyance. He's not “fake” just because he doesn't go bananas for Cass. And why would he enjoy lying? What “joy” comes from deceiving the people he loves? Yeah, Damian can tolerate it, act it out to almost perfection, but he'll never enjoy it.

He states as much to his annoyingly silent siblings, and perhaps he's becoming overly offended, too indigent at what was basically an off-hand comment and just put more suspicion on himself but, Damian can't help the annoyance shining brightly in his eyes.

He is as truthful and kind as he is able to be with them, rearranging parts of himself to fit the lie and they think he enjoys it!?

The words pour out of his mouth before Damian can stop his tongue, tears quickly welling in his eyes and rolling down his face.

“You ungreatful —”

Jason puts a hand on his back, Damian can tell without looking because of how large and warm it is. “Pouncey.” he reprimands.

Damian bawls, covering his face with the palm of his hands. Thankfully the loud cries stop him from spitting more vitriol.

“D-Don't compare me to them!” he begs “Stop.. stop comparing us!”

There's a pensive silence continuously being disturbed by Damian's cries. It's a good thing the Batcave is highly insulated otherwise they would echo and drift.

Damian eventually stands on weak legs, smacking away Jason's hand. His sobs have calmed to sniffles although tears still roll down his cheeks. “I-I can't deal with this.” He swallows, rushing away from the two siblings and out of the Batcave.

His shirt stinks of sweat from the earlier training and Damian is clad in the slightly uncomfortable training uniform still but he prevails.

Damian almost runs into Dick, colliding with the male's wide chest. Dick predictably catches him but, with Damian's panic it feels like the restraint of thousands of kilometers of chains.

He sobs, struggling against the hold. Damian kicks Dick's leg and his brother doesn't let him go from pain more because of the shock.

Damian takes in a deep breath and stumbles out of Dick's grip. He makes it another few rooms before tripping on Duke with a whimper.

Duke is doing homework while sprawled out on the ground. “Dumbass!”Damian shrieks, ignoring their stunned look to finally make it to his room.

He collapses against the wall with a gasp, his grip on reality quickly slipping. Damian presses a hand to his mouth, beginning himself to be quiet.

Damian's legs flatten, his head slumped forward. He whimpers, sniffling as he stands.

Dami strips from the clothes, not bothered to put them into the clothes bin. He hiccups, grabbing a light teal hoodie with sleeves that go to his knees.

His lower lip trembles as he slides on a comfortable pair of black shorts and grabs Cobby.

Dami sits on the floor with a whine, the hand not holding Cobby digging into the rug.

”Dami, please go lock the door." Amir asks with a preoccupied tone of voice.

Dami does so with a bit more prompting, he wants to curl up into a ball and sleep for years. He wants Ummi and Baba and Blue.

Dami holds the doorknob in his grip despite already locking the door. Tears continue slowly running down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

"It's not safe to go outside Dami.”

Dami sniffles, bringing Cobby to his chin.

”But…"

”Listen to Amir, Little Dove.” Robin interjects.

Dami presses his head against the door with a whimper, wiping his eyes. There’s a sudden knock on the door. It isn’t loud or intrusive but Dami still squeaks back and falls onto his butt. His lips move, but only a whine escapes to Dami’s frustration.

“Little D? You caused quite the tussle back there…”

Dami sniffles, “ب-أزرق؟”[“B-Blue?”] his lower lip wobbles as he crawls back to the door and presses his hand against it. There’s silence for a moment, ”Did I imagine Blue?”

Dami turns so that his back is against the door with his knees to his chest. Dami wants Ummi’s presence blanket, Baba’s comfortable hugs, and Blue’s warm hand wrapped around his own. He presses Cobby tightly to his chest.

“Are you hurt anywhere Damian?” Blue asks, causing Dami to perk up.

Dami nods then takes a deep breath when he remembers that Blue can’t see him. “..رأسي يؤلمني” [“..My head hurts.”] he mumbles. It’s to be expected after high emotions and continued crying but Dami still doesn't like it.

More silence. Dami wants to open the door to make sure Blue didn’t leave him.

“Do you want something for your headache?” Blue eventually responds.

Dami hums, Amir said he couldn’t go outside, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bring people into his room! A smile breaks out on his face as Dami turns and paws at the doorknob only to still as the sound of pressure on the creaking floorboards gets softer, as if someone is walking away. “!لا تذهب” [Don’t go!”]

But it falls on deaf ears.

Dami stands, making way to his bed and grabbing Ummi’s blanket from its super-secret spot then crawling under the covers. Abandonment curls around his arms and legs, sinking into his stomach and numbing his face like thorny vines.

Dami dozes, there’s not much else to do with the absence of Ummi and anybody else who cares about him. Cobby becomes wet with tears and Dami apologizes to her hoarsely, “..انا اسف” [“ ‘m sorry..”]

To Dami’s annoyance, he can’t fall asleep because of the tears that keep on making his face wet and the hiccups. He sits up with frustration, biting on his lower lip as he makes his way to the mini-fridge and grabs some apple juice. He sits on his knees on the floor with tears still falling from his eyes.

“اطلب من السماء أن تقدم لنا أحلامًا بيضاء. الليل يتدفق ونحن نتبعه، في عالم من الضوء الغامض. إزالة هذا الألم..”

[“Ask the heavens, to present us with white dreams.
The night is flowing and we follow it, in a world of mysterious light.
Remove this anguish..”]

Dami mumbles, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth. He puts the juice back into the mini-fridge and lays down onto the floorboards, Ummi’s blanket keeping him comfortable.

“Baby Bat, can I come in? I brought stuff for your headache.” Blue’s voice enters the silence. Dami mumbles incomprehensibly, feeling gloomy.

“Dames.” Blue asks again, voice a bit more firm. Dami whines, his voice a mumble. “.دخل ” [“C’mon in.]

The doorknob rattles but the door doesn’t open. Dami sniffles, pressing his face against Ummi’s blanket.

“Bud, the door’s locked. Can you unlock it for me, please?”

Dami looks at the door wearily, it’s so far, on the other side of the room. He stands reluctantly and looks down at Cobby. Should I hide her..?

He shuffles to the door, shoulders feeling heavy as he twists the lock and turns the knob. There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence before Blue scoops him up in his strong arms. Dami immediately relaxes, his head resting against Blue’s stomach.

Dick pulls away from the hug after a few moments despite wanting to smother his younger brother in cuddles and kisses. He softens immensely at the disheartened look plaguing Damian’s features. His eyes roam over the younger's face; the tear tracks, puffy and red eyes, sniffling… “Copilul meu..” [“My Baby..”]

Chapter Text

Dick was having a good day, as good a day anyone could have with the crushing weight of retribution on his shoulders and the sharpness of secrets at his neck. Dick was making his way to the Batcave after a cryptic text message from Cass regarding Baby Bat. Although Damian goes between liking Jason or liking Dick more, it’s never even and habitually more in Little Wing's favor much to Jason’s chagrin.

Dick has the cave feed pulled up onto his phone, as knowing Damian, things could change within moments. Dick watches Damian lean against Jason, looking unusually startled at Cass’ presence.

He's two strides (at most) from the closest entrance when the Baby Bat of the hour rams into Dick. He wraps his arms around Dames because one, hugs! And secondly because of how freaked out his baby brother looks.

Dick cringes at what he could only describe as a desperate sob from Damian. He starts thrashing and Dick loosens his hold guiltily, I hope I didn't make it worse.

Dick watches Damian as he heaves, staggering his way through the manor. Dick keeps a close eye, struggling to make Little D not feel crowded when all he wants to do is hold Damian tight.

He follows Damian to the second living room, where Duke is hanging out on the floor. Dick winces when Damian shouts at Duke and makes way to where Dick can now accurately assume is the direction of his bedroom. Dick doesn't follow immediately.

“You alright?”

“Um..yeah.” Duke replies uncertainly as he sits up, rubbing the arm Damian tripped over.

Dick dramatically sucks in a sharp breath, crouching down to inspect the assaulted limb. “Ye-ouch. Do you want some ice for that?”

Duke shakes his head, “It's probably just a bruise.” his eyes dart to where Damian exited. “You should go deal with that.”

“Yeah..” He ruffles Duke's hair and stands up. “I'll get'cha some ice though, it'll only take a sec.”

Dick smiles at Duke despite his own thoughts racing. He makes way to the kitchen, which smells faintly of spices. He quickly grabs an ice bag from the cabinet and fills it with tiny heart shaped ice cubes.

Dick walks back to Duke, who's moved onto the couch with his economics papers thrown half-done on the coffee table.

Duke rolls his eyes when he sees the ice bag. “It's only a small injury Dick.”

Dick rolls his eyes back, more fondly than the exasperation Duke is conveying. “And Damian is an entire person. That fell on you.”

He ignores Duke's mumbled ”Whatever.” and the light punch to his arm. Although Dick hums happily when Duke does press the ice bag to the injured area.

Dick stays for a bit longer, giving Duke a few (possibly wrong) tips for his homework. It's only a few minutes later after many reassurances from the yellow-clad vigilante that Dick leaves Duke to actually concentrate on his homework.

Dick walks to Damian's door, concerned with the audible sniffling and whimpering.

“Little D? You caused quite the tussle back there…” He starts softly, cautious in case Damian lashes out as he’s so prone to doing.

More sniffling and Dick's heart just about breaks.

“ب-أزرق؟”[“B-Blue?”]

The Arabic words translate easily in Dick's head, having been practicing diligently. The last time Damian called him “Blue” was when he thought the smallest Robin was having a stroke. Dick almost gets lost in the memories because of how distinct it was, but he suddenly heard a soft thump against the door. Is Damian banging his head against the door? He worries

“Are you hurt anywhere Damian?” Dick inquires with a deceptively neutral tone, hoping Damian will at least be honest about it (he'd even take evasive words as long as he gets a response).

“..رأسي يؤلمني” [“My head hurts..”] Dick hears Damian mumble, his voice having the distinct crack only heard during the cusp of a mighty cry. Dick is stunned momentarily by Damian’s words, thankfully he doesn’t admit to other injuries or aches so Dick can continue the gentle interrogation. “Do you want something for your headache?”
The stifling silence allows him to hear Damian hum of affirmation. Dick turns on his heels to quickly grab some civilian standard pain medication from the bathroom. He doubts it’s so serious that he’ll need to give the youngest Bat-Grade drugs. “I’ll be back in a minute Little D, hang tight.”

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Dick makes a pit stop in the Batcave, just a quick once-over where he sees Jason and Cass comforting each other.

“Hey..” he smiles a bit awkwardly. ”What went on down here?”

Jason sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “There were defin’ely wor’s exs’hanged."

Dick sits down next to Jason. “Obviously he didn't take it well.” he frowns when Jason snorts sardonically, gently pulling Jason's hands away from his scalp before the vigilante starts pulling at his hair.

Jason frowns “Said he didn' trust us enough ta reveal ‘is “restricted parts”.”

Dick's lips thin, of course acting young or his age is something Damian would find weakness and vulnerability in.

“Did he tell you who Alain is, at least?” Dick needs to keep this conversation short, thankfully Jason seems to understand that.

Jason hums, “He said ta’ fucker is ah mentor or sum shit but, ‘sides that ‘e shut down real quick.”

Dick doesn't bother concealing his sigh as Jason continues. “..But I thank he may be age regressin’.”

Dick opens his mouth to refute but he closes it again with a nod. “That makes sense.”

Jason grunts in affirmative (Dick thinks it's affirmative at least, his Gruntonion is rusty). “It'd explain away his sudden outburst.”

Cass stands from her spot and crawls onto the top of the bench, her knees hunched to her collarbone as she sits (presumably comfortable, knowing Cass) behind Jason.

Cass runs her fingers through his tangled, shoulder length hair.

“Ya should prob'ly go comfort ‘im an’ stuff.” Jason mutters into the hushed air.

Dick nods, despite wanting to comfort Little Wing, who's tense with festering anger —opposite of Damian loud grief—. He's comforted by the fact that at least Cass is there for him.

“Okay. I'll talk to you both later?” Dick inquires as he turns away. He assumes they both say yes, Cass seemed genuinely concerned and Damian isn’t something Jason will give a noncommittal “Fuck off” text too when pressed about his absence.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Dick does grab a bottle of red Ibuprofen pills but digging a little further thankfully yields a suitable liquid Tylenol that he hopes will be good enough for Damian if his little brother doesn’t want the pills. Dick’s logic is that if Damian’s already so young, only ten years old, so he can only regress to younger than ten, practically an infant.

Maybe he’s just acting his age and that’s just an unattainable thought to the rest of us. Dick ignores his traitorous inner thoughts.

“Baby Bat, can I come in? I brought stuff for your headache.” Dick announces, bouncing on the balls of his feet. There's no pick up of noise, shuffling of sheets or low cadence of a mumble. Dick's voice raises marginally with alarm.

“Dames.”

Dick's feet still when he hears the whining, letting out a soft breath. He was worried about absolutely nothing, perhaps he’s just anxious to make a good first impression? Dick doesn’t really know much about age regression besides, well, that people who do it are younger mentally.

Damian actually says something next, not just the whine of a wounded puppy.“.دخل ” [“C’mon in.] thankfully allowing Dick access to his room.

Dick steps forward quickly, turning the knob to an expected locked door. “Bud, the door’s locked. Can you unlock it for me, please?” He questions softly, the nickname forming naturally on his tongue. God, I really am turning into B… At least it’s “Bud” and not “Chump”

It's a few more moments before he hears Damian walking towards the door and Dick immediately opens it when he catches the distinct click of the lock turning. Dick can't help but stare.. take in the sight of Damian with his wobbly lip and that knitted sage green blanket laying over his shoulders.

He takes a hesitant step forward before wrapping his arms cautiously around Damian's middle. When his little brother is receptive Dick impulsively brings a hand to his soft hair (it's not done up with hair gel as is customary) and just about coo’s when he tucks his snotty nose against Dick's stomach.

Dick slowly crouches down to Damian's level so he can see Damian's face after a few moments, despite wanting nothing more than to keep this moment frozen in time. The relatively calm before the storm.

He softens immensely at the disheartened look plaguing Damian’s features. His eyes roam over the younger's face; the tear tracks, puffy and red eyes, sniffling… “Copilul meu..” [“My Baby..”] The words are instinctual yet startling to Dick. If he thought Damian would rain hellfire on him for calling the youngest “Bud”, well “Baby” is just asking to be murdered.

Dick wants to continue speaking in his native tongue, yearns for it like nothing else but, this isn’t about him, it’s about Damian. And it’s obvious to Dick that while he keeps his Romani heritage right next to his heart with Alfred’s tea, Wally’s hugs, and the absolute pride he feels for his family; Arab culture has that same importance for Damian. So Dick sets his urges aside and focuses on him.

Damian's brow furrows openly in confusion, So he didn’t catch what I said Dick notes with some sadness, he’s still slowly petting Damian's hair and chuckles internally when Damian goes back to hiding his face against Dick, his collarbone now that it’s level with his face.

“لماذا غادرت؟” [“Why'd you leave?”] Damian mumbles, voice still thick with tears.

Dick tilts his head, a concerned tilt to his brow as he now rubs Damian’s back in slow circles. “ماذا تقصد؟” [What do you mean?]

He shifts, using his dominant arm to scoop Damian up under his legs. If I’m not being refused at the door, I might as well let myself in. Dick thinks.

“.كنت عند الباب... ثم غادرت” [“You were at the door… and then you left.”]

Dick hums softly to acknowledge Damian’s words. He doesn’t know how to act with this version of Damian. Last time he was sleep deprived and worried, should he be softer now? Dick can do softer but pressing Damian’s boundaries over being like a child seems like a ‘one chance, risk all’ affair. Dick’s already gotten away with ‘Bud’ and ‘Baby’, plus, he calls Damian ‘Baby Bat’ on the regular.. but it’s never so intimate.

He stands up and shuts the door behind them for some privacy. He just knows Bruce (who's at WE completing a backlog of paperwork) and Alfred (who’s busy shopping for groceries) would have firm eyes on the situation. “.أنا آسف يا بيبي بات” [“I’m sorry Baby Bat.”]

He slowly walks Damian over to his bed; with twisted sheets and rumpled blankets compared to the military precision Damian usually leaves his bed in. Dick absentmindedly catalogs the duck Damian’s holding in a loose grip, finding it cute but refraining from voicing his thoughts.

“.لقد كان لزاما علي أن أحصل على بعض الدواء لرأسك المصاب” [“I had to grab some medicine for your hurt head.”] Dick admits apologetically, sitting Damian down on the edge of the bed. He stuffs a hand in his left back pocket and pulls out the small bottle of red pills. He hands it to Damian who holds it curiously.

Dick watches him sniffle and rub his nose over the overly large sleeve of his hoodie. “هل تحتاج إلى منديل؟” [“Do you need a tissue?”] Dick asks softly with tender warmth in his eyes.

Damian wimpers “..لا تذهب مرة أخرى” [“Don’t go again..”] He notices Damian tightening his hold on the pill bottle nervously and rushes to reassure him. “.سأذهب إلى حمامك فقط، وسأغيب أقل من ثلاثين ثانية، أعدك” [“I'm just going to your bathroom, I'll be gone less than thirty seconds, I promise.”] Although Damian seems to remain unconvinced, he leans forward a bit.
“.هل سيكون من المفيد أن يكون هناك عد تنازلي؟ أراهن أنني سأتمكن من العودة قبل الصفر” [“Would it help to have a countdown? I bet I can make it back before zero.”] He challenges, something loosening in his chest at the gleam in Damian’s eyes. He can do this, distracting children from the scary unconscious men and comforting weeping wandering toddlers is his speciality after all.

Dick turns around, back facing Damian as he tenses in a dramatic form in preparation to run. “!ثلاثة، اثنان، واحد. إذهب” [“Three, two, one. Go!”]

Dick makes a mad dash for the bathroom door, acting as if his hands were suddenly covered in slippery oil with how he fumbles with the doorknob and clumsily tripping over himself to turn on the light.

“..سبعة” [“Seven..”] He hears Damian state from the bed.

Something falls loudly. “اه! داميان، كيف تجد أي شيء هنا؟ انها مزدحمة جدا! لا أستطيع العثور على الأنسجة!” [“Ahh! Damian, how do you find anything in here? It's so cluttered! I can't find the tissues!”] Dick exclaims loudly, smirking triumphantly when he hears a wet giggle from Damian.

“خمسة عشر.” [“Fifteen.”] Damian sounds more confident and farther away from tears.

Dick rushes to the doorframe, leaning heavily against it and panting as if he spent all his might. “لقد وجدته داميان! لقد وجدته!” [“I found it Damian! I found it!”] His eyes are wide and crazed making it halfway towards the bed before tripping over his own two feet, again. “لا!” [“No!”]

Dick makes sure to grunt, steadying himself on the floor with his elbows.

“!ثلاثة وعشرون” [“Twenty-three!”]

He stands with a groan, lunging over to the bed. “!سبعة وعشرون” [“Twenty-seven!”] Dick finally reaches his goal with a wide grin.
“انظر! قلت لك!” [“See! I told you!”] he leans forward and ruffles Damian’s hair, mentally rushing his fist into the air.

“.أقل من ثلاثين ثانية” [“Less than thirty seconds.”] he brags with a breathless quality to his voice. Dick uses the hand that was messing with Damian’s hair to grab one of the tissues and hands it to him. He’s pleased when Dmian dutifully blows his nose after repeating “.أقل من ثلاثين ثانية” [“Less than thirty seconds”] Although the spreading of the snot across his face by trying to wipe it with a used tissue is less endearing. “دعني. أساعدك” [“Lemme help you.”] Dick swiftly pulls out another tissue and wipes Damian’s face before letting both of the items roll onto the floor. He would get up and throw them away if he didn’t think Damian would revert right back to crying if Dick got up again.

“هل تريد تناول الدواء؟” [“Do you want to take the medicine?] Dick asks softly, eyeing the pill bottle laying next to Damian’s leg pointedly. He emphasizes with Damian, the headache after a bad cry is the worst.

Damian shakes his head and reluctantly mumbles, “.أنا لا أحب تناول الحبوب” [“I don’t like taking pills.”] Dick pulls himself onto the bed and sits next to Damian. He pulls out the liquid medicine bottle. “هل تريد هذا بدلا من ذلك؟” [“Do you want this instead?”]

Damian sticks out his tongue then hides his face against the duck plushes soft fur while also bringing his knees to his chest. “هممم؟ ما هذا الوجه؟” [“Hm? What’s that face for?”] Dick teases, internally screaming over how precious Damian is.

He has to listen closely to hear Damian murmur “فظيع..” [“Gross..”]

Dick huffs a laugh at the childish answer. “.أراهن” [“I bet.”] he rubs Damian’s knee in hopes of at least somewhat soothing the kid. “لكنها كرز لذا لا ينبغي أن يكون مذاقها سيئًا” [“But it’s cherry so it shouldn’t taste awful.”]

Damian’s eyes peek from the top of his duck plushie’s head “وعد؟” [“Promise?”]

“.وعد” [“Promise.”] Dick repeats swiftly, watching Damian uncurl himself carefully. “.يمكنني حتى خلط شيء حلو فيه حتى لا تتذوق الدواء على الإطلاق” [“I can even mix something sweet in it so you don't taste the medicine at all.”]

He doesn’t interfere when Damian starts rubbing the crusty tears left in his eyes. Although he really want to.“مثل ماذا؟” [“Like what?”]

“بعض... شراب الشوكولاتة، الصودا، الآيس كريم...” [“Some… chocolate syrup, soda, ice cream…”] Will Damian be fussy about the taste? Dick remembers being a thorn on B’s side when sick and unwilling to take the cloy tasting medicine.

Dami perks up, “المثلجات؟” [“Ice cream?”] he asks eagerly, his red rimmed eyes holding a glimmer of excitement. Dami’s really taken to the cold treat. Ummi wouldn’t let him have lots of it even when he asked nicely, and the mango flavor is his favorite of all time. “هل يمكنني الحصول على المانجو، من فضلك؟” [“Can I have mango, please?”]

Dick’s lip twitches downward as he shakes his head apologetically. He doesn’t want to upset Damian but they’ll have to compromise for now. Dick mentally adds mango ice cream to the shopping list. Alfred will be gone for a while longer, he can send a quick text. “!ولكن لدينا شربات البرتقال والشوكولاتة” [“But we have orange sherbert and chocolate!”] Technically, in the loosest of terms, those are Bruce’s and Alfred’s flavors. There's also the Tiramisu one hidden deep in the freezer. Dick doesn’t mention it though, because the last time someone (Jason) tried to eat it they almost lost a finger.

Actually, Bruce’s Chocolate Mudslide might not be the best choice because of the oreo chunks. Damian’s petulant voice brings Dick out of his thoughts. “.إذا لم تكن مانجو، فأنا لا’ أريدها.” [“If it’s not mango, I don’t want it.”]

“حسنا، ماذا تريد إذن؟” [“Well, what do you want then?”] Dick asks, amused despite himself. It’s such a kid thing to be sulky over ice cream flavors, almost ordinary, as it’s not Damian pouting about not being allowed to maim someone for the third time in the span of a week.

Dami hums, his gaze moving to the mini fridge. Amir makes rice pudding at the beginning of every week so there should be some left… If Amir hasn’t eaten it all. Dami looks up as Blue follows his eyes. “تريد أن تشرب؟” [“Do you want a drink?”] his big brother asks.

Dami shakes his head with a huff, setting Cobby down on a pillow to keep her comfortable before standing. He stretches and makes way to the mini-fridge, grinning when he sees the half empty circular container of rice pudding. “هل سينجح هذا؟” [“Will this work?”] he asks, grabbing a bamboo spoon from a black metal mesh designed pen holder.

Dick nods to answer Damian’s question. The container looks like it holds a white paste, maybe vanilla pudding or something. “.نعم! اكتشاف رائع، داميان.” [”Yeah! Great find, Damian.”]

Damian walks back to the bed, looking pleased with himself as he holds out the container to Dick. He dutifully sits it beside his thigh. There’s a moment of stillness where Damian is still holding his arm out (both of them for some reason) before Dick is able to register what’s going on. “نعم سوف يحدث ذلك، تعال هنا. باد؟” [“Do you want picked up, Bud?”]

How didn’t I realize he was age regressing earlier??? I’m going to die of cuteness oh my god!

He waits for the (adorably) eager nod before leaning down and using the arm with his dominant hand to scoop Damian off his feet and his other arm to guide Damian to sit sideways in his lap. Dick is pleased at how elated Damian looks with the contact.

“هل أنت مستعد لتناول الدواء؟” [“Are you ready to take the medicine?”] Dick asks carefreely, and when Damian hums an affirmative Dick hands him the wooden spoon and cool container. He pours the recommended amount of medicine into the small measuring cup.

“.قم بإمالة رأسك للخلف وفتحه على مصراعيه.”[“Tilt your head back and open wide..”] Dick instructs after making sure the lid is off the sweet treat. He dribbles the medicine into Damian’s opened mouth slowly at first, unable to contain the amused tilt to his brow at Damian’s expression.

He watches as Damian whines and quickly unlatches the lid of the container before taking a messy scoop and shoving the wooden spoon into his mouth. “!هذا طعمه فظيع” [“It tastes horrible!”] Damian cries out with the spoon between his lips.

Dick takes pity on the poor kid and gently explains.”عليك أن تبتلعه. بسرعة، مثل الآيس كريم الذي على وشك الذوبان” [“You have to swallow it quickly, like ice cream that’s about to melt.”]

Damian sniffles and places the wooden spoon back into the container, his eyes wet. “.طعمه لا يشبه الآيس كريم” [“It doesn’t taste like ice cream.”] he accuses. Dick stifles a smile, and instead huffs a chuckle while dabbing Damian’s eyes with another tissue. “.هذا هو الغرض من الحلوى الخاصة بك“ [“That's what your sweet treat is for”] Dick continues ”.يجعل طعم الدواء أقل إثارة للاشمئزاز” [“it makes the medicine taste less yucky.”]

Damian is thankfully calmed rather quickly, “..أعتقد” [“I guess..”] he agrees moodily, taking another bite of the paste. Although now that Dick has a closer look at it, he’s certain it's either oatmeal (which would be very weird to eat cold) or some sort of rice pudding.

After a few moments of silence he asks Damian, “هل مازلت تريد تناول الدواء؟ هل لا زال رأسك يؤلمك؟” [“Do you still want to take the medicine? Does your head still hurt?”]

“.نعم” [“Yeah.”] Damian responds with his lips between the spoon, voice thick. Dick almost wants to chastise him for speaking with his mouth full but he doesn’t, allowing Damian to swallow his bite before Dick tips the cup against his mouth once again.

He watches as Damian grimaces and gags, eventually choking down the medicine. Baby Bat rushes to take another bite of his sweet treat. “لقد قمت بعمل جيد جدًا يا بيبي بات. أعرف أن طعمه كان سيئًا، لكنك انتهيت الآن.” [“You did so good Baby Bat. I know it tasted bad but, you're all done now.”] Dick soothes when he notices Damian’s eyes becoming teary again.

Dick uses a hand to sneak up under Damian’s hoodie and rub his back. Damian hiccups, closing the lid of his sweet treat and licking the spoon clean then setting it aside before curling further against Dick’s chest.

Dick continues to rub his back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. When Dick thinks Damian has calmed down enough he decides to “get this shown on the road” so to speak. It’ll hopefully be easier with a calm, not on the edge of a breakdown Damian.

Dick grabs the sage green blanket — which he’d have to be blind not to see how much comfort Damian gains from its presence —that’s been discarded on the bed and wraps it around Damian’s shoulders. Despite how warm it’ll doubtlessly make Damian, Dick needs something to do with his hands.

Damian lets out a soft hum, a slight frown on his face as he reaches to his shoulders for the blanket “.كما تعلمون، علينا أن نتحدث عما حدث” [“You know, we do have to talk about what happened.”] Dick almost doesn’t want to say anything, what if he fucks everything up?

Damian tilts his head up and moves his body away from Dick with a sniffle, Damian’s frown deepened but so far is incomparable to his usual glower. Dick watches carefully as Damian rubs his puffy eyes, Dick frets silently about the possibility of more tears.

He slowly pulls his hand away from Damian’s back and instead starts running his fingers through Damian’s hair.

“.لا” [“No.”] Dami whines, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to have heavy words with Blue or with anyone! Besides, he’s not allowed to, and Blue is treating him much nicer so obviously he knows better!

Dick sighs, I figured as much. Taking advantage of Damian’s current constitution to manipulate his emotions and get answers easier than he normally would, would definitely be the quickest way for Dick to lose all of his rapport with the youngest. He pecks a kiss to Damian’s fluffy hair. “هل يمكنك أن تعدني بالإجابة على أسئلتي لاحقًا؟” [“Can you promise to answer my questions later?”] at least he internally begs.

“.لا أستطيع” [“I.. can’t”] Damian mumbles, moving forward so his head can move to press his cheek against Dick’s shoulder. “لماذا لا؟” [“Why not?”] Dick asks, keeping his tone light. If Damian simply doesn’t want to talk, that's a problem needed to be dealt with at a later time. “.لا يمكنك تأجيل هذا الأمر إلى ما لا نهاية، خاصة بعد الانفجار في وجه جاي وكاس” [“You can't hold this off endlessly, especially after blowing up at Jay and Cass.”] Dick isn’t trying to pass judgement onto Damian but, more of a reminder of the inconsistencies every occupant of the manor has seen. Maybe pressure him a bit because delicate detective work flies out the window the moment it's about Dick’s family.

Dami bites his lip, concealing a huff. Blue is being a dummy but Dami doesn’t call him out on it who are “Jay” and “Cass”? Should he know these people?. He wants to ask Amir or Robin for advice, but they sounded pretty distracted when telling him to lock the door… that he immediately unlocked for Blue. Dami can’t conceal the wince he lets out at the reminder, he knows nobody will be extermely-super-duper mad or disappointed at him. Hopefully. But he still feels ashamed.

Ummi would know what he’s thinking right away almost like she could read his mind, but if Ummi could do that she would know that he never wanted her to leave Blue instead just pets him and kisses him more. Dami kinda starts feeling like a kitty or puppy… Like Alf!

It’s an amusing distraction, Dami picturing himself with fluffy black fur and sharp greens eyes. He almost wants to blow his lips together to make a purring noise but that would be inappropriate because Blue wants to have a gross adult talk. He must’ve been quiet too long because Blue stops petting him and asks “ماذا يدور في ذهنك يا بيبي بات؟” [“What’s on your mind, Baby Bat?”]

Dami blinks and releases his lower lip while looking up at Blue. “ليس من المسموح لي أن أخبرك بأي. شيء.” [“I’m – um not allowed to tell you anything.”] Dami stammers, conscious of how careful he has to be.

Dick hums, he’d figure as much honestly. It’s just a question of who is, perhaps Talia or Alain had Damian promise secrecy. “.ولكن يمكنني أن أسأل” [“But I can ask..”] Dami admits, he doesn’t want Blue to decide to leave because Dami wouldn’t give him what he wanted. There’s a faint leak of sadness behind Dami’s eyelids at the possibility, he clings tighter to Blue.

Dick has to stop himself from shaking Damian, Are you in contact with the League of Assassins!?!!? he wants to screech as paranoia freezes his insides and escalates his thoughts. But no, Dick reminds himself I have to stay calm, Damian is regressing. Do not stress Damian out.

“كيف ستحقق ذلك؟” [“How are you going to accomplish that?”] Dick asks with a deceptively tranquil tone, perhaps a bit cold. It’s obviously too noticeable for Damian, who clings to him tighter. “.سأكتبها ثم سيردون” [“I’m gonna write it down and then they’ll respond.”] Dami murmurs, maybe if he pretends to be sleepy Blue will stop pressing him with questions.

Dick is trying to be restrained with his shock and horror. It’s extremely unlikely if not impossible for the LOA to breach Wayne Manor security. His eyes dart to the window with the precious window garden rests. Maybe there are cameras hidden in the room, but then Alfred would find them easily while cleaning…

Dick calms himself, just another thing to talk about. He can freak out later. As he comes back to himself Dick can distinguish that Damian’s hold has slackened, “هل أنت متعب يا صديقي؟” [“Are you tired, Buddy?”]

Dick smiles when Damian nods silently, he’ll let Damian lie down after writing that note. “يمكننا أن نأخذ قيلولة إذا أردت، ولكن عليك أن تفعل شيئًا من أجلي أولاً. تمام؟” [“We can take a nap if you want, but you'll have to do something for me first. Okay?”]

It’s no wonder Damian is tired, crying so much would take a toll on anyone and taking the medicine likely only made it worse. He listens for Damian’s sleepy hum before continuing, “هل يمكنك أن تكتب لي هذه المذكرة بسرعة؟” [“Can you write that note for me real quick?”]

Damian hums again. He must be really out of it Dick thinks, looking in the direction of the mini-fridge where Damian got the rice pudding. There’s a magnetized notepad on the door of it in a slightly orange color with the purple words ‘Scratch Pad’ and a cartoon cat dragging its claws from the top. Dick can also see a black pen connected to it by a chain so he assumes that’s where the ‘note’ will be.

Damian whines, he probably doesn’t want to get up. Dick assumes as he runs his fingers through Damian’s hair. “هل أنت مرتاح جدًا للنهوض؟” [“Are you too comfy to get up?”] he chuckles. Damian doesn’t respond this time so Dick guesses that he’s right. “.أستطيع أن أحملك إلى هناك، كل ما عليك فعله هو الكتابة” [“I can carry you there, you’ll only need to write.”] he prepares to stand, Damian’s weight limp in his hold.

“.لن يكون ذلك ضروريا.” [“That won’t be necessary.”] A smooth feminine voice states. Dick’s head darts to the door where Talia is standing.

Chapter Text

Damian shifts, suddenly alight with energy as he looks over Dick’s shoulder at the sound of Talia’s voice. ”Ummi!” Damian shouts. He starts wriggling in Dick’s hold. “.واو واو، اهدأ يا صديقي” [“Whoa whoa, calm down Buddy.”] Dick soothes while running a hand up and down his back.

“!لا يا أمي! دعني أذهب”[“No, Ummi! Let me go!”] Damian shouts, much to Dick’s shock. He sees the tears starting to run down Damian’s face and wipes them with his thumb. Talia isn’t his top priority despite Damian calling for her.

Damian hiccups and pulls the knitted blanket laying over his shoulders against his face as he slumps. “.ششش، يمكنك الذهاب لرؤية تاليا بمجرد أن تهدأ قليلاً”[“Shhh, you can go see Talia once you calm down a bit.”] Dick mumbles despite wanting to (safely) drop Damian and pounce at Talia with the intent to kill.

Between one blink and the next said woman is in front of him and attempting to scoop Damian into her arms. “.يديه” [“Hands off.”] He hisses, tightening his arms around Damian and taking a step back. “أومي؟” [“Ummi?”] Dick hears Damian mumble, his heart crushing at the vulnerable hesitance in Damian’s voice.

“.أنا هنا يا قلبي” [“I’m here, Gulbi”] Talia sends Dick a smug look. Damian tenses and launches himself out of Dick’s hold, babbling in Arabic.

Dami unquestionably, is a snotty, teary, mess of emotions and longing. It’s hard to breathe with snot running down his nose and a mouth that won’t stop rambling. Ummi is slowly running her fingers through his hair, obviously not clinging to him as much as he is to her. Dami can’t get enough of it, squirming every which way to touch Ummi’s cheek, then her silky shirt, then her smooth hair. Dami sobs, chanting. “!أمي، لقد اشتقت إليك، أحبك، من فضلك لا تذهبي” [“Um-ummi, I miss you — I love you! Please, please don’t go!”]

Of course he gets scolded, Dami’s allowed to act childish but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to have outbursts, they’re indiscrete and loud. Ummi holds his too-large body easily, the single word leaving her lips stopping even Dami’s breath. “.دامي” [“Dami.”]

Dami sniffles one last time, cheeks warming slightly at Ummi’s stern face. “..محزن”[“..Sorry”] He swallows down another sob and tightens his hold on Ummi’s clothes. Dami refrains from speaking further. He missed Ummi, he’s sure she got the message.

Talia smiles thinly at Dami, she runs the pad of her finger under Dami’s eyes. She can’t help but soften at the look of trust and unconditional love on his face. “.أنت فوضوي جدًا يا دامي، اذهبي إلى الحمام وانظفي”[“You’re so messy Dami, go to the bathroom and get cleaned up.”] Talia orders lightly, holding in a sigh when her child makes no move to unclench his hands from her shirt. “.الآن دامي، سأظل هنا عندما تعود” [“Now Dami. I’ll still be present when you return.”] He thankfully lowers himself under Dick’s scrutinizing eyes. Dami rubs his face and toddles over to the bathroom.

“What are you doing here, Talia?” Dick states coldly, switching to English as the Arabic was only for the comfort of Baby Bat.

Her visage subtly changes from doting yet stern mother to cold and commanding in an instant. “Visiting my son, who has clearly been given inadequate care.” Dick absolutely sputters at the audacious claim, almost frothing at the mouth. “You must be blind and deaf to even fucking insinuate that!”

Talia rolls her eyes, pressing a manicured finger to Dick’s lips as he’s now close enough after prowling towards her. “I possess knowledge of his private matters.”she states, not the least bit intimidated at the proximity of their bodies. “Are you aware of who’s occupying Damian’s bathroom currently?”

Dick stills at Talia’s words that pierce through the fog of his anger like a lighthouse. “What?” Dick clenches his jaw. “Is that not Damian?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Talia smiles like this all some sort of joke that only she’s in on. They both turn to face Damian (?) who’s standing at the bathroom door, likely startled by the commotion.

“.قد تقترب يا جولبي، لقد انتهى غضب أخيك” [“You may come closer Gulbi, your brother’s outburst has ended.”] Dami slowly steps closer, looking between his two family members uncertainly. Old loyalty eventually wins and he huddles close to Talia, pressing his face against her legs. “أومي، لماذا يصرخ بلو عليك؟” [“Ummi, why is Blue yelling at you?]

Dick easily admits that he’s a bit confused by the situation. First Damian claims that he can’t say anything regarding his truths and secrets, but is able to contact others who can. Secondly, Damian seemed hesitant to actually contact them which was obvious with the sudden bout of sleepiness. Then Talia shows up and Damian becomes overwhelmed with what seems to be a mixture of elation and sadness, but he seemed shocked so it obviously wasn’t planned (who was going to read the note then?)

Finally, Dick has never witnessed Damian react so strongly to anything before. Abruptly screaming at him in the mall and getting upset over talking with Jason and Cass pale in comparison to the instant tears and begging. That just screams abandonment issues. And.. Talia doesn’t seem shocked by Damian’s age regression, she seems overly familiar with it in all honesty.

He glares at Talia but does ask her goading question, reluctantly, it might do him some good.

“What’s your name, Bud?” He asks softly, walking towards Talia and crouching down to come face-to-face with Damian, who’s hiding against Talia like a scared child. Damian looks at him with confused eyes. He momentarily becomes concerned with Damian’s lack of comprehension… but thinking it over, perhaps age regression can affect someone’s ability to process an entire language.

Dick sighs but tries again in Arabic. “ما اسمك يا باد؟” [“What’s your name, Bud?”] but that only causes Damian to look minutely more afraid. Well, not afraid, cautious and defensive maybe. He looks up at Talia for assurance before responding with a nervous look on his face. “اسمي دامي. لماذا كنت تصرخ على أومي؟” [“My name is Dami. Why were you yelling at Ummi?”]

Dick barely holds the urge to roll his eyes. Wow Talia what an absolute revelation. If Damian can seemingly forget an entire language, it’s not a stretch to think he’d go by another name when regressing.

Wait

Dick just about face palms at his own obliviousness. No wonder Damian became huffy that one breakfast and told him off in private for using the name “Dami”. He was probably embarrassed. Dick internally lets out a grand sigh , another mistake on my part.

“هل صراخي يخيفك؟” [“Did my yelling scare you?”] He asks, doubting the validity of Damian’s quiet negative response. “.أنا آسف، أنا وتاليا كنا نتحدث للتو وقالت بعض الأشياء التي أزعجتني” [“I’m sorry, Talia and I were just talking and she said some things that upset me.”]

Damian, who Dick just learned goes by Dami when regressing, looks to Talia for assurance again. “.لقد سمحت له بالتعرف على سر صغير”[”I was letting him in on a little secret.”]

Talia’s words inexplicably cause Dami to stiffen. His youngest brother looks downright terrified as he whimpers and shakes his head. “.أعتقد أن الوقت قد حان، فأنت تسبب للجميع ضغوطًا غير ضرورية.” [“I think it’s about time, you’ve caused enough unnecessary stress.”]

Dick internally ponders why Talia would care about anyone’s mental or physical state in the manor. He’s about to speak up but Dami talks before him. “.لا يسمح بالحديث عن ذلك” [“Not allowed to talk about that.”] his voice is surprisingly stern for who he’s directing the words to.

“.دامي، استمع إلى والدتك”[“Dami, listen to your Ummi.”] Is Talia’s foreboding response.

Dick doesn’t say anything, he is curiously, almost deathly so, over Damian, and any information Talia would be willing to give is invaluable. Perhaps the source would hold lies and misinformation but it’s further than anyone else has gotten in regards to the kid.

Dami starts to sniffle, seemingly without reason. “.لا أريد أن أفعل هذا” [“I don’t wanna be here for this.”]

Talia sighs and runs her fingers through his slightly greasy hair (he was likely training earlier and hadn’t been given the time to shower). “.ثم قم بالتبديل مع أمير” [“Then switch with Amir.”]

Dick is confused and concerned over the whimper Dami lets out at the word prince. The sentence doesn’t make sense, how would his youngest brother “switch” with the prince. Except, there wasn’t a ‘the’ before prince, so it wouldn’t be ‘switch with the prince’ but ‘switch with Prince’. Who the hell is Prince?

“—لكن أومي ” [“B-But Ummi —”] Dami looks about ready to cry again.

“أنت لا تريد أن تكون حاضرا في المحادثة، ولكنك لا تريد التحول؟” [“You don’t want to be present in the conversation, yet don’t want to shift?”] Talia’s eyes stare judgementally into Damian’s.”.الاختيار” [“Choose.”]

Dami sniffles, his lower lip wobbling. Despite this, Talia doesn’t soften up even though her actions remain gentle. “.بلا دموع” [“No tears.”] she demands. “.اختر واحدة الآن” [“Pick one, now.”] Dami’s voice is faint when he responds, “.اختر واحدة الآن” [“I’ll go..”] more tears build at his lashes, “لكن... هل يمكنني مقابلتك لاحقاً؟” [“But… may I meet you later?”]

Dick is confident in his assessment that Dami has some form of abandonment issues. When Dick put Dami to bed that one time he asked a similar question and his heart aches for the youngest. “.سأبذل جهدا.” [“I will make an effort.”]

Talia is being entirely too frigid with Dami, he’s about to break his silence but Dami starts harming himself

As if a switch is flipped.

His shoulders are hunched, nails digging into his cheeks.

Dami cries out like a wounded animal.

Dick reaches forward, a shout on the tip of his tongue, a hand about to tighten around Dami’s upper arm. Talia restrains him.

There is an absence of movement where everything is still and cold. Amir feels stiff with its tongue thick in its mouth.

Dami hates forcing himself back inside, it hurts, like spooky bugs with legs made of fire covering his face. He hiccups, eyes sliding shut as the warm bean bag consumes his small body.

He steps back from both Grayson and Mother, his head pounding and vision spinning. Although on the outside it looks composed with Mother’s features once more serious and Grayson gaping like a fish running out of oxygen (he’s also lowered himself to Amir’s height, so Dami obviously did something). Amir allows himself a single shudder and a quick tap to its cheek to see if Dami broke skin (he didn’t) before focusing back on the two adults in the room.

Amir’s brows furrow with confusion, although his face remains blank and stare guarded. “Mother… and Grayson?” It has zero idea what’s happening irritation strikes across its eyes like lightning before Amir represses once again. “What is the situation?” It didn’t focus on Dami, couldn’t, with Damian’s frantic behavior.

Dick is unable doesn’t want to hold back his scowl. Did Talia just force Damian out of his regression!?

“We’re speaking of secrets.” Talia looks Amir straight in the eyes. “Specifically, yours.”

Amir’s face doesn’t spark with emotion at that revelation, “Mh, is that so.” It doesn’t speak like they’re questioning. Talia is his Mother and Commander, what she says is law (only ever over-written by Grandfather, but Mother is conniving enough to avoid the overlap). “Will the entire household be made aware of my private matters?”

Amir is curious, but after even a moment of further consideration on his part, that was a question fit for someone dull-whitted. Obviously, especially if Grayson is the one being informed, the gossip would spread through the house within hours. Amir’s nails dig into the palm of its hands in silent reprimand.

Talia hums, seemingly not catching Amir’s slight. “Indeed, you’ve burdened yourself and the people around you by harboring secrets long enough.” Her voice is stern, a reprimand that Amir struggles to not cringe away from. He doesn’t apologize for not speaking out, doesn’t plead with meaningless platitudes.

Amir’s voice is toneless and unagitated as he suggests. “Perhaps this conversation would be more productive in the living room then?” He almost preens when Mother doesn’t argue with him, that’s essentially a pat on the head in acceptance from her. Amir turns its head to look at Grayson, who is studying it as intensely as expected from someone with experience both as a vigilante and a law enforcement officer staring at another piece of an ever changing puzzle.

Dick is staring intensely at his youngest sibling, hiding his shock exceptionally well. He just… stopped acting like a child? Prince must be a nickname of sorts, like ‘my heart’ was. He doesn’t know what’s crueler, with how much Dami looked to be suffering when forced to be Damian again or the thought of Dami being unable to defend himself against questions and accusations.

“I’ll…” The mother-son duo both stare at him, and how alike they look… especially with Damian deciding to grow out his hair. “I’ll go grab everyone. Head to the living room in, say, seven minutes?” Dick stands from his crouch and takes a moment to set down the blanket he forgot was folded over his arm onto the bed.

“Acceptable.” He hears Damian declare.

“Be on your way then.” Talia waves him off, eerily almost cheerful.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

“At ease.”

Amir doesn’t unstiffen, it still feels like its feet are glued to the singular spot on the floor. Talia’s voice becomes serious although her posture is still of relative friendliness. “Why have you deceived them, Amir.”

It almost betrays Mother in his thoughts. That family is of secrets and hidden things. That he shouldn’t trust anyone other than his Commanders and Lord and Darius.

Talia sighs with disappointment. Amir mentally prepares for punishment, Darius is curling around his eyes and ears like darkness with the sharp absence of sound.

“Moving to the Waynes was supposed to be a fresh start for you.” Talia puts a hand on its shoulder (not digging in for some reason, not causing punishment and pain. Yet). “A chance to learn, to trust, and relieve yourself of secrets.”

Amir’s heart sinks to his stomach but it doesn’t show on his face or body language. Goosebumps coat his skin, the rush of failure leaving him cold. It… It wasn’t enough? The hours spent observing classmates, family members, and civilians to create the unbreakable persona of Damian? The anguish Amir put itself through to fit in? Like a snake painfully shredding through too-tight skin or a blood red fox becoming pure white.

Amir isn’t used to failure (he is, just not from Talia). It burns, his throat is closing tightly, the bones in his legs become thin and brittle like wafer paper. The one person he thought he could never disappoint… disappointed in him.

It’s breath finally hitches but Amir doesn’t cry or lash out. “My…apologies, Mother.” it lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry you had to step in” Another breath, steadier than the last one. “for my failures.”

Amir doesn’t let the thought of how unfair it is, being reprimanded for failures he wasn’t made aware of, permeate his thoughts. Mother ordered him to infiltrate and blend into the Wayne’s. Amir thought he was to invade and learn their secrets not bleed into their lives like a parasite greedy for love and acceptance.

Talia lets go of Amir’s shoulder, “You are forgiven.” Much like the son she raised Talia doesn’t waste her breath comforting him. In a world of grey, Talia and Amir’s relationship is black-and-white in comparison. Talia is always to be obeyed and Amir will be at her beck and call.

“Just follow through with more effort.” Talia’s words almost sound like encouragement, Amir wishes it were more easily fooled.

There is silence, not tense nor awkward. Just quiet. There’s a few minutes left until Grayson fetches them, Amir feels nervous about the others living up to Mother’s standards. It almost wrings its hands together, Amir wants to offer his everything but he knows Mother will find it lacking.

And if Mother finds it lacking, what will the Waynes (+ Thomas and Brown) think of it? Will they try to make Amir their own? Force him into rolls like Grandfather and Mother? Will they attempt to take away parts of it?

Mother continues to stare at him. Amir finally finds its voice. “Understood.” He wants to hide, recede back into the shadows with the expected traps and sharp points. It doesn’t, Amir can’t, Mother called him specifically.

The silent clock tick tick ticks behind him. Amir’s head hurts and its body is cold despite the lack of chill in its room. It’s unusual, it's unfair! Mother said he was forgiven, why is Darius still invading his space!?

Amir needs to distract himself but that would look like childish fidgeting to Mother. Amir’s hands twitch at its side, it’s too quiet, it's too loud.

The tension cuts like scissors to string when the bedroom door opens again —

Amir doesn’t sigh in relief, even though it desperately wants to. Perhaps it's disappointing Mother, that she inferred that hearing her thoughts would force Darius to punish it. Almost like a shock to Amir’s system, Darius is temporarily relieved of that duty. (The real punishment is to undergo the emotional vulnerability this meeting will bring. Such a cruel choice, Mother).

Amir turns, “There are still two minutes and thirteen seconds left of your seven minute countdown, Grayson. Have you managed to corral everyone into the sitting room so quickly?” The offered seven minutes assured that each member of the manor had a one-minute chance of assurance from Grayson.

Mother speaks before Grayson is able, “Only four minutes and forty-seven seconds. That would be impressive if I wasn’t certain you were rushing. Dick, were you concerned over my son’s well being?” Talia’s tone is sly, as if the consternation was a sudden and unexpected development.

Grayson’s hackles rise almost predictably, but he seems to gain a minute control over his emotions and doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’m in a hurry to get this over with.”

Grayson’s response seems to appease Mother, Amir tilts its head down slightly in agreement. The conversation will undoubtedly be emotionally draining. He doesn’t care that Grayson didn’t answer the question, in general it would be a callous fabrication to remark anything but a negative. Amir, as he is now, isn’t someone Grayson loves or cherishes in any; way, shape, or form.

“Come along.” Mother orders the room at large, Amir obediently starts walking behind her while Grayson follows with apparent befuddlement a moment of hesitation later. Amir walks with his hands clasped behind his back and chin up high, like a man with pride still, while being walked to his execution sight.

Although, perhaps that's a touch too dramatic. Transpiring in an emotional affair might jeopardize it, but Amir understands that the pain will only be temporary. After this confrontation, it might cease to exist. “Relieve yourself of secrets” what is Amir if not a weapon outlined in secrets and blood? It’s possible that reuniting with Amira wouldn’t be a terrible end…

Amir’s hands don’t shake as it observes the room at large. The Wayne’s have made it to the sitting room in a semi-orderly fashion. Brown and Drake are absent, much to his relief. Although Thomas’ biting sarcasm might cause an issue to arise now that he isn’t incapacitated by tiredness.

Amir sits down beside Mother on the couch, stoic faced despite the five pairs of eyes making his neck prickle with warning. It’s eye twitches but Amir holds back from speaking out. Mother hasn’t said a word and she’s taken the lead up to this point so he waits.

“Well.” Jason breaks the silence, voice as stiff as his posture. “You gonna start?”

Talia sighs, “Whenever Amir is ready.”

There are several eyebrow raises and other unsubtle tells at the name. Its insides squirm with discomfort. “Proceed.” He orders shortly, Todd is obviously contending in being the most outspoken. Just predicting the man's questions brings a slight ache to Amir’s temple.

“Okay, so why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to raise a kid in the sort of environment where —” He reluctantly stops at the hand Talia holds up. “There will be time to grill me later, Jason. For now, this is family bonding time.” And Talia has very clearly put herself in a box separate from the other Wayne’s save for a select few.

“You’re part of the problem.” Jason growls. If Talia were so inelegant as to shrug she likely would, “I’m aware.” Her tone is pointed. Jason had a hand in raising Amir as well.

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing with an eerie look. “Did you ever get your injuries checked by Alfred?” Now isn’t the time for pity, Jason knows that look in Damian’s eyes, he needs bluntness, not for others to dawdle with misplaced politeness.

Alfred doesn’t perk up in interest particularly, but he looks intrigued. Damian hasn’t had any distinctly grievous injuries for many months, just the typical sprains and scrapes. For Jason to call an injury out specifically relates to the possible severity.

Jason picks up easily on Alfred’s body language, glaring at Damian. “You didn’t?” He questions rhetorically with a displeased edge to his voice.

Amir bristles, clearly on edge. “You never told me to.”

Jason’s mouth twists into a frown. Maybe it was an oversight on his part, if Damian had him pulling out the commands and it was like prying teeth getting any information on his status.

“No need to be so confrontational.” Dick pats Jason’s shoulder, tone a gentle lecture. “Let Baby Bat explain himself.” He goes back to keeping a worried eye on Duke, who seems torn between revelling in and feeling awkward about being in the middle of family drama.

“You feeling alright, kid?” He mumbles lowly. “Feel free to leave, I kinda strong armed everyone in here.” The ‘my bad’ is clear. Dick gets his own shoulder pat from Duke. “Uh, yeah. This is kind of awkward.” He stands, thankfully not being called out for scurrying out of the door.

Tuning back into the spectacle around him, Dick’s mouth tightens at the monotone voice Damian is using to list his injuries. “...prototype bo staff on my back.”

“The newest one?” Bruce speaks up. “With the whip?”

Tim’s been on a roll with adjusting his various bo staffs into hybrid weapons. One such example is the collapsible staff with the extended length and force of a whip. Bruce had planned to confiscate that one or suggest Tim give it to someone else. He knows Tim planned to add an electricity element to it and Bruce started searching for cold cases to peak Tim’s interest so his son is occupied with those instead.

Amir nods tensely, sneaking glances to Mothers relaxed (maybe on the outside, but Amir is aware of how unsatisfied she is internally) form.

“Do you still have it?” Bruce really thought that Tim was hiding the weapon from him. Hn.

Amir really doesn’t want to think of the weapon. Almost as much as he doesn’t want to think about the dungeons at home base. Goosebumps raise on the back of its neck. “No, Father. I returned the item to its original location.”

Jason raises his hand and waves it around sarcastically. “Now’s not the time to get side-tracked.”

Amir internally huffs, as if Jason just foiled his plan to let the family get lost in their own confrontations. Well, that would be the case if Mother wasn’t present. No, he has to do this, it’s an order.

”Perhaps Mother and Jason are tag-teaming me.” Jason’s insistent questions and distinct middle eastern accent (similar to the one he used in the LOA after the brain damage was less apparent) certainly aren’t helping matters. Or maybe he’s uncomfortable and masking that with long buried professionalism. It’s a complex read due to the venomous words Jason spit about Amir’s upbringing. Mother didn’t properly reprimand him and Amir didn’t defend its background. Frustrating.

“Your injuries.” Jason stares, perhaps it's a trick of the light that his eye color has become slightly muddled with green. “Have they healed properly? No lingering aches and pains?”

“None.” Amir almost slips up and adds a polite ‘sir’ after that. Jason’s no-nonsense attitude is getting to him. It’s pleasant, methodical and familiar with stripping away those irritating emotional elements.

Jason frowns. “That’s good.” a beat of silence “But you should’ve gone to Alfred to get those checked Amir.”

Amir isn’t exactly surprised by the intensity of which Jason states its name. Mother had said it pretty plainly and it knows Jason, at the least, has noticed the discrepancies in its personality. Or maybe it’s an open secret and they’re all internally mocking it for thinking he’s anything other than a stupid, insignificant tool who’s easily disposable Amir forcibly calms itself from the sudden spike of anxiety. It would be for the best to not lose composure, especially in front of Mother and Father.

Mother shoots Amir a sharp look and it reluctantly stops staring blankly at Jason in silent challenge. “Yes sir. I apologize.” He is both grateful and annoyed at how quickly his words cause Jason to lose his edge. Now the man looks contemplative with the allusion of contrite

“If I may, Master Damian.” Alfred interjects. “I doubt your injuries were anything I’ve never seen before and couldn’t have assisted with.” He doesn’t ask why Damian didn’t go for help, such a strategy would easily deviate to being shut out. But seriously; a knife, katana, cigarettes, and Master Tim’s bo staff being used as items of self harm? The poor child.

Amir shrugs with faux casualty, “There wasn’t much effort expended on my part. It appeared insignificant at the time.” It doesn’t react to the butler's put-upon sigh. “I haven’t noticed any significant change in the med-bay supplies, though.” A pause. Alfred’s voice continues with the essence of a plea. “Please don’t self medicate, those resources are available, I’m available for a reason.”

“My deepest apologies for any undue stress my actions have caused you, Pennyworth.” The interaction hasn't been overly emotional so far, Mother has done suitably in ceasing any of that. Amir can handle apologies for mistakes (that of his own and not) quite easily. A warmth spreads in its chest. Mother likely planned it out like this, somehow, ensuring it takes responsibility but extending her kindness to his lack of emotional capacity.

Pennyworth’s frown lines seem to deepen right before Amir’s eyes. He doesn’t get the chance to utter any more senseless pleas with Jason speaking up. “Can you take off your shirt? Just to be sure.”

Amir wills the flush away from its cheeks. He shakes his head with a glower to everyone who isn’t Jason or Mother. Cain seems to be dozing off (not that Amir believes it’s anything other than a farce), Father has a contemplative look in his eyes, Grayson is looking at Amir with indisputable pity, and Pennyworth is still frowning.

“Look, we can do this in a different room with just the two of us if you’re uncomfortable, but it needs to be done.” Jason’s presence seems to fill the room with the unsubtle demand for complianc. It’s almost as compelling as Mother’s elusive praise.

Well, if it’s going to be verbally degraded for being weak and compulsive, at least the action will be done with the illusion of privacy. Amir waits for the protests, that perhaps, two emotionally unstable people being in the same room together won’t end well. But, it’s silent and Jason doesn’t seem to be waiting for anyone’s approval but its own. Amir wants to look over at Mother for her stance on Jason’s directive. He doesn’t know what he expects to find.

Amir stands with a sigh, Jason obediently mimic’s the action. He leaves the room without looking back and without asking Jason where the man wishes to go. Amir ends up taking the lead, guiding Jason to one of the many spacious bathrooms in the hallway going towards the kitchen.

The one they end up entering is of the typical ultra modern design seen throughout the manor with black cabinets, white walls, and off-white floor tiles. There is a raised sink on a black cabinet on one side and a black tiled wall with the toilet against it on the opposite. A grey rug sits in the middle of the room and a black towel rack with a grey hand towel is seen next to the sink. Hanging on the same wall is a frameless mirror and a squat flower vase full of flowers staying alive only through Alfred’s force of will.

Jason shuts the door behind it and twists the feeble lock with an audible ‘click’. The man turns and Amir is already taking off his shirt. Grandfather’s words echo in it’s head. ”Nobody can guard your secrets better than you, so do not blame anyone for revealing your secrets, for you could not hide them yourself. Your secret is your prisoner, which if let loose it will make you its prisoner.”

Amir is a prisoner, it’s a failure spiritually, emotionally, physically, and on every other level that matters. Dami is the only secret it keeps from Grandfather and Amir couldn’t have done it without Mother’s support. So of course, without her, Amir crumbles under the pressure pathetically.

Amir stares apathetically as Jason observes its wounds.

“Hold your arms out in front of you.” He orders, although his voice is disturbingly soft.

Amir complies. Thankfully, Jason doesn’t look horrified or pitying, having likely seen the wounds from Junya Yisheng. His injuries are healing nicely, the brand on his stomach is scabbed over and red around the edges. Amir’s arms itch to high hell but are manageable with the small blisters. It’s back is the largest annoyance though, a pain to maintain, and certainly the least healed of all its wounds.

Even the civilian friendly bathrooms are well stocked. Jason walks towards the cabinet and crouches down to open the small doors and grab the first-aid kit. He stands back up with a sigh. “I’m going to redress your wounds.”

Amir doesn’t move as a cool cream is lathered thoroughly on his arms and wrapped in gentle bandages. They’re held securely with twin net retainers. Its torso is poked and prodded for signs of infections before Jason seems satisfied. Amir watches dispassionately as Jason stands to wet a gauze pad with warm water before crouching down again to cleanse it. He remains silent.

The crime lord continues his cautious but tender movements with the gauze. It stings but Amir doesn’t show it. He feels like a baby getting sponge bathed. Jason is thorough, Amir almost feels like he’s being slow on purpose. Its arms are still held out. “Jason.” He mutters, breaking the fragile atmosphere. “Are you stalling?”

Jason only grunts in response, Amir raises an unimpressed brow. “I see no benefits from it, only prolonging the inevitable.”

The older male deigns Amir’s response with a huff, “It sh’uldn’t be a great big confr’ntation.” Jason’s voice is low, almost growl-like. Amir sets its arms down and pokes the top of his head. “Why not?” Jason finally tilts his head to face Amir.

“ ‘Cause you have th’ emotional capaci’y of a pen.” Amir doesn’t stoop to responding to that. “And you would rather it be done inside the restroom?”

Jason rolls his eyes, standing for a moment to grab a clean hand-towel and dab drying Amir’s stomach. He pops open a tube of anti-bacterial ointment and leans down to spread the gel across its stomach as he speaks. “Giv’s us some privacy, and I needed to talk ta’ ya privately.”

Amir’s jaw clenches. “Hm.” His ears stupidly decide to ring with the thought of Jason’s beratement.

“Look if ya want Dickface ins’ead I can go get ‘im but —”

Something inside him shrivels up and dies at the notion. “No. It’s fine.”

“Alright.”, Jason unexpectedly cups his jaw. It doesn’t hurt. ”Amir.” His eyes are calculating. “Who’s else is in there in yur noggin?”

Amir sighs but it knows it needs to respond. That is the entire point of Mother’s interference and Amir’s own acceptance. “...Eleven others.” Jason raises a brow and mumbles “Holy shit.” but the tone seems almost anticlimactic. “Anyone I know?”

“A few.”

“Why dont’cha introduce me.” An unfamiliar calm drapes over Amir’s form. It’s nice being tolerated. Although it hurts to admit.. “Mother’s forbidden me from switching so I don’t evade the revelation of my personal business.” Jason’s hands begin to carefully wrap around his mid-section to tie on the bandages. And it should be the one to bear the weight of disappointment and injustice the rest are likely to feel. The secrets, horrible distrust, how could they live with such an abomination? It doesn’t mention these thoughts to Jason, of course.

“Ya’ ain’t gotta do all that, jus’ tell me ‘bout ‘em.”

Amir sighs, “Of the ones you’ve met there are; Azul, Layla, Robin, and Junya Yisheng.” it guesses. Amir is a protector not a bookkeeper. Jason fusses with the bandages around his torso, straightening them out.

“Junya Yisheng? Sound’s like ah foreign name.” Jason recalls having to strong-arm Damian’s injuries report out of him the first time by talking in Mandarin. He huffs at the memory.

“Mh.” The doctor is a source of considerable frustration with his anti-social conduct. “He’s indolent and unproductive.”

Jason finally appears satisfied with his work, straightening his back. “Turn ‘round.” The bandages around Amir’s torso cover most of his lower back, although there are still deep marks with just-formed wound beds visible.

“He seemed like a s’ubborn fuck when I was talkin’ ta ‘im.” The man comments.
Jason takes out the adhesive gauze pads from the first-aid kit and sets them aside on the sink. He then grabs a cosmetic sibba spatula and uses it to scoop and spread ointment onto the deep wounds. Jason doesn’t need to see Amir’s face to know he’s interested in Jason’s comment.

“Had me guessin’ all sorts of languages ‘till he fin’lly admitted what was up with ya’.”

Amir is aware of Junya Yisheng’s preference for Mandarin, but he thought the male capable of comprehending English. “But he could understand you?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jason pauses as if considering his words. “He gave me th’ go-’round wi’f Latin ta fuckin’ Urdu.”

Jason scoops the gel into a particularly deep cut with a rancid looking bruise circling it. “Think ‘is ones infected.” He comments, grabbing another gauze pad to wet with warm water. To keep the conversation going, Jason contemplates aloud. “What ‘bout Robin? Ya’ don’ act much diff’rent when on patrol.”

Amir sighs, staring at the textured walls. “Their moral character far exceeds my own.”

Jason tilts his head, beginning to work on the infected area. “‘Their’?” he repeats.

“Mhn, Robin maintains a position of gender-nuetrality.” Amir almost moves to shrug, but that would disrupt his older brother’s work.

“Oh, ya’ got anyone else like tha’?” Jason subtly prods, pat-drying the area and reapplying the ointment.

“There are female alters, but Robin is the only one presenting neutral.” Amir concedes, it’s much easier to speak about the others to Jason. It feels defeated.

Jason starts applying the adhesive gauze pads. “What ‘bout’cha?”

“I… I am a weapon. Sometimes I am a man and periodically I’m an ‘it’.” The odd feeling of vulnerability brings a senseless chill to Amir. A relief fills its chest at admitting it. I am no man! Amir wants to shout, I am a weapon, a thing to be used! The choking blanket of frivolous feelings will finally be cast away.

“You ain’t a ‘it’, yer my little brother.” Jason scoffs.

“You don’t know me.” Amir instinctually protests, the words sounding childish on his lips. That’s a lie. Wasn’t Jason with him at its peak? A sharp blade cruelly being grounded by a whetstone day after day to remain in its sharpest form.

“Don’t I?” Jason raises an unseen brow. “Dehumanizin’, Prince, calls me Jason ins’ead of Todd.” He leans down, perhaps intending to intimidate with his words so close to Amir’s ear. “ ‘s not subtle at all, Amir, Akhoya.”

Amir narrows its eyes. “Stop.” It’s not a plea, but an order.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, tension forcibly flooding out of his body as he moves his head back. “You’re my brother. Know tha’ even if ya can't love y’erself, tha’ I love ya.”

It doesn't bother to respond, leaning down to grab its shirt and pulling the cloth back on to cover his chest. Amir grinds his teeth together as he stands again to glare at Jason. “Your involvement is superfluous, at best.”

Jason raises a brow, there’s the honey badger I’m used to. Arguing for the sake of it and to hide his emotions. Typical.

“Yeah?” He challenges. “Ya didn’t deny my words, yer only pushin’ me ‘way.”

Amir is beginning to feel cornered again, the faint scent of sulfur infiltrating its head. “Enough of this.” He declares, making way to the locked door. Its fist barely takes hold of the doorknob before his wrist is captured.

“Amir.” The pressure doesn’t hurt, but its skin might as well be paper thin with rotting bones. The man standing behind him leads his hand off the knob. Jason holds Amir’s other hand as well. It’s disgustingly warm against his own rapidly cooling flesh.

“I love ya.” Jason declares, puppeteering Amir’s hands into an ‘X’ across his chest while Jason’s arms give a tight hug from behind.

The sulfur scent is nauseating, a thick and disgusting substance. Its nose twitches with distaste. “You’re being excessively sentimental.” Being brothers was only temporary, when brain-dead Todd became something it unwillingly cared about.

Jason still doesn’t let go, “Ya need sum extra ‘ffection.” the man mutters as he pointedly nuzzles Amir’s hair. The experience is harrowing, a reversal of Amir’s own bias. It expected to be verbally degraded. It expected to be designated an anomaly, an entity of internal rot and compulsive taint.

“It’s imperative that we leave at once.” Amir insists, resisting the urge to bite his cheek so that the taste of iron may drown the rotting corpse scent . “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. We are obligated to make a timely return.” Don’t tense, don’t lash out, don’t —

Jason finally lets go and Amir’s lashes flutter in place of a relieved disgusted shudder. “M’kay.” Jason sighs, immediately transitioning from a full body hug to only pressing a hand against the boy's fluffy hair. It’s longer than would ever be allowed in the league, and not slicked back with what must’ve been handfuls of gel like before. Jason remembers those moments, where his only grounding touch was Damian’s — no Amir’s soft head of hair. Everything else was sharp edged and firm. But not the child. Not the child Talia ordered Jason, with his limited brain capacity, to shield (protect).

“Jus’ one more ques’ion.”

Amir sighs. In his gut, he knows what Jason wants. Confirmation, a clue into the past of fuzzy and distant memories (at least for Jason, Amir remembers them clear as day and cherishes what little kindness he was given).

“ ‘re ya my Akh, Amir.” A pause. “Not Damian, Robin, or anyone else ya have in yer noggin. Are ya th’ one I wa’sched grow up?”

Amir turns and stands stiffly, to be so filled with love it almost feels selfish to not disperse it. As one used to being deprived of care it’s a startling feeling. A forgotten fungus in Amir’s gut shaking off its moldy exterior. The scent of rotting wood somehow diminishes the sulfur’s fragrance. It most certainly is the one closest to Jason, followed by Robin, Amir is aware that the Crime Lord allows Robin into his territory on rare occasion. Whether it be to de-stress or patrol together. An extended hand for any version of itself

If Amir says yes, he can’t deny Jason’s love and care. Deny the relationship being more than bodyguard and reluctant dependance. Am I prepared to admit this? It contemplates. A resounding no echoes between its lungs with nobody's input but his own.
It looks pointedly away from Jason as it speaks. “I was fronting for the duration of our stay in the league.” Amir spits out, spinning on his feet to yank the door open and slam it shut behind him. The hall is blessedly absent of lingering and curious people.

Amir advances on numb legs into the living room, he doesn’t make his presence known at once. Observing. Pennyworth has brought in a trolley of teas and snacks. It suspects that the tea is Pennyworth’s signature earl grey. Amir knows the Butler favors it for the calming effects the bergamot oil has along with the gentle citrus flavor. It also spots homemade shortbread cookies and sweet lemon bars.

Father is on his cellular device with an annoyed tilt to his brow, Grayson seems to hoard the snacks with anxious energy, Mother sits still and with an air of amusement surrounding her, Cain cradles the cup in her hands silently. Amir doesn’t know where Pennyworth has relocated to.

He walks forward to reside in the seat beside Mother once again without fanfare. Minutes pass, restless awkwardness poisons the air.

If Amir were alone in his room, he would indulge himself with pressing his knees to his chest and huffing a frustrated sigh. But alas, I’m responsible for this.