This is the fourth time damian brought the college student over.
Damian, despite being 14, has been accepted to a gifted school as he had already been taught in the most subjects one usually learns at a slower pace.
(He still gets a headache over the fact his son won't get a normal childhood.)
Which is how he befriended the 17 year old Daniel, an overworked and sleepdeprived college student, getting dragged along and following with no complaint.
Bruce is, even if he wanted damian to befriend someone more around his own age, very welcoming of the student.
Alfred made sure the boy took enough food with him home, always leaving the mansion at point 4 pm.
It really shouldn't have been surprising when Bruce Wayne, yes, THE Brucie Wayne, summoned him to his office.
Danny entered the room fidgeting, giving a nervous smile to the man behind the desk and questioning what he did wrong to offend the patriarch of the family.
(Lies and slander, we, the readers, are fully aware that Alfred is the patriarch.)
"Uh— hi, Mr. Wayne." He sat when gestured to the chair, shitting bricks with how nervous he's.
The man nods in greeting, smiling. "Hello Danny–"
"Please don't kill me!" The teen in question blurts out, flushing in embarrassment once registered.
Taken aback and startled, Bruce snorts, stifling laughter by putting a hand against his mouth.
Shit.
"I don't know what I did! Very sorry if I offended someone!" He rambles, panicking and waving his hands around.
"Danny—"
"I must have done something! Why else would you call me? Oh god– I'm gonna be murdered by THE Brucie Wayne!"
At this point, the rich guy in front of him is barely restraining himself from laughing, trying his best to stay professional.
"Danny–! I- I won't murder you." He reassured, eyes crinkling from smiling.
"But–" he sniffs, both embarrassed and teary.
"I'm not gonna— danny." Bruce sighs, which sounds a lot like a choke, really. "Look, I just wanted a 1-on-1 talk with you about your friendship with damian and some concerns."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh."
Danny sighs in relief at this. "I can do some good old interrogation–" "it's not an interrogation–" "totally interrogation."
He huffs lightly, getting comfortable in his chair and preparing himself mentally.
"Alright Mr. Wayne! Shoot me!"
(Was that a pun? A joke to murder? Really?)
The man clears his throat, straightens his back and looks serious as he was before the accusations of murder.
"What are your intentions with damian and why become friends in the first place?"
Blinking, the teen brightens. "Oh, that's easy! Damian needs a friend. We just kinda clicked after I scared away a few pesky bullies."
Then he shrugs. "Besides, it's great training."
"Training?" Bruce asks, curious, tone light in the way that shows he's very interested.
"Yes. Despite his badly hidden murderous tendencies, love for knives, and slight lack of slang language and knowledge, he's still a kid." He nods.
"A young teen that goes through teen stuff that I barely remember going through and now get to relearn will be handy once Ellie becomes a teenager herself."
Batman was filing the information away, but Bruce kept going.
"Ellie?" He questions.
"My daughter– has damian not mentioned her? We always leave around 4 to get her from my sister. Sometimes, dami stays over for a few hours!"
Ah. Well. Seems like Alfred will have to make more food for the teen now.
"Would you like to stay for dinner today?" He asks, "Bring your daughter too. We won't mind you joining us." smiling and already planning for the new adjustments to make.
"On another note, what are your and your daughters preferences? Any allergies?"
Danny didn't even agree yet, not that he was gonna— mind you.
"No allergies, soft foods only, easy to eat." He answers, listing the stuff from the top of his head.
In a whirlwind of– of planning dinner?? Danny is out of the door and wide eyed.
"What just happened?"
(On the other side, Bruce face-palms, having forgotten to ask what age Ellie is. Damn in Bruce.)
—
On the fifth visit, Danny stayed for dinner.
Damian must know the age, for there are bowls with freshly cut fruits, yoghurt, and rice mixed with veggies and chicken.
On that note, where is damian?
Dick meets his eyes, asking the same quetsion with a look.
Just as Bruce was gonna ask, the door opened, and the cutest picture to ever exist was created.
(Dick RIPPED his phone out of his pocket, swiping a picture of the scene as fast as possible.)
Steph can't hold back the coos at the sight of Damian walking with a toddler into the dining room, her tiny feet propped up on his and in hand together.
She's wearing a Robin onesie and he is wearing his (stolen) Nightwing hoodie.
"Sorry, hope we aren't late!" Danny waves with a grin from behind the pair.
"You aren't, just perfect, in fact." Bruce reassures, waving the teens over to the free seats.
Damian leads the two to his seat, making sure they're next to him.
The conversation during dinner is one spoken fondly, Cass likes to make Ellie laugh with silly faces, Duke and Steph "secretly" feed her tiny pieces of strawberry and Dick is in a rather passionate discussion with both Tim and Danny.
Damian, once he makes sure no one is watching him, wipes the mess from Ellies face.
(Bruce was watching, looking away once damians face snapped to him. He wasn't aware his youngest had such a soft spot for toddlers.)
(It takes a while, but Danny and Ellie become family like every other person, while having not slept over yet, Alfred already has prepared a room for the two in the Family wing.)
(It's barely a week after that everyone bought and gifted him onesie's of their hero personas, with the excuse of them being the gotham vigilantes when questioned. After all, the Robin can't be a one man team.)
—
The Nightwing and his Robin.
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any cosmo girl would have known
“Oh she did it for sure.”
“Steve!”
“Ten bucks, Bobert, don't give me that look last time we agreed double or nothing.”
“No,” Nancy insists. “This isn't Murder, She Wrote or Scooby-Doo or Columbo-”
“You saw who did it in Columbo at the beginning,” Eddie reminds.
“I know it's an awful show.”
Robin and Steve remain in sync enough to each get a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting on the coffee table to defend the only good cop show in existence.
“I'm only pointing out,” she rewinds the VHS taking it back the two or three minutes they'd talked over before stopping it completely, “that this is a movie, not a drama with a repeated format that Steve can pattern recognition into predicting.”
“You haven't seen it already, right?” Robin asks. “The one rule of Monthly Middle-Aged Movie Night is you have to pick a movie none of us have seen.”
“No, I haven't seen it already. If you'll all remember when I asked you each to go see it with me I got,” he points to each of them in turn. “‘Wouldn't you rather see Tomb Raider?’ from double VHS, prestige cinephile and ‘That's too much pink for me, baby, you know I have that intolerance, maybe Rob or Nance will go?’ from my emo-isn’t-a-phase husband. And ‘I'm a little busy with this new story, Steve,’ from Nancy, the only one of you with a real excuse.”
“Some feminist you are, Birdie.”
“I don't want to hear it from you. I watched two of the blandest men alive pursue Renee Zellweger while the screen writers tried to convince us she was homely because you ‘forgot’ you had band practice.”
“You said you liked it!”
“It grew on me, but sometimes you just want to see a woman in a tank top. And I won't be shamed by the same man who cried during Beauty and the Beast.”
“I went with my sweet baby Lucy Joan, you miserable hag,” Eddie says, “and they turned that hot werewolf into a boring looking man.”
“You weren't into that? Look at who-”
“Why am I getting made fun of? Can we finish the movie?”
“No, I'm not going to let this be another Sixth Sense situation,” Nancy says, holding the remote hostage, she knows no one will try to take it from her.
“Ugh don't even bring that up,” Eddie groans, “Dustin still mentions it in at least one letter a year.”
Nancy nods, prim and proper, “Exactly, so tell us right now why you think she did it, then we'll play it again.”
“Chutney, the daughter,” Steve corrects, “have you even been paying attention? Her hair's permed.”
“And press play,” Eddie shouts.
“No,” Robin smacks his hands as he makes his ballsy play to reach around her for the remote. “Show your work, Dingus, even I didn't follow that one.”
“I don't always like the movies everyone else picks but I at least watch them. Her hair is permed, she said she was in the shower. She would have had to have been washing her hair if she didn't hear the gunshot and she has a perm.”
“You can wash your hair with a perm,” Nancy points out.
“You would know.” Eddie snarks, fingering the ends of his own hair.
“You can't wash a fresh perm, you'll fuck up the ammonium thioglycolate. Then you're out forty bucks and you've got limp hair. She killed her dad and lied about being in the shower.”
“Press play,” Eddie decrees again, leaning in close to Steve's side to purr, “it's pretty sexy when you go all hair care detective.”
His hand starts to slip below the blanket. “This is how we ended up with Lucy in the first place,” Steve reminds him, just under the sounds of the courtroom drama picking back up. It doesn’t stop Eddie’s hand from wandering until the movie’s climax starts getting closer, and Eddie’s attention is captured just like Robin’s and Nancy’s.
“Unbelievable,” Robin says, when Elle cites the perm salt.
“Never again,” Nancy swears, when Chutney screams her confession.
“Lucy’s been asking for a brother or sister,” Eddie flirts, as Elle reveals that any good Cosmo girl could have solved it.
No more movies with mysteries or twist endings for a while, they all agree, Robin can’t afford to keep betting against Steve.
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