Damian Wayne | First Son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dreamsanddisasters2014-08-21 12:12 am
dfordangerous) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-08-21 12:12 am
Entry tags:
Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)
[ His father is dead, and he's still reeling from the shock. Alfred and Tim both know he's barely keeping it together, for all his standoffish composure. Years of preparing for this moment--
(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)
--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.
His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.
His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.
Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.
('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.
'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.
'I'll get the broom.')
And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]
Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.
He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]
What are you doing?
(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)
--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.
His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.
His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.
Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.
('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.
'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.
'I'll get the broom.')
And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]
Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.
He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]
What are you doing?
no subject
More like sheer goddamn skill. Also, the suit. [ Thick kevlar catches a lot of the punch. ] Go.
[ And then Jason is out, Damian sliding through the window after him half a beat later as soon as he hears him hitting the roof. There's the rattle of arrows pinging off the tiles, and -- for the brief moment that he's caught in the small window frame, hunching his shoulders inwards to to get through -- one whistles irritatingly close to his stomach.
Then he's through, too, hitting the tiles with a roll of his own to absorb the shock of the fall, rolling right to his feet as he goes. Damian has the advantage of having spent his childhood training in this locale, of bounding across tile in the midst of a fight, and he keeps his balance. One gauntlet's covering his head - better an arrow stick his arm than his skull. But he doesn't make for an easy target, sprinting across the roof, taking sharp zig-zags to avoid the incoming fire.
His heart catches in his throat when he sees an arrow pin Jay's cape down, but the boy's quick to escape, and soon enough he's made it into the Batwing. Good, god, good.
(He thinks, behind him, he can hear his mother shouting out orders. But he doesn't look back.)
He reaches the Batwing only a dozen or so seconds after Jason, bounding across the distance into it and slamming the cockpit door down closed after him, just in time for the hail of arrows to splinter and bounce off the reinforced glass. Autopilot pre-engaged, the plane hovers for only a moment more before rising into the air.
They're out. They're out. He thunks his head back against the glass, adrenaline running through him, and he laughs again - relieved. Amazed. In disbelief. He's taking Jason home. ]
I think that was the most civil reunion I've had with her yet.
[ Internal organs intact and everything. ]
Any injuries? [ He's peering carefully at Jason, having already peeled off the mask and shucked his gloves, stare sweeping over him for anything that needs medical attention. ]