Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amidst the chaos of the apparent assassination of R’as Al Ghul, Talia saw an opening. From the wreckage emerged Damian Al Ghul Wayne. 

She ushered him into the plane before getting in herself, she took off as soon as she saw Damian buckled and secure.

Damian didn’t ask questions, even as he got into a plane and fled from the only home he’s ever known, if he needed to know, she would have told him. Even so, he was confused. Was this not the moment he’d been trained for all his life? He was under the impression that he would one day inherit his grandfather's empire, and with his grandfather presumed dead, was he not meant to step in?

“Damian, you know the stories of your fathers, no?”

“Yes, mother.” Of course he did, Damians father was the thing of legends, invincible in his own right, formidable to even the strongest man alive, clever beyond words.

“You will be meeting your father, and… you will be leaving me. Prepare yourself.” Damian wanted to protest, the excitement of meeting the man he was meant to be clashing with the knowledge he will be without his mother. Of course, he wasn’t childish enough to need his mother to hold his hand through life, but… he wasn’t expecting to be without her so soon.

“Understood.” He bit back the childish, idiotic urge to cry. 

Talia had never wanted to leave her son, but she had no choice. She had done… Awful things to her beloved to conceive Damian. Things that should not be forgiven. And with the League in tatters, someone needed to take charge. She was going to change the League, morphe it into a lineage she could be proud of.

Damian would be safe with Bruce. He had done well with his boys so far. Perhaps she should tell Damian he would have older brothers, even if they were just adoptive brothers. 

She spared a glance at Damian and decided to keep quiet. His brows were furrowed even deeper than they usually were and his teeth were clenched, a juxtaposition to his relaxed posture. It would be cruel to further attach herself to her so close to her leaving.

The day was quiet, Damian watched the sun slowly dwindle to darkness and then the moon shining bright above them all. He tried to identify constellations as they flew, but he wasn’t great at astronomy, he missed three.

Talia watched her son nodding off into a slumber that can only be experienced above the clouds in her peripheral vision. She wanted so badly to press a kiss to his forehead, to smooth out his furrowed eyebrows, to put a blanket over him, one last time. But as it were, she didn’t have the luxury. She focused her attention to the sky before her.

—

Damian awoke quickly, eyes shooting open and sitting up immediately. He gauged his surroundings with minimal movement, the day before flashing through his mind, crumbling stone, chaos, flight.

“Come habibi ,” his mother urged him, Damian complied, on autopilot. Whenever his mother called him endearingly, it was usually followed by, albeit more comfortable, pain. He then remembered that she will be leaving him for who knows how long. His heart ached.

—

A few taxi and bus rides later, they arrived at the gates. Talia knelt to Damians level and grabbed his shoulders, firm but not punishing.

“This is where I leave you, Damin .” Talia pressed her forehead to her son’s, closing her eyes, mourning their relationship already. It took everything in her not to cry as she pressed her lips to his forehead and hugged him closely. She took a deep breath to compose herself and separated herself from him.

“Give this to him,” Talia put an envelope in his hand, “and remember, observe before you act, always. Be respectful, and behave.” It pained Talia to turn away from her heart, but she had to leave. She didn’t have a choice. She let the tears fall without a sound as she walked away. 

—

Damian felt a headache beginning to form as the lump in his throat fought to escape. He felt the need to rub his chest with his wrist, and with no one looking, he allowed himself to. He moved the pressure up and behind his neck then to his leg before he composed himself, and with resolve, he buzzed the gate.

“Hello, what might your business be at Wayne Manor?” A distinctly British man answered.

“My name is Damian Al- Wayne,” he hoped that slip up went undetected, he noted to repeat his new name to himself in order to make the recent change the default, “I must speak with my father.”

“Well then.” The gate began to open, and Damian wondered if they would let any child claiming to be Father’s child in. It seemed to be a security flaw, the servant manning the gate should be fired immediately. He made a note to bring it up to Father.

He knocked on the door after a decent walk, and it wasn’t a minute before it was answered.

“Master Wayne is busy at the moment, however, if you’ll follow me,” the old butler instructed, and while he didn’t want to take orders from a mere servant, he didn’t have enough information to protest.

He was led into a room that held a couch with a table set in front of it, across from it sat two chairs with a smaller table between them, and two cushioned benches. The atmosphere was deceptively inviting, but Damian knew better, this was clearly not a family room, it was too perfect to be a living space. He was still being treated like a guest despite being let in after declaring himself to be a family member. So maybe the servant wasn’t an imbecile.

“Wait here, I shall inform Master Wayne of your presence,” the servant said before making a swift exit.

Damian sat on a chair, back straight, which proved to be difficult on such a comfortable chair. The cushioning made him want to curl up in it and take a nap. He fought a yawn and straightened his posture when he noticed he was drooping.

Damian felt like it was ages before his father entered the room in distinctly uncouth attire. He was wearing a robe, he had not shaved, his hair was a mess, and he had dark purple under eyes. He was taken aback, this could not be the same man from the stories, but he could, unfortunately, see the resemblance. 

“My apologies, Master Wayne is not fond of mornings.” Alfred actually had to nearly drag him out of his bed, which wasn’t all that surprising considering it was six in the a.m, but a hassle nonetheless. He would have offered a bed to the young boy, but the resemblance was uncanny, and he seemed set on meeting Master Bruce. It may have been selfish of him to wake his charge so early just so he wouldn’t have to deal with yet another child arguing with him, however, he had had a long week and he was running on no sleep and Master Bruce got five more hours of sleep than he did. He was due for a bit of selfishness. 

“I was told to give this to you upon our meeting.” The boy held out an envelope, and Bruce took it. He rubbed his eyes to clear up his vision, on the envelope read, Beloved. Suddenly, Bruce was wide awake, he recalled that blurry night eight years ago, but she told me she miscarried. He opened it.

Dear beloved,

Firstly, I will admit that what I have done to you is unforgivable, you should not forgive me. I knew you would be leaving me, and I wanted to keep a part of you, I am extremely remorseful. 

If you are reading this, our son is with you. You must care for him, I have brought him to you as soon as I was able. The League is no place to raise a child, you know this. 

You are wondering why I lied to you and told you I miscarried, truthfully, I selfishly wanted to raise him myself. When I realized my mistake, you had already left. My father wants to raise him to inherit the League of Assassins, I do not want that for him. 

Please do not condemn Damian for my wrongdoing, Damian is his own person, and he will prove that to you with time. 

~Talia

Well, he would have to verify his DNA, but regardless, he had yet another child in his care only a year after he took in Tim. His chest felt congested with emotion, he couldn’t help the little memory he has of that night surfacing, remembering just how hopeless he felt. He had loved Talia before; she was an incredible woman, he couldn’t help falling in love, but he could never trust her again. He was going to need to push up his next therapy appointment. 

Damian watched him anxiously, a scowl appearing on his face as he struggled to stay awake waiting for his father to address him. He could see the tension radiating off of his father in waves, he was obviously stressed about something.

The child was glaring at him when he looked up from the letter, and he had to admit, the resemblance was uncanny. He had Talias eyes, her skin, and thick hair, but other than that it was like he was a mini Bruce, scowl and all. The expression looked odd on his baby face, now that Bruce was actually looking at it, it looked more like he was focusing really hard on something than glaring.

The clock was ticking loudly, the sound of morning birds and rustling trees dominated the oppressive silence. Sunlight was not yet visible, but the sky became more blue by the second; it felt like an eternity since they began their staring contest; Bruce participating unknowingly and Damian taking his intense scrutiny as a challenge. Both of them were fighting off sleep in very different yet similar ways; Bruce felt more Zombie than human and Damian felt like if he didn’t force his eyes to stay wide open he’d fall asleep.

“You must be tired,” Bruce finally spoke, slightly falling asleep with his eyes open.

“I am not,” Damian insisted. Admitting he was tired was akin to admitting weakness, and he would not fail this test.

“Jetlag, you’re tired,” Bruce’s brows pinched together, he tried to remember which rooms would already be made up and he was drawing a blank, “I’ll go get Alfred, you will sleep, that’s nonnegotiable.”

Damian nodded stiffly and watched his Father leave the room yawning and not making a sound; impressive for a man of his stature. Damian felt a yawn coming up and consciously let it out, he was given the order to sleep, so this was fine, right? He gave in to the comfy chair, curling up in it not unlike a cat. Typically he’d sleep in a more dignified position, but he was alone and this was the most convenient way to sleep. 

Bruce never made it to Alfred, he forgot why he was awake and went to sleep in his bed.

Alfred found the poor boy a half hour later, curled up and dozing. He looked like he was cold, his extremities tucked away, so Alfred draped a blanket over him and busied himself with tidying up the room, thinking it unwise to leave a small child alone in the labyrinth that was Wayne manor.

Soon, he ran out of menial things to obsess over, so he brewed himself some earl grey for energy and watched over the boy while sipping on it and reading Master Jason’s new favorite book of the week. This week's read was a little young for his taste, but Master Jason liked hearing Alfred’s reviews on his favorite books, it had become tradition between the two of them and Alfred would not discontinue it for such a silly reason. 

Sunlight began to trickle in as the sun made itself known to the world, Damian had been pretending to sleep for a good couple of minutes. He was comfortable and guarded, it was a familiar feeling, a feeling he thought he would never feel again when his mother turned her back on him, and he wanted to savor it. He soaked in the warmth of the sun and didn’t quite fall asleep so much as he rested his eyes.

Chapter Text

Damian heard a door open and shot up, immediately turning his sharp gaze to the offending door to be met with a very confused Tim, which in turn confused Damian, both wondering why there was a random child in the manor. 

“Master Tim, you’re up early,” Alfred said while taking off his reading glasses and setting his book to the side, “what’s the occasion?”

Unlike Damian, Tim was able to deduce that the other child was not a threat by how lax Alfred was, so he easily turned his head back to the man he spent twenty minutes looking for.

“I couldn’t find you in the kitchen, Jason called me to announce that he was going to throw up, and did it while I was still on the phone.” Not a sound he wanted to hear first thing in the morning. Tim shivered at the recollection.

”Well then, sounds like I have a mess to clean up,” Alfred sighed inwardly, he truly thought he would be done cleaning up vomit once Bruce became a young man. Curse his ward’s fatherly tendencies.

He took a final look at Tim fidgeting in the doorway and a secret smile made its way into his expression, curse his fatherly tendencies indeed. Alfred placed a gentle hand on Tims head on his way out to take care of his other grandson.

Tim watched Alfred leave, heart swelling at the fond gesture, then turned his attention back to the child still staring at him menacingly. Before Tim could say anything, he was being attacked.

Even with his minimal Robin training he was bested by a child half the size of him, it would be a little embarrassing if it wasn’t so shocking.

”What the fuck-“ Tim struggled with the boys hand digging into his neck.

”Who are you and what are you doing in my fathers home?”

Now that Tim was really looking at him, he did look like Bruce. He was darker and baby-faced, but the facial structure was remarkably similar.

”I’m Tim, I…” He wasn’t Bruce’s son, not yet at least, that thought was a bit more hopeful than he was comfortable with, “live here?”

Damians eye’s narrowed, Tim did have Father’s eyes and hair, but no resemblance beyond the color. 

“I wasn’t aware Father had other children.”

”Oh, I’m not- well, he does, but I’m not… one of them? He just has custody of me, could you get off?” Tim was starting to get light-headed from the way the demon was cutting off the blood circulation to his head, still in a failed half-guard with Damians hand around his throat, little nails digging into his skin. Damian’s eyes narrowed again.

”No.” So… what was Tim supposed to do? Was he just supposed to… stay there until he blacked out? The little demons claws tightened.

Damian heard footsteps approaching and his head snapped to attention as the butler entered the room. 

As soon as Alfred saw the scene, his gaze hardened. 

“Get off of him or I will remove you myself.” Alfred and Damian had an intense stare down. Damian did not back down when the old butler rolled up his sleeves impassively or when he advanced. There wasn’t a world in which a mere butler could overpower Damian Al Ghul.

However, when Damian felt the butler’s grip, he realized he’d been deceived. His strength did not match his image, even when Damian tightened his grip on the stranger, the man still managed to get Damian away from his opponent.

Damian blamed the ease in which Alfred picked him up on his exhaustion.

”Now stay, I will get to you in a minute.” Alfred watched as Damian went to sit, the child glaring the whole way, but looking sufficiently scolded, before turning his attention back to Tim.

Tim touched where the little demon broke his skin. The sting was uncomfortably familiar, memories of nails digging into his arms, hands, and the back of his neck rose from where he recently buried them. He shook the painful memories away with the sensation of his own thumbnail making an indent on his finger.

”Come, stand up,” Alfred said, kneeling as Tim stood on his own. Alfred tilted his head up to look and the little crescent shaped marks on the sides of Tims neck, painfully familiar on the boys skin. Alfred clicked his tongue before standing.

”Come along now, both of you.” Alfred led the boys to the nearest medical kit which happened to be in the kitchen. How convenient, he could get Tim cleaned up then get breakfast started.

He disinfected each mark that broke the skin, thankfully they weren’t bleeding, but they looked like they hurt quite a bit judging by the way Tim flinched with each dab of the disinfectant. A notable lack of obvious reactions told him that Tim still wasn’t all there, a common thing when the child first wakes up. He let Tim choose the bandaids and applied them with care.

”There, all clean, now go take out some eggs and toast for me,” Alfred requested with a gentle expression before turning to the cause of said marks.

”I haven’t a clue how you were raised, but in this household this kind of behavior will not be tolerated, understood?”

Damian felt his ears grow hot. How dare a mere servant treat him like this?

”I asked you a question young sir, I expect an answer.” But the servant leveled him with a glare that demanded respect, posture that held strength, and a voice that allowed no argument. Despite the established hierarchy, he found it impossible to ignore such traits.

”Understood.” It did not help the shame he felt from being scolded by a lowly butler, but clearly this butler held power.

”Good, I will make breakfast and leave you with your father to take care of your brother. Any dietary restrictions I should be made aware of?” 

“No.” Damian scowled at the mention of his supposed ‘brother,’ Mother would have told him if he had brothers. 

Father arrived for breakfast a little later, this time looking a little more presentable. His face was freshly shaven and he was in a suit, but he still looked tired.

”Not going to school, Tim?” Father addressed the intruder.

”It’s a teacher work day.” Tim said and Bruce made a grunt of acknowledgement.

”Good morning Father.” Damian sat up straighter even though it hurt his spine.

That woke Bruce right up, none of his boys called him ‘father.’ He looked up and there sat the boy who looked remarkably like himself, the son he didn’t know he had.

”Good morning, Damian,” Bruce glanced at Alfred for help.

”I already informed Lucius you will not be in the office today, sir. Damian, why don’t you tell Master Bruce about your morning?” Damian glared at the old butler.

Bruce assumed Alfred was passive aggressively reminding him of how he left the boy to sleep on the couch, he opened his mouth to apologize but before he could, Alfred lifted Tim’s chin to expose the bandaids on his neck, “This is what he did this morning.” 

Tim ducked his head immediately, he didn’t like being the center of attention, and he didn’t want to be the reason someone was in trouble.

Bruce could tell he had his work cut out for him. 

”It’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt anymore,” he grumbled, pushing his eggs around.

”It’s not fine.” Bruce said, feeling a little lost. He didn’t know how to deal with this

Damian glared at his eggs. Why did no one understand? He didn’t do anything wrong . Timothy was an interloper. An outsider.

“Timothy said himself, he does not belong here!”

”You do belong here Tim.”

”I didn’t say that, I said I lived here and you were fostering me!”

”I’m not an imbecile, I know only blood resides in the main house.”

”I implore you to lower your voices in my kitchen.” Alfred said, effectively capturing everyone’s attention.

“Sorry.” Tim said, lowering his head, his ears hot, fists clenched and nails digging into his palms. 

Bruce looked helplessly between Tim and Damian, trying to decide who needed him more immediately. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tim pushed his plate away and stood up.

”Sorry, I’m not hungry,” Tim said before leaving the kitchen, being careful not to show the anger etched into his features. Anger wasn’t safe.

Anger would always get him hurt.

Chapter Text

Tim immediately made his way to his room. He choked on suppressed cries and his head hurt from holding in tears by the time he got there. He swiftly shut his door behind him and began hyperventilating, and he let the tears fall. 

He wanted to scream and cry but he couldn’t let himself, instead he dug his nails into his skin and dragged. Over and over, back and forth until his arms were burning and he could finally breathe and let himself cry. 

He looked at his bare walls and his heart ached in his chest. He didn’t belong there. Of course he didn’t, but where else could he go? Anything he’d do would just further inconvenience the Waynes, he didn’t know what to do. Jason was sick, Dick was in Bludhaven, he was alone. 

———

Bruce and Damian had a stare down, Damian feeling defensive and Bruce feeling lost, both making the same angry face. 

“Damian.”

”Father.”

”What you did was unacceptable, you hurt someone before investigating-“

”But-“

”No, this isn’t a discussion, Tim lives here, you attacked him in his home even when Alfred easily accepted his presence.”

”How do you know-“

“Did he?” Bruce waited for an answer but Damian’s jaw snapped shut, ”that's what I thought, you’re going to apologize to Tim, I’ll help you find him.” Bruce felt good about this decision, Tim deserved an apology and Damian will know that this is something that was worth giving an apology for, right?

Damian however, was baffled, he understood that he had a lapse in judgment and he now realized he did not follow his mothers instruction, but why did he have to apologize to the interloper? Shouldn’t he be apologizing to his mother? Or Father?

”Come on, I’ll walk you to his room.”

Damian followed his father through the maze of halls that reminded him of home before they stopped at a door with a simple sign reading: “Timothy Drake Wayne,” with Drake and Wayne scribbled out.

Father knocked on Drake’s door for him after he stood their with his arms crossed, glaring at the door for a while.

”Come in!”

Damian strolled in and stopped in his tracks when he saw Timothy’s arms. They were scratched raw and bleeding in some places where the skin was broken. Damian remembered all the times he had to give himself lashings when Grandfather was training him.

”What do you want.” 

”Why are you punishing yourself? According to Father you’ve done nothing wrong.” Drakes eyes widened as he looked down at his arms.

”Shit.” 

He went into the bathroom and the water started running. When he came back he had a flannel shirt covering his arms.

“Why are you still here.” He mumbled, not making eye contact. Damian supposed he didn’t have to, Damian didn’t have authority over him. He looked like he’d been crying.

”I’m meant to apologize,” Damian answered.

”Apology accepted, now get out.”

Damian listened, if only to get away from the memories of raised skin on his back.

When he left the room, there was no one waiting. He didn’t know what to do so he sat criss cross in front of the door.

”I’m sorry Damian, I got a work call, how did it go?”

”It went well, did Timothy do something wrong?” 

Father’s face scrunched in confusion at Damians question.

”No, why?”

”Well, it seemed like he was inflicting harm on himself.” 

Father looked alarmed at the enlightenment, he immediately went to knock on Drakes door.

”Tim, can I come in?”

”Sure.”

“Let me see your arms.”

Tim glared at Damian who was peaking into the room, Damian shrunk into himself a little at the intensity of it.

”I’m fine,” Tim pushed past Father and stormed off, glaring at Damian on the way.

”Tim!” Father called after him. If Timothy didn’t have anything to punish himself for before, he did now. Damian followed after him before he could hear his father tell him to wait. He supposed he should learn a little more about the intruder if they’re meant to cohabitate.

Chapter Text

Tim panicked and stormed off to one of the various walk-in closets to calm himself. Not only was the new addition to the family a murder-baby, he was also a narc. He felt kind of mad for sending a Janet Drake Certified glare an eight year-olds way, but the little demon deserved it.

His mom never liked when he had his little meltdowns in the summertime, said it was a nuisance trying to explain why he was wearing long sleeves in the heat. Her solution was to just stop taking him places at all. “If you can’t act decent, you can’t be seen in decent places,” is what she said. He supposed it made enough sense.

God, just thinking about the whole thing pissed him off, why couldn’t the little asshole just mind his business, it’s not like Tim does it to hurt himself  and he wasn’t bleeding anyway, he was fine. 

There was no knock on the door before Damian snuck into the closet with him. Tim stopped crying to glare at the little brat, no sense of privacy, why couldn’t he just have a mental breakdown in peace?

”Why do you scratch your arms?” No sense of delicacy either. Tim took a deep breath.

”Nunya.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed.

”What does that mean?”

“Nunya business, that's what it means, leave me alone narc."

Damian didn't know what that meant either, but decided against asking.

Tim sighed, no matter how he looked at him, Damian was just a kid, maybe a violent, rude, awful kid, but still a kid. He couldn't be mad at him for too long.

"It's how I calm myself down, okay? I don't do it to hurt myself."

Damian scrunched his nose at that, that seemed like a fairly inefficient way to go about calming down.

"Why not do breathing exercises? It's less harmful and faster."

Tim guessed maybe he could be mad at him for too long, he was older he shouldn't be so irritated, he shouldn't take it personally...

He gave him a humorless smile, "oh, really? I've never tried the most common grounding technique on earth before, thank you for that insight." It was mean, Tim knew it was mean (well, too mean for an 8 year old), but he couldn't stop himself, it was words or violence and words seemed less disruptive.

Damian couldn't understand why he felt so bad after hearing those words; they were completely innocuous, but it made him feel shame from his core to the tips of his ears.

"Look, you don't like me? Fine. Mind your own business and I'll mind mine." Tim shoved past Damian, irritation overpowering shame and despair.

Damian looked at his back as he stormed away, feeling smaller than he ever thought possible, which just couldn't be right; Damian bested him in combat, Damian was blood, Timothy was a mere stranger. In what universe was a stranger more beloved than a blood relative?

This universe apparently.

He felt so lost, he imagined meeting his father countless times. He figured he'd be loved and accepted right away. He was wrong, and it set him on edge. He tried to shake the wrongness out of his limbs but the feeling persisted, everything was so wrong and different than he expected. He swallowed the feeling down and took a deep breath, and another, and another and so on until he felt a headache behind his eyes. He wasn't supposed to cry, it was weak and childish… but he was alone, who was going to know besides himself?

So he let go a little and let the tears fall just enough to relieve the pressure and get his breathing under control, any more would be self indulgent. He wiped his face clean of tears and left the closet only to find he didn't know where he was. It was fine, there was no possible way a place as small as the manor would be as labrynthian as the palace.

—

Bruce was still at his room door looking contemplative, he looked up with a relieved expression and Tim— like always— was confused by this reaction. He figured Bruce would be at least a little mad that Tim wasn't employing the "healthy coping mechanisms" they were trying to replace the scratching with. His bafflement made him stop his approach, made him want to run away again. Not for the first time he missed the silence, the predictable unpredictability of his parents, the freedom of being alone.

"Tim."

"Bruce?"

Bruce was floundering for what to say, Tim could tell cause he looked like he was trying to solve a case that's been cold for months. Tim just took the flannel off and showed him the wounds.

Bruce made a noise not unlike a wounded animal that made Tim look away, shame creeping up his arms and settling in his gut like manicured fingernails digging into his skin.

"Let's get you patched up," Bruce put an arm around him and rubbed up and down his arm and just like that the shame dissipated into nervous calmness.

They kept a medkit in his bathroom for this exact reason, Tim could clean himself up, everyone knew that, but Tim also knew that letting them help him made them feel better for some reason so anytime someone found him like that he'd always let them. This time was no different, Tim could see the tension leak out of Bruces shoulders as he gently applied ointment and bandaged broken skin. When he was done he held the back of his head and placed a kiss in his hair, a fatherly gesture he's seen Bruce give Jason and Dick countless times, but still couldn't get used to getting himself. It always made nervous joy bubble out of his heart, he couldn't help smiling.

Damian watched the scene silently and realized something. He was the outsider here. He was the one who needed to prove himself. He snuck away before they could notice his presence.

This was good. He had a goal. He had to get his father and brothers to like him before he could get comfortable here, but how? Did he have to hurt himself like Timothy? Was he meant to show weakness on purpose? The thought seemed contradictory, weakness did not earn him love. Ever.

He needed to observe more, he needed to see how father loved interracted with the other brothers Timothy mentioned briefly. Then he would decide his course of action. Observe before you act, always.

Chapter Text

Damian snuck around the manor like a phantom. Watched as Pennyworth went in and out of a room bringing food, water, and medicine in and dishes out. He's learned something crucial while spying on the butler and Jason(?), like he suspected, Pennyworth is no mere servant (of course no ordinary servant could possibly best Damian Al Wayne). He couldn't tell exactly what his position was, but he deduced that despite the false servitude, he was actually highest in the hierarchy of the Wayne family. Not a single person dared question him, and he could shut down anything with a simple look. However, his position as butler confused Damian. If he was the strongest, why does he choose to work? He was under no impression that Pennyworth was under any actual obligation to serve those lower than him.

Damian struck as Pennyworth was fixing lunch, he slid into a seat at the kitchen island and waited for Pennyworth to acknowledge him.

"Master Damian." He didn't even turn to face him.

"Sir." That, he didn't even turn turn at.

"Please, just Alfred is quite alright, now I assume you didn't come to watch me cook."

"Yes, that is correct, may I ask a question?"

"Ask away my boy."

"Why do you choose servitude?"

Pennyworth wore a face of offense, and Damian regretted asking, he didn't intend to offend.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to offend, I was just wondering since it seems like there would be no consequences if you chose not to work, and it seems like you could get everyone else to work for you if you so choose." Damian spoke a little too fast, fidgeted a little too much, and broke eye contact. He was getting lax.

Instead of ridicule, the old man merely laughed.

"I'm sure that's true, so you want to know why I don't get my loved ones to do my bidding if I know they'd do anything I asked?"

Damian nodded hesitantly.

"Because I don't want to. I much prefer being the caretaker to being cared after, what about you master Damian? Would you rather take care of or be taken care of?"

Damian looked down to think— a bad habit grandfather used to scold him for— and Pennyworth left him to his thoughts for a while before placing a plate in front of him. It was a sandwich. The meat looked weird.

"Is something the matter dear boy?"

"It looks weird."

Pennyworth gave a thoughtful hum.

"What about it, master Damian?"

"The.. turkey?"

"It is ham, is that something you can't have?"

"I don't know what that is." The smell was making him nauseous tho so he pushed his plate away.

Pennyworth sighed, "I see, so you can not have pork, I suppose I'll eat this myself later. I will take food to master Jason and call master Tim down for lunch, then I will sort out what to make you for lunch."

Damian didn't know what pork was, but he didn't want it. After Pennyworth left, he also left the kitchen to get away from the smell. He went to the closest sitting room which, in contrast to where he was led the day before, looked lived in. There was an unfinished chess game on the coffee table, a TV, and a bookshelf of young literature. Damian gravitated toward the bookshelf, he picked up a book he figured would be engaging enough and sat back on the couch to read.

Alfred came back with a new sandwich at some point but he didn't remember, only saw an empty plate of crumbs as evidence. Before he knew it, the sun had set and the book had been finished. The book was horrifying, but it was also extremely intriguing and he wanted to know more. He flipped the last page back and forth in some hope that there was more, there wasn't.

"Good book, right?" Damian startled when he saw the boy, bundled in blankets with a book of his own on the other side of the couch.

"Everlost? We have the whole trilogy if you want to read more, who's your favorite character?"

"Who are you?" Damian asked. The boy gave him a quizzical look.

"You've been skulking around my doorway all day and you don't know who I am?" Damian was caught. This was a travesty of the highest degree, this has never happened to him before.

"Yeah, you're not as sneaky as ye think you are."

It was the voice, Damian decided, that caught him off guard. All the voices he's heard before were more polished and easier to understand, and Damian's English wasn't perfect yet.

"Jason," Damian concluded, "I did really enjoy this book, I want to read the next one please."

"I'll get it you when I'm feeling better, fever broke so I'm not contagious but I'm tired as shit." Damian nodded and picked up his plate to bring to the kitchen.

"What do you have on your eyes by the way? Eyeliner?" Jason asked and Damian was appalled that he didn't know.

"You don't wear kohl? To protect your eyes?"

"No? No clue what that is, looks cool though."

Now that Damian thought about it he didn't see his father or Timothy or Pennyworth wearing kohl either. This was something he needed to rectify. Mother always said that it was imperative that he wear kohl so he didn't lose his eyes, maybe he misunderstood and she meant he only had to wear it outside. After all, mother didn't always wear it. But mother wasn't here, so he couldn't ask. He felt a familiar pang in his heart. He missed his mother.

"Ah, master Damian, how was the book?"

"Good, I liked it."

"Not too scary I hope."

"Of course not, I'm not a baby." Damian put the plate in the sink and went back out to spy investigate, he'd spent too much time on Pennyworth and that book. He couldn't find anyone else though, he walked for a long while too. He was just about to give up before he heard a loud door, which must've been the front door. He rushed down the stairs, maybe it was father.

"You've got to be kidding me."

It was not father.