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?
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(He misses him.)
But a whimper is enough to draw him back to consciousness. Damian's eyes blink open, shoulders rolling at the stitch in his neck from his awkward position in the chair, and he focuses his attention on Dick. Dick, who's awake, and looks like he may stay awake this time.
Leaning forward, he catches Dick's hand in his, other hand running up through the boy's hair and pushing his bangs back. ]
Hey. [ His voice is deep, still thick and scratchy with sleep, and Dick's lucky enough to catch him when he's groggy, a slight, affectionate smile on his face before he has the sense or inclination to resume his scowling. ] You've been out a while, baby bird. Thirsty?
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He closes his eyes, lets his head rest back against the pillow under the feeling of a hand in his hair (a small part of him remembers that his mom used to do that whenever he was upset, and it helps put him further at ease.) The anxiety from his dreams and waking up relaxed, and he nodded his head against the pillow in response to the question.] Mmhm.
[Yeah. Wow his throat kind of hurt even with all the drugs that were no doubt in his system trying to spare him the aftershocks of surgery. It sure felt ragged.] How long has it been...?
[Damian wasn't waiting here the whole time, was he? Man, he was so tired of sleeping.]
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He didn't want him to wake up down there. ]
A few days. [ Closer to a week. ] You woke up for a bit earlier, but I doubt you remember. Alfred had you on the very strong medications.
[ There's a dangerously amused smirk playing around his lips, although the rest of him is utterly composed as he holds up a spoonful of ice chips for Dick to take. ]
Timothy came in to see you once he got back in from the Tower. You ended up proposing to him, but he had to turn you down. [ He clicks his tongue. ] You were so heartbroken, for nearly an entire thirty seconds.
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Some psychologist would probably have a field day with that.
His face is immediately red, and it's not from the heat. If it weren't for the fact that he was rapidly realizing he was really thirsty, he'd probably be content with hiding his face in his pillow as far as he could. But thankfully he edges forward to puts his mouth over the spoon and suck the chips in. Which, thankfully meant he couldn't actually respond verbally right away. But he still managed to puff his cheeks in indignation.
(Ironically he's probably a bit more awake for the embarrassment. So that was certainly a plus.)]
Then my rebound time is awesome. [Yes. This was his conclusion, mumbled around the melting ice and a pout.] Tim is missing out.
[So take that.]
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Tim is out of your league and you know it. [ He counters, matter-of-factly, holding up another spoonful of ice for when Dick is done with his first. ] But you are correct. Your rebound time is admirable. So much so that you also proposed to Alfred, Titus, and you would have done the same to Jason if he hadn't left the room.
And me. [ : he adds, and his smirk now has tooth to it, that dark, wicked humor he sometimes has. ] And I am please to inform you we are engaged. I expect a proper ring - tying our fingers together with loops in the IV line does not count.
[ Alfred has the video. Dick will be treated to the full-color experience the next time Damian wishes to knock the future uppity teenager down a few pegs.
But still, the grin slips back into the quieter, fond smile, and he can't help but go back to carding his hand through Dick's hair, fingers smoothing down the edges of his bandages. ]
How are you doing? Feeling alright?
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(Still kinda hurt, but that was mostly because he ended up moving his hand all over his face. The pain was still vastly less important than his dignity.)]
I'd rather marry the dog. [It's official. If he ever had a girlfriend he was never, ever, ever bringing them home or letting them meet the family.
He moves his hand to the side mostly so he can have the room to slurp up more ice chips, and eventually lets it fall back onto the bed completely.]
Mm. I feel like I got hit by a freight train. [Which was a vastly preferable explanation compared to what had happened, really-- but if he thought about that any more, he was sure he'd get nauseous.]
I think I'll be good when I can feel my toes again. [He shifts a bit, fingers fidgeting; lying still this long was starting to kill him even more.]
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Titus is also out of your league. Plus, he's much too old for you. Sixteen - you know how long that is in dog years?
[ Very long. Most dogs make it to ten, twelve, but Titus has been hanging in there years past the usual life expectancy. Damian's prepared himself for his pup to pass soon (or, more like, Timothy has been preparing him, as Damian was refusing to acknowledge it altogether), but so soon after the wake of his father's death--
No, he won't think of it. ]
Close enough. It was a long few hours in surgery. You had some internal damage, too.
[ And Damian himself had to pick the splinters of bone out, had to drop them in the metal bowl and watch the pile grow. A long, long few hours.
His eyebrows raise at the toes comment, and, with lazy grace, he stretches one long arm over to tweak the toes of the nearest foot beneath the blanket; half to tease, half to see if Dick really couldn't feel them. He has been laying down for a while, and he can see the boy getting increasingly restless. ]
These toes, you mean?
[ Ah, but he'll take pity. Dick does need to move a little bit. ]
I can help you sit up. No acrobatics just yet, but you may feel a little better if you do.
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Well, maybe he had a little feeling in his toes, because he wiggles and jerks his foot away from Damian's hand, letting out a little snort and a giggle. He regretted it slightly, and the weird feeling of the cranula in his nose when he snorted, but. It tickled.]
But I don't even need both legs to do a one-handed hand stand...!
[The humor was a bit weak, but he was already fidgeting and shifting, trying to get himself in a better position to lift himself up on his own-- though not really getting that far before some bone or muscle or stitches started to disagree with him. So he just nodded a little (yes, he would definitely like to sit up a little), and rolled his stiff shoulders against the surface of the bed.]
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Although the stupid giggle-snort is -- is reassuring, on a level he hadn't been aware of. He'd worried that Dick would have lost too much of his innocence after Two-Face, wouldn't be able to laugh so freely after, and the idea of his Robin losing that was distressing. Damian would have missed it.
(Just as he misses the way Jason used to be able to laugh so easily.) ]
Alfred won't have to do it - I'll tie you to the bed myself. Don't even try.
[ Damian sets the cup aside, standing up just so that he can lean over, slipping his arms under Dick's shoulders and knees and lifting him, easily, to sit against the headboard. He's also prepared ahead of time (of course), sliding an armed backrest behind him for support. Damian knows where every break and bruise and stitch is, has committed them to memory, so the process is quick and painless.
He fusses with the IV line for a minute, coiling it out of the way, and perhaps spends a beat too long ensuring that Dick is as comfortable as he can be made.
(And they call Tim the mother hen. Damian spoils his siblings rotten when they're sick or injured.) ]
Better?
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He nods when his head is resting against the headboard, and smiles, moving his shoulders some more and stretching his spine carefully. The new height and perspective is refreshing-- helps him get more in his head and not drifting off.
(On the contrary, he was sure he wouldn't even know what to do with himself if he wasn't smiling and laughing; everyone else would certainly be even more unhappy, and he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he made the others so upset.)]
I bet I could escape even if you did tie me down. Tim and Cass teach me all sorts of stuff when you're not looking. [Gloating. He knew all sorts of things.
He wouldn't go so far as crying-- not again-- but his face grows a bit serious, and he picks up the IV from where it's hanging off the edge of the bed, thumbing the tube carefully and looking down as he speak]
...I'm sorry for messing up. [Shame-- it's one of the last things he remembers.] I guess it's gonna be awhile before I can go on patrol with you again.
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[ Tables turned, flipped neatly, and Damian's own gloating eyebrows rise in challenge.
Damian never talks much about himself; his interests, his history, or his skills. Tim, of all of them, knows the most (too nosy and clever not to find out), and with Cassandra it was one of the only ways through which he could reach her (the shared history, knowing what it was like to be born to kill, has given them one of the closest bonds in the entire family), but Jason and Dick he's always tried to keep them as far away from that as possible.
Wanting, maybe, to be admirable in their eyes. Or just to spare them the weight of that kind of knowledge. ]
Not until Alfred clears you for returning to training. A few months, at the least. [ Confirmation. Damian's head tilts as Dick plays with the tubing, using the distraction to avoid his eyes. ] Richard.
[ Prompting, gentle but firm, for Dick to look up at him. Damian's brows are furrowed, a frown bending his lips, and his stare is too direct. ]
You made a mistake, and it cost you. It almost cost you too much. We, all of us, have done the same. Many times. Some many more than others.
[ Guilty as charged. Damian has a laundry list of fuck-ups that stretches on for miles. ]
And it'll happen again, and again. Despite your best intentions, and no matter how experienced you become.
But what I want you to know and to take away from this: you are irreplaceable, and you are loved. To all of us? Your life is worth more than every single person in Gotham City. Remember that.
[ It's a lesson every hero (super or not, vigilante or officer or fireman) has to learn: when to prioritize their own safety above the life of a stranger.
His father always used to focus on what was lost. The man who'd been killed because of Damian's mistake, the lives lost, the damage wrought. Damian remembers just wanting to hear from him that it was his own life Bruce had feared losing the most; he later learned that was certainly the sentiment behind his father's anger, but he so rarely said it. Maybe that's why it's so easy for Damian to say it now, to his family; to be brutally honest where his father and mother had blurred the truth. ]
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Dick listens, and he's-- he's not sure what to do with himself, what to think. It's not as if his parents had ever been short of loving and caring, but-- but this magnitude, it'd never been required, never been necessary, never been a topic to breach before they'd been gone forever. And Bruce, he'd-- for the short time Dick had known him, he'd never been taught that anything was more important than the mission. That's all he had the time to learn.
But Dick was a smart boy-- smart enough to draw his own conclusions and opinions at the least, from both Bruce AND Damian. And he fidgets and squirms, and holds the IV tubing in his figures as he drops his eyes back down to his hands, away from Damian's gaze.]
But I almost got you hurt.
[Unforgivable. Unacceptable. He had an entire new family here, but Damian was the one that had been watching him, training him-- he was his partner. He's glad he's the one hooked up to the machines, as long as Damian's still OK.]
I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me.
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I'm invincible. [ Damian's pokerface is flawless; entirely sincere. ] Even a torpedo can't kill me. [ Truth. ]
You think someone like Dent could take me out? Please.
[ He lets up on the ruffling, taking a moment to pick the bangs out of Dick's eyes, eyebrows raised. ]
I'm Batman. It's my job to plan ahead and make sure you aren't put into that kind of position, anyway. All you should have to worry about in the field is being the best Robin that you can be. That was my mistake that night, and I'm sorry.
But you did well. Better than I did, when I was your age. I'm proud of you.
[ They both screwed up, but they're alive, and have learned. Damian understands a little better why his father was always so paranoid, so dead-set on knowing the exact ins-and-outs of a field situation before he'd make a move, and why he was always trying to control all the variables.
That's Batman's job: prepare for any eventuality, so he can protect his partner. ]
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(It's not really his best effort. He's still woozy and a bit weak and kind of weird feeling, and he can't even get Damian to leave his hair alone on a good day, so he kind of just ends up hooking his hands onto Damian's arm and letting them dangle from there.)]
No one's invincible. [Stated very matter-of-factly, with the air of a child expert. He'd once thought his dad was, and that had clearly been proven wrong, and not even Bruce Wayne was unstoppable.] Not even Superman.
[The news of Superman's death had been a downright devastation to his even younger self. For a full week he refused to believe it, and decided the news had been lying to protect Superman's secret identity. So it was certainly a good thing that the man had come back.
But despite his anxiousness over the subject matter, he can't help but smile again at the praise and draw his gaze back up. He often thought about what his brothers might have been like when they were Batman's partners, never quite willing to ask for fear of rubbing salt in open wounds. But sometimes he gets to hear stories, especially from Alfred when the older man is trying to clean, and he knows they're big shoes to fill. It's a challenge he accepted with pride and gusto-- and if he can make Damian proud in the same span of getting the living daylights beat out of him, he must be doing something right.]
Robin should be someone that can help Batman when he can't plan ahead enough. Or save him from a torpedo. [Heh. That actually sounded kind of funny.] So it's OK. We can get better together, when you finally let me out of bed.
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[ Heh, he'd almost picked that up as his first moniker. His father had maybe been a little exasperated in suggesting they stick to a theme, instead - so Blackhawk it had been, and Blackhawk he'd stayed. The colors had better suited his assassin wear, anyway.
He hums at Dick's decision, considering. ]
If that's who you want Robin to be, he sounds like he will be one of Gotham's bravest heroes.
--Right now, though, I hear he's something of a pipsqueak.
[ Damian can be truly, horribly bratty when he wants to be. Also it so wasn't funny, you little cretin, he'd been blown to smithereens-- ]
Remember, it's up to Alfred. [ He folds his hands over his stomach, smugly. ] Not up to me when you'll be let out of bed.
[ Although duty still seems to be calling Batman, because Damian's smartphone on the bedside table is making an insistent buzzing noise keyed to Gordon wanting an audience with him. Most likely about this incident, and most likely to discuss Two-Face's condition.
(Gordon hasn't been happy since day one that Damian is the new Batman. Really, it should have gone to Cass, but she told him herself she didn't feel she was ready, that it was too soon, and he's not going to push.) ]
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[The kid who wanted to be called 'Robin' isn't scared at all. It's not like Dick really thought much about superior genetics, when he himself was from low class circus stock.
His ears turned a bit more red with the new praise (he wanted to make Damian and Alfred proud, he wanted everyone to think that bringing him here was worth it, and he can't fight the smile spreading further on his face). He drops his hands and plant them in his lap again, placated enough from even arguing with the fact that spending months in bed sounded ridiculously more than necessary to him. He was all ready to object to the 'pipsqueak' comment, but--
His attention was drawn away by the noise of the phone, suddenly curious, and more alert even if it wasn't even a signal he could respond to.]
....Is... the Comissioner mad about what happened? [Actually, he doesn't even know what had happened to Two Face after that night. And Dick had... heard some stories, about Damian, from before he joined the family, even if it was just files he'd tried to take a peak at while no one was looking, but nothing seemed very concrete. Was that what this was about....?]
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Demon is a very terrifying moniker, brat.
[ Tim probably laughs at the thought of anyone considering Damian scary. Yes, as Batman he plays the role of terrorizer well, but everyone in the family knows him as the over-protective, cranky older brother who hates any flavor of ice cream that's not vanilla and will bitterly complain about finding even a single sprinkle on it.
(But even he has his moments of being truly frightful. Neither Tim nor Cass laugh at those.)
He grunts an affirmative at the question, one broad hand reaching out to click the buzzing off, casually dismissing the Commissioner. The buzzing starts up again a minute later, just as insistent, and he grumbles, turning the phone off altogether. ]
Nothing about you, though. This one's between me and him.
[ Blackhawk's had plenty of one-on-ones with Gordon. The man always yells about the same things, and Damian always yells back, and they give each other the cold shoulder for a few weeks. This is the first time it's happened with him as Batman, though. He sighs hard through his nose, slouching down in his chair, like a teenager ignoring how his name's been called to the principal's office.
Still, Robin's his partner. He deserves a little more of an explanation than that, and Damian's not exactly trying to be secretive about it or anything. Not like Bruce was. He'll find out eventually, and it's better that he learns it now. ]
Dent is -- no longer a threat. I made sure of it. [ Short, clipped, and neutral. ] Gordon's not happy with that choice.
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It was true that Dick was afraid of Damian, for awhile, even knew that the man was probably scarier than the idea of. Batman on its own, but it was one thing to know that as a concept, and another to actually see it firsthand. And Damian was shockingly good at restraining himself, if the concept held up to fact.
But he doesn't like the way Damian dismisss the Comissioner-- Dick is well aware of how much the two men don't get along, but Gordon has only ever been nice to Dick, worried about his safety and all that. Robin has trid to mitigate and make peace between the two men before, but he's pretty sure they just don't want to rip each other's heads off in front of a kid.
He bites his lip, and lifts his leg up a bit just-- for the sake of having something to do, mostly to distract himself, and it helps to feel out most of the injuries and limits. He finds he can't bend his knees much without resistance, maybe just a few degrees more of an angle than when they're lying flat, and that's good to know.]
Did-- you didn't kill him, did you? [Batman wasn't supposed to kill.]
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Dangerous, silent, waiting, like a viper coiled in the dark. He wanted to.
Dismissed, however, just as he dismissed Gordon's call, pushed out of the way, and when his stare flicks back up to Dick, it's with a wry squint, as if he knows exactly what Dick's thinking. ]
Batman doesn't kill.
[ And he won't. But Blackhawk -- and Damian -- are a different story altogether. Always have been. ]
No, he's currently in a coma. If he does regain consciousness, it may be with some impaired brain functionality. Complete recovery is unlikely.
[ He won't be taking a baseball bat to his little brother ever, ever again. ]
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But Batman doesn't kill. Batman doesn't kill, and he could never be afraid of his stupid big brother. Never.
Even when Harvey Dent-- terrified him (when he thought about those eyes towering over him) the thought of the man's fate made his insides feel hollow, and heavy at the same time. Dick was certain that if he wasn't able to move, he'd rather be dead.
(But even still, the obvious grim anxiety that twisted his frown didn't belay the way his shoulders sagged in relief, because even if he was scared, Dent wouldn't be able to hurt him again. Even if Bruce had convinced him to give up on the idea of vengeance, the thought that Tony Zucco couldn't hurt him or anyone else anymore had made him feel the same.)
His head felt woozy. There was too much to think about and none of it made sense to him. How could he feel glad someone was gone, but still feed bad for them?]
You don't... You shouldn't, do that. If something bad happens again. [Worded like a chastisement, but it sounded more like a plea, and even if he's not looking down anymore, he's still looking anywhere but at Damian.] I'm strong enough to deal with it. You shouldn't go that far just 'cause someone gets hurt. Please.
[And then, a mumbled:] ...Gordon will just get even more angry, and he already thinks you're a huge jerk. You probably shouldn't ignore him.
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They sure as hell deserve better than him, but he's trying. Trying hard.
Some things, though, he won't stand for. Even if they're unhappy with him for it, or disappointed in him. Even if they shun him.
(Bruce, whether he admitted it or not, was the same way. The difference is that Damian, at least, is honest with them about it.) ]
...I'll keep it in mind. [ As far as his allowances go, the eldest grumbling the entire way - but it's the closest he'll come to agreeing to any sort of compromise. ] But no promises. He almost killed you, Richard. It took me two minutes to get out of those binds, and I had to listen to him do it.
[ He'd never known what it was like to be on the other side of the situation until now. It was the same rage that had driven his father to dunk Ducard in the acid, after listening to him as he broke Damian. Except Bruce had reigned himself in at the last moment --
--And Damian had finished it. Both with Ducard, and with Two Face.
(God, Dick deserves so much more.) ]
And this is how Gordon and I communicate. [ Damian laughs, rough and barking, stretching out like a panther and letting one foot swing free. ] Our monthly tango, since I was-- [ He hums, recalling. ] --fourteen. That's twelve years of him wooing me with threats. I know how far to push with him. He's only ever had to throw me in Arkham once.
[ Just once. And technically that was for his assigned mission. Albeit a mission the Commissioner wasn't aware of at the time. ]
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I'm sorry. [For almost getting himself killed, for making Damian worry so much. Another apology almost seemed redundant, but he-- he didn't want people to die over him.
He brings his hands up (even the one that was still too painful to move, but that one ends up hovering a bit uselessly in the air) and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. It was still hazy, but if it had taken two minutes for Damian to make Two Face stop, then Dick was pretty sure he had already started crying by the time Damian tuned in. He had to be stronger than to let himself keep crying like this.]
S-- So you haven't grown up at all. [Dick isn't even surprised.] You shouldn't give him so much grief. He's just trying to help...
[The words still come out a bit mumbled, and Dick drops his hands away from his eyes after a moment or so. He still seems like he might start sniffling, but rather than worry about that, he lifts himself away from the headboard-- leans over the bed and in Damian's direction as far as he can in an effort of exertion that's already leaving his voice grunting and his injuries stinging again. All done so he can try and grab onto the edge of Damian's sleeve again, and pull him closer with the nonexistent strength he has left.
He just wanted.... some kind of reassurance. Even if Damian's already told him everything will be OK, he has to be sure.]
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[ Damian may be speaking blithely, teasing Dick about his continued justifications for pushing the Commissioner's many buttons, but he's watching, closely. And when Dick reaches for him, tugging at his shirt sleeve despite the effort, Damian snorts, uncoiling from his seat.
Damian remembers what it's like to be that age, remembers the desire to save face. ]
-Tt,- this chair -- move over, brat, I'm taking your bed.
[ Which is why he's up and bullying Dick over, carefully lifting him again so he can be placed further to the side of the bed, just so that Damian's much larger bulk may join him. He makes a show of fussing until he's comfortable, long legs stretched out and back curving against the headboard, and his arm curls around Dick and tucks him close to his side as if the boy is a pillow; when really it's more like Damian is functioning as the hot water bottle against Dick's cooler skin.
He may not be saying the words, but Damian prefers to speak physically: a hand pushing Dick's bangs back, a squeezed hug, head turning to whuff an over-exaggerated, grumpy sigh into his hair, the way he fashions himself into a refuge past which no man (or butler) would dare cross.
I'm here. You're safe. You'll be fine. ]
I think you like the Commissioner more than you like me. [ Complaining - Damian is excellent at it. ] Or, more accurately, it's the Commissioner's daughter you like more, huh? Miss Gordon.
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As much as Dick is unendingly chatty, as much as he needs the verbal confirmations and reassurance, the physical communication is more than better right now. Less confusing or worrisome. Damian was safety, and he would always be safe, and any paranoid thoughts or assertions otherwise were utterly ridiculous.]
No. [Very insistent on that no, too. If his face weren't half hidden in Damian's torso, it'd be easy to see the blush that's already creeping onto his expression again. Which Dick would absolutely insist was just because of the medication. Again.
(Though Dick had never quite been in that phase of thinking that girls were gross, for better or worse.)]
Maybe I like him more 'cause he doesn't say stupid stuff.
[Because that idea was totally stupid.]
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(Damian has always maintained that he is not a cuddler, and only tolerates their attentions for their own well-being. Damian is a goddamn liar, is what Timothy thinks.) ]
No? [ There's wicked, dark delight in his voice, as if he has discovered something new. ] And here I was under the impression you were enjoying your little interludes with the young Miss Barbara. She seems very taken with you.
[ His voice drops to an evil hum. ]
Maybe I should ask the Commissioner whether she might be interested in joining us for movie night?
[ Damian can be an asshole when he wants to be. Which is pretty much all the time. ]
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