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meritatem · 10 months

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The first time when he came to live at Wayne Manor, Pennyworth had been more demanding, always trying to force schedules on him and concocting entire lectures that he expected Damian to follow. He assumed it was because in the past he had been more rebellious and as a result, Pennyworth thought he needed some semblance of structure to help him.

But on this occasion Alfred had been more flexible and allowed Damian to do what he considered prudent with his time, so Damian designed his own schedule, mainly because his internal clock was still following his routine in the League and he needed to adjust in advance for his soon-to-be vigilante's life.

However, being trusted with how to use his own time didn't mean Damian was trusted anywhere else, and with Grayson still refusing to take on Batman's mantle, there's little Damian could do at the moment besides training. Not that he had a secure place as Robin when Dick finally decided to step up, he didn't know if he wanted that role again... or if he even deserved it.

Such thoughts were going through his mind as he went down the stairs that led to the Batcave, because even if he had a limited range of things to do at the moment, he could at least continue with gathering data to refresh his memory about the times he was currently living. But his plans with the computer would've to change, because he soon realized that the position behind it was occupied. If it were Grayson, Damian would just turn around and come back later, because he wasn't ready to be alone with a Dick Grayson that only saw in him a nuisance.

For better or for worse - although Damian was inclined to believe it was more the latter - it wasn't Dick who was there right now, but Drake. He was even less eager to confront Tim, but the difference was that he could avoid Grayson indefinitely, Drake he could not.

Among the many things Damian had to take care of, trying to clear the air between him and Tim was high on the list.

This was far from the ideal situation for the conversation Damian needed to have, but like a wound that needed cauterizing, the faster he took care of it, the better. So Damian waited a few moments to compose himself before continuing his way to the Batcomputer, purposely making just enough noise to make his presence known, coming to a stop once he was within what he considered a safe distance. Whatever Tim was doing at the time, it looked like it was more important than acknowledge Damian's presence; despite this Damian tried to be patient and wait, but when it became clear that Tim had no intention of even speaking to him, he had no choice but to be the first one to talk.

“Drake,” he said, trying to sound as neutral as possible while crossing his hands behind his back. “I know you're busy but I need a few minutes of your time, I promise it'll be quick.” Damian again waited a few moments before continuing. “Rest assured, if this wasn't important I wouldn't be here. I just need a moment... please.” He added the last word after a brief battle against himself.

Tim's exaggerated sigh told Damian he'd gotten what he wanted even before the other turned the chair to face him. “What?” He asked with all the contempt he could imbued in just one word.

Tim looked a lot better than Damian anticipated, but that was to be expected considering that Jason didn't roughed him up that bad this time. It was almost fascinating the way he looked at Damian, with a disdain that did little to cover the obvious fatigue Tim felt.

This Damian could deal with.

Because even though Tim had gone to the extremes of the hell that was Apokolips to get him back, their relationship never progressed past tolerating each other out of necessity. They were family by obligation, not by choice, and in that sense his relationship with Drake was, ironically, the closest to what normal was when it came to family.

It was grounding in a way, because in this world that felt full of strangers, Drake was the most familiar one.

With renewed confidence and feeling more relaxed, Damian straightened his posture. “I want to apologize for the actions I took after we met, at the time I didn't know my father operated in a different way than the League. A cultural shock, if you will.” As before he waited a few moments, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. “Is not an excuse, I know I refused to follow his instructions after and I apologize for that as well.”

Damian-son-of-Satan apologizing? Nah, that was too far-fetched and honestly Tim had no time for that kind of nonsense with all the problems he had to deal with. “What's this really about?”

“I know you won't forgive me and that's understandable, I made a very strong first impression. The only thing I ask is for us to be civil with each other from now on.”

To say that Tim was stunned was an understatement, and he didn't know if the throbbing in his temples was from his lack of sleep or from a developing headache. He wanted to laugh for all the wrong reasons. “Are you being serious right now?” He finally said, trying to stay calm. “You tried to kill me!” And of course, he failed.

“I know, that's why I'm apologizing.” And he stopped himself from sighing in exasperation. “I was uninformed when we met. Mother set me up for failure from the beginning, she didn't want me to join father's household, she wanted me to be disruptive... but some wrongdoings were entirely mine.”

Damian had gone over everything he was saying to Tim dozens of times before; something he began to contemplate years ago in an attempt to keep his sanity, maintaining conversations with imaginary versions of his loved ones, allies and even enemies. And more often than not, Drake presented as the three of them.

Tim for his part continued to have trouble believing in the sincerity behind Damian's motives, because not too long ago Damian was happy to demean him at every chance he got, even when his entire existence was in danger.

And at that thought, Tim suddenly felt a little more awake. “Something's off.” He said it, like it was some kind of revelation. “You're different.”

Damian nodded slightly as if he heard a compliment and not an accusation. “The world outside the League is very humbling.”

“Hard to believe you found yourself in Paris. Last time we saw you, we were trying to save you from Ra's.” And he paused a little, making himself more comfortable in the chair, trying to display a sense of control. “I'm starting to believe he found another way.”

Damian's instant reaction was to wrinkle his nose in disgust and twist his mouth. “Don't be stupid, Drake, I am myself. My grandfather is too prideful to live as I'm doing right now. Do you honestly think he will tolerate being scolded by Pennyworth for drinking Ipton tea?”

The counterargument Tim was thinking of died in an instant. “Seriously? Ipton?”

“I know, a regretful indulgence of mine, Pennyworth is very cross.”

For a moment Tim was speechless as the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him, so he finally did what he thought of before: he started to laugh. The past weeks had taken a great tool on him and he was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He was also recuperating from his more recent injuries and running on few hours of sleep, on top of that he had a lot to do and too much worries on his shoulders to keep entertaining Damian's chitchatting about commercial teas, apologies and newly discovered humility.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He finally said without hiding his annoyance. “I don't forgive you but I accept your apology, just stay away from me and mind your own business.”

“That's acceptable.” And not wanting to push his luck, he started to retreat.

“Damian,” Tim's voice made him stop. “I'll watching you. I don't know your endgame yet but as soon as you take one wrong step, I'll hunt you down.”

“Tt. I wouldn't expect any less.”

When it was clear that Tim wasn't going to add anything else, Damian continued his way back to the mansion, going straight to his bedroom, where the first thing he did was to unceremoniously fall face-first onto the bed. Although things had gone much better than predicted, Damian had to admit he felt more emotionally exhausted than anticipated, which seemed ridiculous, because Drake behaved in a way he was very well used to. It could be that despite his best efforts to be more honest, it was something that still didn't come naturally to him.

That was how Alfred found him, still in the bed, pondering his existence.

“I'm glad to see you're using wisely your time, Master Damian.”

“I'm meditating.” Was the muttered answer.

“I would hate to interrupt such important task but I must inform you, Master Richard will be joining us for dinner.”

Instantly Damian sat up, frowning as he eyed Alfred suspiciously. “And you have nothing to do with that.”

“I can imagine Master Richard is craving good conversation and food, so I suppose I'll cooking today.”

Damian chose not to dignify that with a reply, preferring instead to theorize why Alfred decided to invite Dick, but considering what a good-hearted fool Pennyworth was, surely there were sentimental reasons behind it. Ugh, Damian had enough of confronting feelings for the day... but alas, there was little he would refuse Alfred these days.

“Actually, Pennyworth, I want you to prepare something that complements the dish I'm making later.”

“Oh?” He exclaimed without real curiosity. “And what that dish would be?”

Damian tried not to groan at his own choice. “Macaroni and cheese.”

Damian was an expert when it came to wielding knives, he could synthesize drugs, make antidotes from simple herbs and replicate complicated processes just by reading the theory... so it was utterly ridiculous and even insulting that none of these things helped him to automatically become an excellent chef. Fortunately, now he had a better disposition to accept his shortcomings, because there were worse things than admitting he couldn't do perfectly everything he wanted.

When dinner time finally came around, Damian sat at the head of the table like he always did when he was eating in Alfred's company. These days Damian cared very little for things like status or old-fashioned customs, but he still needed to keep his reputation as an obnoxious kid and whatever Dick was thinking of the food or his seating, he didn't say and instead engaged in a bit of small talking with Alfred.

Pennyworth of course, didn't have the same reservations and after the first bite, he made known his verdict. “I say this is an improvement. This time I can taste the salt,” and he made a purposeful pause. “If nothing else.”

Better disposition or not, Damian still glared because it wasn't that bad. “This is a new trade for me, I need time to perfect it,” he tried to say it in the most dignified way possible. “I learn fast, you won't have to suffer these average attempts for long.”

“Average may be generous,” Damian's glare became more pronounced at that. “But we all start somewhere, if you're interested I'd gladly schedule cooking lessons.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Pennyworth,” Damian's first impulse was to reiterate his own competence and how little help he needed to master something so trivial, but one of his resolutions for this time around was to be less confrontational. “You have important tasks to oversee instead of playing chef with me.”

“That's an easy fix, we can hire a private cooking instructor.” He said without missing a beat, always ready to deal with stubborn children.

“Gotham is on fire and Wayne Enterprises will follow if we don't do something about my father's absence,” Damian almost took a pause, not because he was talking about his father's assumed demise, but because he noticed the change in Dick's posture at his words. “We have better things to do than start spreading word about Bruce Wayne's lovechild.”

“With Master Bruce's record, a new Wayne kid is hardly surprising but I'm sure the tabloids could use the distraction.”

“Are you implying father has more children I don't know about? If so, I'm going to need a chart to remember all of them.”

It was that moment that Dick chose to finally try to join the conversation, since he wasn't a fan of the direction it was taking. “No offense but I really hope you're the last kid that drops here out of nowhere.” He said as cheerily as he could.

“If only it were a matter of hope.”

Maybe it was the tone in which he said those words, but Damian's short answer effectively killed the conversation.

The next few minutes felt eternal, at least for Dick, that definitely didn't want to spend dinner in awkward silence, especially when he had been able to witness the way in which Damian and Alfred interacted. At first the idea of them sitting at the table eating together seemed like a half-baked joke, even the very notion of Damian cooking sounded highly uncharacteristic, but Dick now had proof that Alfred was saying the truth. It was even a bit surreal to hear them speak with such familiarity - as if they had known each other for years -, with an underlying camaraderie Dick wasn't expecting to see after just some days, but if someone was capable of coax Damian into a sense of comfortability, Dick guessed it was without a doubt Alfred.

Seeing that Damian seemed more willing to talk than what Dick initially expected, he decided to give it another try, because if there was one thing he was good at without even trying, it was talking just for the sake of it.

“Having a public persona has benefits.” Dick expressed as casually as he could.

Damian gave him an unimpressed look. “Such as?”

“Like going outside with your friends.” He said jokingly and he was about to add something else when Damian beat him to it.

“My friends are long gone.”

Dick wasn't expecting that kind of answer but to his credit he kept his easygoing appearance. “Right, so, you still can do fun things as a civilian.”

“Fun,” he said like he was testing the word. “It's been years since I last thought of that.”

Damian didn't mean to sound so grim, even if it was true, but by now he understood what Dick was trying to do. In the past he had tried countless times to make Damian participate in simple conversations, always failing but never discouraged; the Grayson of the past learned that what was important wasn't Damian's answers, but the things he didn't say.

Of course he couldn't expect the same from this Grayson. It wouldn't be fair.

“Maybe you can start now?” Dick gave Alfred a quick look, clearly asking for help since the approach he took seemed to be failing. “What do you like?”

Resisting the desire to call him a fool, Damian decided to be generous and throw him a bone to make up for his less than happy previous answers. “Weapons.” He said, putting on a bored tone. “Classical arts,” that was more for Alfred's benefit. “Training,” because he didn't know what else to do caged as he was in the mansion. “Animals.” The truth, at last.

And just like he intended, Dick perked up. “What's your favorite animal?”

“I don't have a preference, most of them are acceptable. Except snakes.”

“Everybody has a favorite! C'mon, if you have to choose one at random, what would it be?”

Only because he was entertaining the other, Damian decided to take it seriously. “A rabbit, I suppose. I never had one.”

For someone who was silently asking Alfred for help just moments ago, Dick seemed suddenly pretty comfortable. “You know I grew up in a circus?”

“It shows.”

“I had an elephant there, she was my favorite.”

“Don't be preposterous, Grayson, if anything, you were the elephant's.”

“Kind of makes sense, but no, you're missing the point.”

“That you tormented a poor creature that couldn't escape you?”

“Of course not, we were friends. She loves me.”

“That is what a criminal would say about his coerced victim.”

“What? Victim? No, you're twisting the innocent story I'm trying to tell.”

“Or maybe I'm bringing to light some dark secrets from your past.” Damian had to stop himself from smiling at Dick's response, which was a mixture of incredulity and indignation.

He wondered if Grayson knew he was just making fun of him. If that changed anything, if it was even important. But what Damian was sure of, is that he saw a faint but satisfied smile in Alfred's mouth, the same discreet smile he used to have every time Damian did anything that remotely resembled the normalcy of the kid he never got to be.

In this life or another, how Alfred always understood everything he was and could be, with just a first glance, Damian would never know.

⪻Chapter 1

Chapter 3⪼

#f.r.w.#chap2

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meritatem · 2 months

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Talia al Ghul, the Demon's Head, is always right.

And what a disappointment that is.

Damian had hoped that, as impressive as his mother was, maybe his father was even more so, hiding some extraordinary secret about himself that not even his mother could suspect, after all, how could an ordinary man attract his mother's attention? But after living with his father for the last two months, Damian had no other choice but to accept the disappointing truth: his father was just a bleeding heart, too invested in the worst city Damian has ever set foot on. No wonder why Wilson had been so incensed about Damian's existence, given such parentage.

However, his disillusionment was brief, because even after he considered the possibility of his mother being correct, he still found himself curious about what life was for people like his father and his army of strays. And ironically, those strays were, as far as Damian was concerned, the more interesting thing about one Bruce Wayne.

Thus, Damian treats his stay in Gotham like it's an infiltration mission, pretending he's just a very gifted child - intellectually speaking - while hiding the rest of his skillset. He's also magnanimous enough as to not only serenely tolerate the presence of his father's adoptees and wards, but also their endless tomfoolery. It helps that Damian is the sole heir of his mother's kingdom, so he doesn't mind all that much this not being the case with his father's.

His father is, apparently, as invested in charity efforts as he is in meaningless rituals. For example, he insists that every family member in the manor starts their day together, sharing a meal first thing in the morning before going on their separate ways for their daily routines. This too, mystifies Damian. Of course he eats in company of his mother from time to time, but it's not something considered mandatory. Still, he's follows his father's rules: sometimes intrigued, sometimes disapproving.

Case in point, while he tolerates the “family breakfast”, he disapproves of the local news being displayed on the huge screen that's strategically installed on the side of the table, so everybody doesn't have problems to see it. His father is always wrapped in the city's happenings, especially the crime related ones, which makes sense, because Grayson - his father's oldest adoptee - works as a law enforcement officer in the GCPD. Why the son of a billionaire decided to become a public servant so low in the chain is a mystery to Damian, but that's just another piece in the puzzle he's trying to solve about this so-called “normal life”.

Usually he can drown out the morning news, only picking what's really relevant from them; this morning everything is about The Riddler - one of the many, many infamous criminals of Gotham City - and the havoc he broke the day before, something that Damian has come to learn is commonplace in Gotham, every new day is one lunatic or the other. Nygma sending the GCPD on a wild chase against time to stop bombs scattered in the city while he forces the commissioner to answer his dull riddles, holds no interest for Damian... but as soon as he heard the name of an animal shelter being mentioned, suddenly all of his attention is on the screen, just like his father's. While the GCPD managed to stop in time most of the bombs, the shelter hadn't been so lucky.

His father, always the charitable fool, says something about a donation and plans to rebuild it somewhere else while the newscaster keeps talking, but Damian isn't paying attention anymore.

“It doesn't makes sense,” he says in the same tone he does when he's frustrated about an explanation that his tutors just gave him. “They're just animals. They're worthless for his cause.”

Damian knows the value of human life, is a currency in the League. Animals, on the other hand, are just that. Their value is made up depending on who you ask: for a loving pet owner, there could be no price, for a lowlife poacher, is whatever pays best. There's no gain in harming animals, on the contrary, they're part of the equilibrium in nature that humanity enjoys tromping all over.

“He accomplished nothing from their deaths!” And while he said this, he hit the table with the palms of his hands, making the cutlery tremble.

Damian does his best to recover his composure, because he's not with his mother, who usually would just raise a brow at his outburst, but it's a little late for that, because everybody on the table is looking at him now.

For all the time he spends half-awake, Drake - the fourth in the adoption line - is the first one to react, leaning against his father, very poorly whispering to him. “Change the channel, it's upsetting Damian.”

Damian, of course, takes offense to that but resists the urge to throw a fork at Drake's head. “I'm not upset,” he answered turning his nose, discontented. “I just find it... illogical.”

“Well, son. Sometimes people—”

His father voice is soft, like it always is when he's trying introduce something that clearly seems to be a new concept for Damian, which is why Damian decides to put a premature stop to it.

“Apologies, father,” he said while getting up, having no intention of being patronized so early in the morning, besides, they were things that had more importance at the moment. “I just remembered that I promised to call my mother first thing today, she must be heartbroken at my oversight.”

He doesn't wait for an answer or to be allowed to leave, because as much as he's trying to be respectful of his father's rules, he's still himself, very used to come and go as he pleases. His father calls for him but doesn't make an effort to stop him, nor he sounds insulted at Damian's lack of respect for his authority; Brown - his father's oldest ward - says that at the moment Damian has “youngest lost son privilege” and that's why he could “get away” with things that would ground the rest of his father's children. Whatever the case, Damian will make use of anything he can to his advantage. In more ways than one.

A little over two weeks later, The Riddler is all over the morning news again... because he's dead.

And while his newfound family - legally at least - is stuck in a chattering frenzy at the unexpected development, Damian takes a second serving of waffles, as a treat.

⪻Chapter 1

#f.w.f.g.#chap2

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