Here is another random celebration story. There are a few more family feels in this one. Hopefully you guys enjoy y implausible story. In terms of time, it's while Bruce is dead but after Tim comes back with proof Bruce is alive. As far as that goes, assume Tim hasn't said anything about Bruce being alive yet.

Damian, for all the years he'd spent in his mother's care, all the training and danger he'd gone through, he'd been lucky in that he'd never suffered a dangerous injury. Nothing invasive or breaking more than a few layers of skin. To Damian, it was a thing to be prideful of. At ten years old, having spent all ten years in the League of Assassins, he'd suffered no more than a few cuts needing nothing more than a bandage.

Now that he was living with Grayson, working as Robin alongside the new Batman, he still hadn't really suffered much more than a nosebleed. He was still proud of that. Beyond proud. Too proud.

He made a sloppy mistake. A foolish, childish, sloppy mistake. And he paid for it with a knife to the arm. It should have hurt. It should have gushed red blood and made him woozy. But no. Instead, as he rolled up his sleeve (after knocking the simpleton who'd done it) and looked carefully at his arm.

Instead of being met with torn flesh and bloody muscle, he was faced with a gaping hole and dark wires. One of the wires was clear and filled with red fluid of some sort. Blood, it looked like.

Damian heard, rather than felt, his breath catch. This was not right. He was his father's son, not some sort of… of… fake. Toy. Robot. He had to be human, his father's son, otherwise how did he age? Heal those tiny cuts he'd gotten before? Sleep? Eat?

In a removed way, Damian's mind was already working on a solution, a way to figure out what was going on. Why he was suddenly a… machine. It would be no use for Grayson to know. That was the only thing Damian was sure of. Otherwise, he might decide Damian wasn't fit to be Robin, maybe he'd even give it back to Drake.

Suddenly he heard a whoosh behind him and a small thump. Damian yanked his sleeve down quickly to hide his… injury.

"Did he give you any trouble?" Grayson asked, growling in a tone that was so similar to Damian's father that is hurt.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Damian scoffed. "He was merely a street thug. Easy to take down and even easier to disarm."

"Good to know you're so capable," Grayson said dryly. "Really, I'm so happy to hear it."

"Whatever. Where to next?"

"Actually, I was thinking we'd head back to the penthouse tonight. We've done plenty."

"What? I'm okay. We can stay out," Damian said.

"Nah, kid," Grayson said, rubbing Damian's head. Damian dodged away from Grayson's hand and scowled. "I'm tired. Tie him up and I'll call the cops."

"Fine. I'm going to bed when we get back."

"Okay," Grayson said, sounding confused at Damian's tone. "Something happen?"

"Of course not. I just have no desire to spend any time with you or Pennyworth tonight," Damian said stiffly.

"Names," Grayson admonished.

"Whatever," Damian grumbled. "Let's just go. He's tied up now."

"Yeah, kid. Let's head home."

Damian almost snorted at that. Home. Like it was his home. He was merely a nuisance that Grayson dealt with out of some sense of loyalty to Damian's father. Fake father, if Damian's injured arm had anything to say about it.

The ride back to the penthouse was silent, for the most part. Grayson tried to talk to Damian like he normally did, but Damian couldn't find it in himself to care enough to respond like he normally did with scathing comments or snarky replies. When they parked Damian jumped out and went to his room right away, not even taking the chance of changing out of his Robin uniform. Who knew what would happen if either Grayson or Pennyworth saw his arm?

Once he was sure his door was firmly locked, Damian stripped out of the uniform and changed into a simple t-shirt and pair of shorts. His arm, despite what should have been an incredibly detrimental wound, didn't hurt, wasn't numb, and didn't seem to have any ill side effects from the wound.

"I just need to find out what's happening to me, " Damian whispered. "Then I'll fix it."

So, taking a deep breath, Damian looked back at his arm. The… wound… for lack of a better term, wasn't too terrible, in terms of damage to the wires and gears visible in Damian's arm. He probably had everything he needed to fix it in his room. No doubt if this had been a real arm the damage to muscle and tendons would have been atrocious. Luckily for Damian - ha! Lucky - it wasn't.

He quickly set to work fixing it. He could seek answers from his mother later when Grayson and Pennyworth would be sure to not overhear him. It would be better that way.

In no time at all, Damian had repaired and replaced almost every seriously damaged part of his arm. All that was left was the skin. But if this was a fake arm, if Damian was a robot, like he suspected, it would heal. Maybe it would though. After all, other cuts had healed. So Damian took the medical kit he kept under his bed and began to suture his skin back together. Surprisingly, it was stinging now. Like a real cut should have.

Damian hid all evidence of what had happened. He grabbed a small flip phone out from the bottom of his desk and bit his lip, considering. His mother may answer his questions, but she was just as likely to tell him it wasn't important.

Shaking his head, Damian dialed her number. He needed to know what was going on, no matter the cost.

"Hello, darling," she said, voice silky smooth. "How is it playing hero?"

"Mother," Damian greeted stiffly. "I was stabbed today. In the arm. My left arm."

"Hmm," she hummed. "And I assume you're calling because of this. That you… discovered something."

"Yes. Am I really your son? His son?" Damian asked. Demanded.

"Of course you are, darling. Would I lie about that?"

Damian frowned. "No. You wouldn't. You're too proud."

"That's one way to put it, Damian. If you must know the answer, I will send you what you want to see. On one condition."

"I will not stop being Robin," Damian said.

"I know that. No, you are not to contact me any further. I may be your mother, Damian, and I do love you. But you aren't able to do what I want, and I can't love you as long as that is true. That is my condition, darling."

Her words were poison, hidden in smooth words and kind gestures, but poison.

"I understand, mother. I hope to be a worthy enemy." Still, Damian couldn't help but think that no matter his mother's faults, it was him who caused her to not love him enough.

"You will receive all the information you seek in an email in ten minutes," his mother said. "Goodbye, Damian."

The phone call ended with a click, but Damian kept it against his ear.

"Goodbye, mother," he whispered.

True to her word, the email arrived ten minutes later with file upon files of information. Schematics and information about biology. Everything he could have wished to know.

Damian poured over the information. It was all so much. His mother, cloning in artificial wombs wasn't as advanced as she'd claimed before. Instead, she'd created him. An android, for lack of a more accurate term, that started as a child, had DNA from her and his father incorporated. Could eat and grow and sleep and hurt and heal, the skin at least. He wasn't human.

Damian felt numb inside. Instead of a real heart beating it was machines and cogs inside of him. Instead of a brain, he had a central processing unit. His stomach imitated a real one. Even his hair and nails weren't like real human hair and nails. They were imitations.

Damian had claimed to be the blood son, but he didn't even have blood. He was a faker. A place-holder. Just like he'd called Drake. How depressing

Damian closed his laptop and crawled under his covers, hating how tired he was. He wasn't human. He shouldn't get tired. Still, his eyes drooped closed and he fell asleep.

"Damian, you awake? Damian. Damian."

"Go away, Grayson," Damian growled at his door. "I have no desire to speak to you."

"Wow, someone's cranky," Grayson said from behind the door. "Sure you don't want food?"

"Yes. I am sure."

"Fine, fine," Grayson said in a placating tone. "See you later."

"Not likely," Damian muttered, but Grayson was already gone. Besides, he wouldn't have heard anyway.

"Damian, Dick told me he's been trying to get you out of your room for days."

"And he called you?" Damian yelled.

"Who else could he call?" Drake asked.

"Someone competent," Damian shot back. "Go away."

There was silence, and for a moment Damian thought it had worked, but then the door popped open.

Damian sat up and glared at Drake.

"You hate me and I hate you. Now go away," Damian demanded.

"Sorry, brat," Drake scoffed. "Dick's orders to fix you. I'm just following rules."

Damian snarled. "I can't be fixed."

And now Drake looked like he pitied Damian. Great, just great.

"What's wrong?" Drake asked, and he actually looked worried.

"It's nothing important. You don't care."

"Not really," Drake agreed, moving further into the room and closing the door behind him. "But why not talk to me then. I'm unbiased by emotions."

Damian snorted. "Aren't you usually the most biased?"

Drake shrugged, which wasn't a denial.

"Fine, you really want to know?"

Again, Drake shrugged.

"Here." Damian turned his laptop on and shoved it at Drake. "Read it."

There seemed to be no need for the last order. Drake's eyes were already scanning all the files quickly. Damian watched for a moment, but when Drake turned to look at him he looked away.

"I'm not his son, not really. Now you know. I'm a fake. A robot. Probably with programming to kill you all."

"Damian…"

"Just say it," Damian snapped. "Say it. I know you want to."

"Damian, you're not a fake."

Damian froze.

"Look, I'm not good at this. I'm messed up enough and any advice I offer shouldn't exactly be taken seriously, but just listen." Drake paused and took a deep breath. "It's not your fault. And honestly, I don't think Dick will care. He loves you for you, kid. Robot or not."

"I'm not even a real person," Damian growled.

"Aren't you?" Drake asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your personality was shaped by your life events. You have your own mind. You're good now, even if you're a brat. Seems like a person to me."

"I can't… there's no reason for him to even like me anymore. I'm not fathe- Bruce's son. He doesn't need to put up with me."

"First off, don't call your dad Bruce." Drake shuddered. "It's creepy. Second, Dick doesn't care. He loves you. How many time do I have to say it to get it through your thick skull."

"Actually, it's a composite foam made out of steel," Damian said.

Drake stared at him blankly. "Was that a joke? Did Damian Wayne just make a joke? Oh my god, the world is ending."

"Haha," Damian said dryly. He paused. "Grayson really won't care."

"Definitely not," Drake promised. "I'll give up Robin if I'm right."

"I'm Robin."

"Exactly," Drake said smugly.

"Then thank you, Drake, for your… advice."

"No problem, brat. I'll keep this quiet until you want to say something. Just… come out, please? Dick is starting to go crazy and even Alfred's been worried, not that he said anything."

"Yes, I'll come out. And Drake, thank you."

Damian smiled slightly at Drake, and at that moment he knew that no matter what he thought of him most of the time, in this he had an ally in Drake. Strange though it may be, Damian would go so far as to say it was almost like they were brothers, not that he'd admit that. Ever.