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
No, Jason is not physically hurt. But there's no ignoring the glow to his eyes or the shock of white hair mixed in with his bangs. Damian knows the effects of the Pit, knows the consequences. Knows whatever Jason has gone through has left its marks in his soul.
He slides down to sit next to Jason, the metal of the carriage cool against his neck and his legs crossed, and with some insistent tugging pulls the boy into a secure hug, protectively tucking his chin atop Jay's head; bundled in his lap, just like when he'd been smaller and it'd been a rough night out on the streets.
(When he'd been an only child, he'd never thought he'd be in this position one day. Never thought he'd be wrapping a child up in his arms and hushing the tears away, never thought he'd be this soft, but Jason had changed that. Damian and Timothy had been too close in age, both too young, and it was Bruce that Timothy really took to. And then Jaybird came in swinging, and Cassandra soon followed, and Damian learned, willingly or not, what it meant to truly be an older brother.)
It may look ridiculous now with this overgrown, thin teenager spilling out of his bounds, but Damian doesn't much care, gripping him tight as if he means to hold him together at the seams by determination alone; muttering reassuring nonsense into the curling, messy hair of his charge, code-switching from one language to another like he does when English consistently fails to convey what he wants to say. Eventually he settles back into (mostly) English. ]
I've got you, habibi.
[ He hasn't called Jay that since the boy got a little older and began to get finicky about terms of endearment, but it's everything he can express in this moment. His youngest brother was fiercely, wretchedly missed. ]
And I'm not letting go. Timothy will have to fight me if he wants a moment with you.
[ Tim. He'll have to let him know that they're coming back - the both of them. In just a moment, however. Damian's priorities lay elsewhere right now. ]