Robin vs. Damian Wayne

Author's Note: In this world, Damian left Bruce for the Himalayas when he was 11 years of age.

This story's plot picks up a year and two months after Batman vs. Robin. Why am I so specific, I don't know! It's the Maddie Hatter coming out in me. I don't know my thoughts... Or do I?

Warning: a little AU and seemingly OOC, but it is required for this story.

Grab your favorite drink and enjoy!

_RvD_

"...Then we fell, still fighting. A huge branch or something came out of nowhere an-and he," the tween's voice trailed off. He sat on his knees in the center of a wooden flooring.

A man dressed in dark robes sat opposite him. "What happened next?"

"He... He caught me," Damian's blue eyes twisted shut. "He broke my fall. And I repaid him by punching him in the face."

"And now you have reflected on your actions fully, what do you think of that night?" The monk folded his arms.

Damian relaxed his face, pondering, picturing that painful fight again and again. "It was stupid. It was childish. Being an assassin was ingrained in me from the day I could walk. I was supposed to be the best, but to gain that position I needed motivation. They chose anger. Unbridled rage."

"What is your motivation now?"

Damian looked down at his loose black clothing. He had been here for over a year. In the beginning, he had been tempted to tell these crazy worshippers what they wanted to hear to get out sooner, but Damian would be cheating himself then. No matter how much pain his body was going to feel, Damian promised himself that he wouldn't quit.

Now that he was so far along in his training, he was certain he didn't deserve to go home. Or to even think of calling Wayne Manor home. Bruce was probably used to him being gone by now.

Damian breathed deep. "Gratitude."

"Then I believe it's time."

He had arrived.

After many layovers and being stuck with strangers all day, Damian stood outside the gate with a leather backpack hanging off of one shoulder. Wayne Manor greeted him in a tall, glaring sort of way. It was as lonely looking as it had when he first left. He recalled a time he told Bruce this place wasn't his home. It had been true at the time, but where is home for the one who has nowhere to go?

Damian raised a hand to a red button, but he hesitated. Not ready. Whether he was thinking of Bruce, Alfred, or himself didn't matter. Someone wasn't ready.
Against his better judgment, Damian began typing the security code. He wouldn't have kept it. Bruce changes the passwords twice a week.

As if it was defying him, the gate opened. His blue eyes traced the old building ahead. He was shocked. He had kept that code all this time as if he expected me. Damian walked up the drive, spying only one light in a far window. That's Bruce's room.

Had Damian not been so nervous he would have smirked at the sight. Bruce was burning the midnight oil yet again. Some things were never bound to change.
The 12-year-old kid stepped up to the door, contemplating if he should knock or ring the doorbell. In the end, he was overcome with fixation to try the doorknob.

It was unlocked.

He stepped into the dark mansion and called out, but no one answered. Damian flipped on a light as he entered the living room. The youth was amazed at how quiet everything was. Had the place always been this quiet? He had never noticed the silence back then.
The light switch to the stairs was already on, and Damian took his time walking up them. He approached his father's bedroom and reached out a hand.

He paused in his effort. There were many defining moments in Damian's life. Some of them were unconscious moments, gone before he realized they held such value. Others were moments he could see coming. This was one of those moments. This next moment could change everything.

The door was creaky as it swung open. Damian prepared himself for what he was about to see.
A man in a tan coat straightened from an open drawer. The room was just as the kid remembered it. Large, warm, impressive with crown molding. But the man who stood in the room wasn't recognizable.

"Who are you?" Damian shifted his footing into a relaxed, yet hidden fighting stance. He had learned this technique from the monks when they began teaching him a new kind of self-defense.

"I could ask you the same thing." The man shoved his fists into his pockets and faced Damian head-on. He didn't seem like someone who was looking for a fight, but Damian could tell he was packing. Not packing to leave, but packing at least one gun.
Damian then realized just how torn up Bruce's room was. Things were torn out of drawers and boxes had been pulled out from under the bed. Paintings had been thrown onto the ground, and no trinket was left undisturbed. "You sure look like a thief."

"Well, I'm not. My name is Commissioner James Gordon. And who might you be?"

The preteen glanced about the room. What would Bruce want him to do? "Damian. I'm Bruce Wayne's ward." That tasted worse than he thought it would.

"Have you always been in this house?" The commissioner's face was so steady, and Damian had trouble reading him. The room was cold and the boy was beginning to not like the situation at hand.

"Where's Pennyworth?"

The commissioner walked toward him with even strides. "Taking care of some business downstairs. He sent me up here to look for some relevant documents of Bruce's."

"Where's Bruce?" Damian dropped his backpack to the floor.

"You'll have to ask Alfred about that."

The way he said downstairs was odd. There wasn't anything special about it unless he meant- The preteen's blue eyes enlarged.

The commissioner was right before him. His long adult arm reached out to touch Damian, but Damian was faster. He gripped the older man's wrist and jerked him down close enough to punch in the temple. The older man crumpled to the floor. Damian gripped his arms and dragged them over to the four poster bed. He handcuffed the adult and patted him down. He was packing. Damian went back to snatch up his backpack on the way out. He was jogging down the hall a second later and took a secret passageway down to the Batcave.

"Pennyworth, did you let a cop snoop around upstairs?" Damian sat his backpack, along with the badge he'd swiped from the adult upstairs, aside and approached the main computer.

The elder-like butler stared at him for the longest time.

"What?" Damian touched his head, "I know I'm in need of a haircut, but-" Alfred had engulfed him in a hug within the next possible second. Damian was going to push him away but thought better of it. This was not the welcome he had expected. He imagined debating, arguing, and possibly a haircut. But this wasn't on his list at all. Damian awkwardly wrapped his limp arms around the Butler.

Alfred squeezed him before letting go entirely. "Ah, the young master has returned. A true sight for sore eyes."

The kid studied the butler and his sore eyes. "You look tired."

"I am," Alfred sighed, "I am. Unfortunately, you have returned at a most troubling time. It would seem Batman has been kidnapped."

Batman kidnapped? Was that even possible? Damian shook his head at the mere thought. "How long?"

"For over four hours. He was going on a routine mission a day ago. His distress signal was activated four hours ago, and we have not heard from him since. I have taken the liberty of contacting Nightwing. He will be along very shortly." Alfred returned to his seat at the central computer and began typing. "The group taking responsibility for Batman's kidnapping call themselves the Eastern, a group which is known to have an affiliation with many of the drug cartels and a few of the Mafia in town. Well connected and well hidden. The distress signal was activated near the docks."

Damian nodded. "I'm going to go suit up."

"Master Damian," Alfred swiveled around in the chair until he was facing the kid, "I'm afraid there's more. The Eastern has demanded that a deal be made. One-hundred million dollars in return for Bruce Wayne and the Batman."

Damian stopped long enough to look over his shoulder. Eastern had removed the mask. That much was obvious. He thought about how many people there could be in the gang and the complications. People liked to talk.
Does this mean I have to kill them? Damian decided he would come to that conclusion when the time was right. All that mattered right now was finding Bruce.

Damian crossed his arms while he stared at his old uniform. It was kept behind perfectly cleaned glass. "Don't these guys know anything? Bruce's net worth is at least seven billion dollars."

Alfred raised an eyebrow before turning back to the computer. "Insult to injury, I quite agree, sir. However, let's hope they do not find out just how much he's worth."

Damian removed his suit from the container. "How do we know this threat is legit?"

Alfred was typing furiously, and most ordinary people would have thought that this was because he was such a busy man. And busy people were often hard of hearing, right? Wrong. Damian watched the elderly man. He wasn't telling him something. "Pennyworth?"

"We received some… Convincing evidence. They have also demanded the money to be transferred electronically."

The preteen stalked back over to the computer, suit in hand. "What kind of evidence?"

"I beg your pardon sir, but nothing that I will share with you."

"I was trained by assassins, Pennyworth. Torture was second nature to me at a young age. It doesn't bother me."

The elder man's fingers stopped as he turned to face the youth. "Then you very well know what someone can do in an hour, much less four."

Damian rushed to change after that. Alfred was still at the computer when Damian left, and Robin returned. "What are you working so hard on?"

"Attempting to figure out a way into Master Bruce's bank account. Neither of us dreamed of him ever being kidnapped as Batman. We were foolish for assuming... That's why I sent the good Commissioner upstairs, to see if he could find something. And yes, he knows. He is be gathering anything we can use to possibly hack the account."

"Why don't you log onto..." The dark haired youth considered his butler. "You tried too many times and froze the account."

"Batman does not keep his money just anywhere. Now where is the commissioner?"

Robin crossed his arms. "Yeah, about the cop... He is a little tied up right now and he may or may not have a concussion."

"Oh, my..."

"We can't send them the money. How do we know they won't dangle Batman over our heads for more money? We need a face-to-face meet. Did they give us a deadline?"

"Midnight tonight."

"That's less than three hours. All the banks are closed at this hour..." Robin clapped his green gloves together, "I have an idea! You remember the allowance Bruce used to give me each week?"

Alfred settled back in his chair with a sigh. "I remember you never failing to find ways to spend it all."

"That's just it; I never spent any of it."

Robin dug through the closet in his room, feeling for a hidden switch. He'd explained to Alfred how had he made it look like he'd spent all his money, but in all reality, he was just withdrawing cash multiple times from his account.

"So you hid all that money inside your closet? For what? Ow," Commissioner Gordon brought an ice pack to his head. He was awake and on the mend, currently seated on the kind size bed in Damian's room. He had decided not to press charges against the sidekick.

"A rainy day." Robin flipped the switch, and a wall gave, revealing a room filled with cash. "Grab a duffle bag and help me. We just need enough for them to think it's all there."

"Most of these are one hundred dollar bills." Alfred gripped stacks of cash and handed them over, quizzically eying the green bills. "We knew this room was here, but to think we never thought to look inside..."

"You adults are too trusting." Robin zipped the large bag closed before throwing it over his shoulder. "Pennyworth, send the coordinates to my R-Cycle and tell Eastern there has been a change of plans!"

The commissioner said something about staying safe, but Robin was already out the door.

"Robin, I really must insist that you wait for backup." The butler's voice crackled through Robin's helmet. The Boy Wonder looked down at the screen on his bike, watching the GPS as it guided him. He was speeding, amazingly so. It was like flying. His black and yellow cape rose and whipped behind him like deadly, avenging wings.

"He's too slow. Batman doesn't have forever. Just tell Eastern that we have their money and give them the same address you gave me. I'll handle the rest."

"I certainly hope you know what you are doing."

Robin brought his bike to a halt deep in the safety of the shadows. He armed it, removed his helmet, and secured the huge duffle over his shoulder. He shot off a grapple and decided to head for the warehouse quietly. "Me too."

His weight was thrown due to the cash, but he righted himself before landing in the window of a two-story building. The structure was nothing more than a warehouse that stored shipping crates. With his bird's eye view, Robin was able to spy the area where Batman must have been. Some crates were overturned, and one had a whole blown onto its side. He clicked a button on his left glove to check the time. He still had a little over an hour and a half until the meet.

Using his grapple, he glided to the first floor. Some of the cement ground bore burn marks while other parts showed signs of being scratched deep. Does Eastern have a pet dinosaur? Robin's mask narrows along with his eyes. Little black pieces of metal littered the floor. He kicked some of the debris with his foot. They were the remains of smoke pellets. Whatever happened to Batman, it kept him from making his quick escape. Robin ground his teeth. Whoever he faced may be able to see through smoke. He would need to be careful.

A high pitched beep made him jump. He sighed and pressed the button on his communicator. "Robin."

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Robin looked up to study the rafters above. "I'm guessing from the aged, annoyed, and male tone that I am speaking with Nightwing?"

"You just got back and are probably jet lagged; you shouldn't even be driving! What good do you think you will do by going it alone? Get your skinny butt back to headquarters now."

"Your worry for me is completely unnecessary."

"You want to know what is unnecessary? A brat who lone wolfs it and thinks he is so big and bad because he trained in subzero temperatures for the past year! Do you hear me?"

"Not really. I tend to tune out shouting." Robin grappled to the highest point in the ceiling.

"Robin, listen to me. Do not, I repeat, do not do anything until I get there!"

"Then hurry up." Robin balanced his way far out on a thin beam and took off the duffle. He tied some cable around the handles and slowly let the massive thing dangle in the air.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Some time later Robin was startled from his hiding spot. They were here. There were four of them, each carrying military grade rifles. They immediately spot the money with a groan.

"You have got to be kidding me," one of the four aimed his gun at the grapple holding the bag aloft. He fired a short found. The money swayed from the impact, but it didn't break.

"Just shoot it down!"

"Nah, you see how the cord is wrapped around it? We won't get much of it. And what good is a torn hundred dollar bill?"

"Weren't they supposed to send it online?"

"We're going to have to call the boss in for this one." The goon pulled out a communicator of some type. "East, we've got another problem."

Is East a man?

Robin pulled out a thin gadget and turned it on. Due to the speakers, he had placed all over the warehouse; the enemy below wouldn't know where his real voice was. "Greetings. As you can see, I have your money. I will gladly hand it over after you give me the Batman."

The four men below looked at each other in silence. One of them shook their head. "You see, we can't possibly hand him over until we legitimize the money. We aren't fond of people who change the rules."

Robin closes his eyes. "Well, you should have thought about that before you kidnapped a man who put away psychos for a living."

"Yeah, but we all know that's not his only living."

Robin worked his jaw, fighting his instincts that were telling him to move now. "Tell me where Batman is."

The communicator went off, and Robin could barely hear the scratchy voice. "Send him to us."

"You hear that? It sounds like you get what you wish. The Batman is up the road at 223 Main Street. Better hurry."

"You can have the money," Robin darts for the nearest exit, heading for his R-Cycle.

And Nightwing can have you.

Robin skidded to a halt on his bike and removed his helmet. He held up his right arm and hit a button. "Pennyworth, track me. I'm going in after Batman."

"Young master, I strongly advise against this."

"I know." He turned the volume off and began his trek around the old property. The front of the store was a butcher shop. What Robin was most interested in was the metal building behind it. There weren't any big windows. He would have to use the front door. Never was a great option in this line of work.
Creeping forward, he slid around the far side of the wide entrance. Dark shapes hung from the ceiling on the right aspect of the building in five neat rows. On the left side of the building were boxes and barrels. Aside from the warm, orange light in one corner of the room, it was pitch black. He edged his way inside. If he were going to take Batman hostage anywhere, this wouldn't be a horrible place. Secluded near the docks, terrible reception, and in a neighborhood where people were used to hearing screams.

The place smelled awful.

Red meat that was exposed to heat filled his nostrils. Something else putrid was mixed in the aroma. Just tying up someone and leave them to smell all that was torture enough. He wanted to gag, but that would make a noise.

Speaking of noise, he heard something. Someone sucked in a sharp breath before groaning. It was a sound of pain.

He couldn't stop himself. "Batman?"

Something clicked in response, accompanied with a small moan. "...trap."

Robin couldn't hear much, but that word had him tensing. He hair on the back of his neck stood. He leaped for a row of meat.

A gun blast went off, the bullet hitting where he had stood. Robin kept low, turning on his thermal scanner in his mask. Crouching under the meat, he could spy only one heat source and it wasn't moving.

"Found you." If that was Bruce, then the shooter had to be on higher ground.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." The flat tone echoed off the walls. Robin instantly hated that baritone. He rolled under the row of meat and ran for the closer wall. Robin kicked up his heels as bullets blasted, smacking into the flesh around Boy Wonder. He ducked low as he ran. Twisting, he threw a handful of smoke pellets and slowly made his way toward the heat signature.
With a thump the other heat signature landed on Robin's row, slowly closing in. He can see through the smoke. Robin watched as the red and orange figure lifted their right arm, a gun apparently in hand. He felt the moment when the man pulled the trigger, he judged the angle and leaned far to the side. Delicately he drew his sword.
The figure halted at sight, head tilting. "So you're the brat whose messed up a perfectly good kidnapping. There's no shame in the youth these days."

"I take it you're East?"

"And I take it you're the sidekick in crime fighting and everyday social life."

Robin tightened his grip. "That's only half true, but don't get upset. Not all of us are naturally smart."

His opponent snorted and raised his gun.

Robin ripped off his mask now that the smoke had cleared. He took off running at his opponent, deflecting one, two, three, four bullets before he sliced at the gun. East released it and backed away. Reaching into his own pockets, East threw some marbles his way. They fractured upon impact, and a green smoke began to pour from them.
Robin reached for a familiar place on his belt and put his breathing mask to his mouth. As soon as the gas met his eye, they stung him to tears. Robin screwed his green eye shut and breathed. Over the sound of hissing smoke balls, he could not hear East. He knew East hadn't run. A whisper of a footfall was all Robin heard from behind. Spinning, he struck. Slicing with two crisscrossing swipes, Robin heard someone cry out before they fell.

Robin peeked with a squint. The green swirls had dissipated somewhat, but it still stung. East was struggling to his fist. Leaping, Robin brought down his elbow on the back of the head. East landed like ten pounds of flour, unmoving. Picking up his mask, Robin activated his communicator.

"I have East. Send over the police and paramedics."

He removed a tiny vial from his belt and bent over East's body. Robin put the needle to the criminal's mask and depressed down. East wouldn't be able to remember much of the past week with the drug in his system. It was more than he deserved. Robin stepped back to see the angry, red X on East's chest.

"Understood." The relief in Alfred's voice was almost tangible. "And Batman?"

"I'm heading to him now."

Slipping his mask on, Robin made his way to the father he has not seen for a dozen or so months. Even in old and familiar gear, Robin felt like a child with stiff limbs. The faint heat signature from earlier was inside a room in the back with the door wide open. He stepped up to the entryway to see that it was the fridge. Though the door remained open, it was freezing. The floor was red, and a figure was slumped on his knees, cuffs and chains keeping him splayed against shelves.

The man was only that, a man in a costume. He face sported many bruises and cuts along his chin. His arms bled from the numerous cuts along them. And those were only the obvious wounds. The puddle of blood below Bruce scared him, jarring him. He could only imagine the internal damage done.

After a moment, the Dark Knight raised his head as if sensing his presence.

"Dad," Robin whispered against the chill, creating a white cloud with his breath. Bruce stilled, his black and blue eyes remained unmoving. Robin began to register what he had said. "Am I not allowed to call you that?"

"Get me out." Bruce wheezed those three words. Robin believed he had a collapsed lung and wasted no more time. After he had picked all the locks, Robin returned to face Bruce. It felt wrong to see him outside of the Batcave without his mask. He held out a hand to help Bruce stand, but the Dark Knight didn't take it. His massive arms wrapped around Robin and pulled him close, so close the Boy Wonder felt blood as it seeped into his uniform. Robin refused struggle; he refused to move lest he hurt his father.

Bruce tucked his chin into Robin's shoulder and mumbled something. "You came back."

Robin wasn't sure what to do with the man then. Sentimentality wasn't well received nor well reciprocated. His mother had made sure of that. What was so frustrating was that he wanted to return. He wanted to return the warm compliment, but he couldn't. He didn't know how.

At a loss, Robin leaned into Bruce's neck. "The bad guys won't stay out forever. Let's go." Robin stopped himself short of saying home. Just because he'd received a few hugs didn't mean he had their permission to stay.

Bruce tentatively released him. "Yeah."

With all the physical and mental trauma that was plaguing Bruce's body, he was out cold for two days. Alfred had said it was directly from blood loss and that he would be all right, but Damian still worried. Not that he had a chance to convey this. He had never been wonderful when sympathizing with others, and his bedside manner wasn't the best.
Alfred did everything. He was the one changing bandages, he was the one changing the IV, and he was the one who made sure Bruce was comfortable. But what did Damian do?

He sat.

Somehow he was saddled with making sure Bruce never stopped breathing. And so he sat.

Dick had decided to stay around for a few days. Alfred had him d the Dark Knight mantle during that time to keep evil on its toes. Damian had been asked to join the temporary Caped Crusader, but he always declined. His thrill for the night had been tainted as of late. Gotham had survived without him for over a year; a few more nights wouldn't be the end of humanity.

Bruce woke the morning of the third day and mumbled about hunger. Damian called for Alfred and helped Bruce drink while they waited. The older man settled down pitifully into his pillows. "What are you doing here?"

Damian stood back. That was a loaded question. "Someone has to keep you in line."

"That's what Alfred is for."

Damian reclaimed his blue armchair beside the bed. "He has become soft in his old age, and you know it."

The Butler chose then to appear with a tray balanced in his right hand. "I heard that, Master Damian."

"You were meant to." The preteen's grin was short lived as he watched Bruce struggle to overcome a painful cough.

Alfred assisted the man who was like his son, glancing at Damian while he worked. "Why don't you take a much-needed break, hm? I can handle him for an hour or two."

Damian was about to decline when a yawn attacked his mouth, rendering him speechless. "I'm just going to get some breakfast." He left the room soon after that. Instead of heading straight for the kitchen, the boy took a walk about the house. Everything was in its proper place. It was like he had never left.

After he had eaten a banana, he returned to see Bruce fast asleep again. Alfred looked up from his spot in the blue armchair.
Damian halted once he reached the bed, lightly touching the sheets with his fingertips. "I should have been here."

It was as if Alfred could read his thoughts, or read the future. He was already shaking his head. "And had yourself captured as well? I think not. My old heart cannot handle such ideas."

Damian's lips try a smile. "I'm so strong. 'Make him great,' that's what mom told Bruce. And he did. I have nerves of steel and a body of iron, but when it comes to sentimentalities like forgiveness and mercy... Love." He closed his eyes.

Alfred silently watched the troubled youth for a while before sighing. "I have found that such tender emotions are best learned around those who love you the most."

Damian turned to face the butler. Was that an invitation to stay?

Alfred continued, lifting a gloved hand to shoo the Ward better with. "Go do something healthy for a change. I will take the day shift, and I don't want to see you until it is dark."

Damian nodded and left without a word.

The preteen found himself in the bat cave a short while later. A strong man sat at the computer. If the cowl had been up, Damian could have convinced himself it was the Batman. But the cowl was not up, and this crusader was obviously not Bruce.

Richard Greyson spun his way. "Hey, squirt."

"Call me that again, and you die." Damian forwent dawning his suit and sat in the middle of the floor, taking up the position to meditate.

"Hm, so those monks didn't beat some respect into you. What did they teach you anyway?"

Damian opened one eye to glare at Dick. He wasn't helping anyone's concentration. The green eye closed again. "What did you do with Eastern's thugs?"

The elder of the two was silent for a moment. "Those thugs were bagged and shipped tidily to the good commissioner. He will make sure they keep nice and quiet. Last I heard the police were debating which prison East was going to. I also brought your money back. Well, most of it."

The Batcave was silent. The younger boy thought Dick was going to return to his research, but he was mistaken.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Damian sighed. "You talk too much."

"But at least I talk." Boots tap on the floor until they were next to Damian. The black cape rustled as Dick sat down next to him. "Tell me what's on your mind."

What was on Damian's mind was to be sarcastic- to protect himself from admitting what has become a reality. It was so much easier to pretend a lie than live the truth. But if he learned anything from the past year it was finding freedom through forgiveness. Forgiveness of himself.

He settled for taking reality on one step at a time. Bringing his knees up, Damian rested his elbows on them. "Did Pennyworth tell you what they did?"

The current Batman clicked his tongue. "How did you find out?"

"I have been by his for the past three days, do you think I didn't look him over?"

"Damian... I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have had to see that. "

Why? Because I am a child? Or because I'm his son? "I have never wanted to kill more in my entire life, and I have never known it to be more wrong than now. Life isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair." Richard echoed with a nod, gazing into the distance. Whatever he was thinking of was unseen. "I would bet all the money I have that all the Robins before you have said that at least once. It's like our mantra."

Damian worked his jaw. It was an effort to fight back guilt crawling up his stomach like a spider. He should've been there to protect Bruce's back.

Dick bumped his shoulder into the youths. "Fine. We won't talk about it all now. Tell me something I don't know about you."

That's a broad spectrum of answers. "I've driven the batmobile."

"How'd you manage that? Steal it?"

"No," Damian massaged the bridge of his nose, "He gave in after the five-hundred twenty-fourth time I asked."

Dick whistled his amazement. "And to think I gave up at a hundred."

"My stubbornness rivals Bruce's."

"Bruce? You don't call him dad?"

The youth thought back when to when he had seen Bruce. After years of being separated, after not being able to see him because of East, Damian couldn't keep the title of endearment in his throat back then. Bruce had never given him permission to use the endearment and he didn't comment on it when Robin had found him. He was possibly delirious with pain at the time, and so it may not have counted. "I used to call him father, but that seems too formal now. Mr. Wayne is too distant, and dad is too close. Bruce appeared to be the adequate option."

"Ever the perfectionist. Bruce told me you inherited that from him. He didn't seem too fond of that."

"You both talk about me?"

"Yeah. He never shuts up about you. I'm almost jealous because when he talks about you, it's like he's never had a kid before. Freaking heartbreaking and weirdly awesome at the same time."

Damian could not keep a grin back at that. He was different than the others. "Want to spar?"

Just as he walked down the second-floor hallway, Alfred stepped out of Bruce's room.

"Ah, Master Damian. I was just about to fetch you. Master Bruce wished for me to inform you that you are not needed tonight. We agreed you deserve a proper rest in your bed."

"Good, Pennyworth. I just need to clarify something with Bruce first."

"Of course."

Damian slowly entered the room and Bruce's eyes were merely on him.

"Hey," said his father. "Come in. Has Alfred spoken with you?"

The youth came up to the bed and nodded. He was drawn to look at Bruce's foot. It was covered by a sheet and quilt. But he knew that Bruce was never going to walk the same again. It tore the preteen 15 different ways to know this and for no one to talk to him about it.

Bruce noticed the look. He seemed to think that was another talk for another time. "How was the Himalayas?"

"They were fine. Cold. I didn't kill East."

Something that bordered on pride showed on Bruce's face. "Sounds like you learned a few things while you were gone. I'm glad you're back."

"Not back soon enough."

Bruce didn't hesitate and lifted the sheet. "Get in here."

"I'm not a child." I've been told that more times than I can count. It must be true.

"Come here."

It felt like a test. Damian slowly did as he was told and Bruce turned him so that his back was against his father's chest. Bruce kept his movements slow, and he groaned as he rolled onto his side. "Listen to me and listen well." Bruce's breath ruffled the back of Damian's head. "You came back at just the right time. Any earlier or any later would have been a mistake. Don't think differently."

Damian nodded stiffly. He didn't want the warm moment to end, but at the same time he did. It was awkward to be held from the back. Bruce could feel the tension.

"Did your mother never hold you like this?"

"Once, when I was dying of fever. You aren't dying with fever, are you?"

Bruce laughed and then groaned against the use of his lungs. "Not today."

Damian swallowed and chose his next words very carefully. "If Damian and Robin were two separate people, who would be more valuable to you?"

"...My son."

"What if I didn't have my assassin training?"

"I would still choose my son."

"What if I told you that I didn't want to be Robin anymore?"

"If you're trying to get me to disown you, it's not going to work. Damian trumps Robin every time."

"So, I can stay?"

Bruce hugged him tighter. "Was that ever a question?"

Damian responded by snuggling down into the warmth of his father. Perhaps being hugged like this wasn't so terrible.

_RvD_

The End

If you have enjoyed this short story, please let the author know by favoriting, following, and/or reviewing this work.