dreamsanddisasters | Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)

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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?

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He wouldn't know what to do if I started behaving. Gordon is much too old to be changing the game on him now, I can't put him through that kind of stress.

[ 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.

[He watches Damian with foggy bewilderment for a moment, but the sides of his mouth turn upwards when the man starts to settle into the bed with him. Dick wastes no time closing his eyes and burying his face in Damian's side in return, movable hand clinging loosely to the material of the man's shirt. He takes in a deep breath, and there's a slight quiver to his breath like he might actually start crying despite his own mental gymnastics; but the feeling passes, and his breathing steadies again, and he relaxes his muscles to relieve them from the stress of effort.

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.]

[ Timothy is going to give him that look, Damian is sure. The amused and exasperated one, when he comes in to find that Damian is cuddling their youngest brother and spoiling him rotten with physical affection, rubbing circles into the boy's sore shoulders and neck and carding through his hair with gentle scratches.

(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. ]

[Dick isn't even aware that this was a subject up for debate. With Bruce's impersonal demeanor, Dick had refrained from seeking out the same comforts-- but he had never once been denied it from Damian, even when he'd had to work up the courage to seek it out again.

It made it a lot easier to deal with everything. Especially his entire screw up.

He cracked one eye open, barely angled to look up at Damian as the blood kept rushing to his face (the idea that she might like him back just made him even more embarrassed not that he liked her at all or anything--), and he lifted his hand up in order to let up the balled up and bandaged fist fall on the spot just below Damian's sternum. He didn't really have much of his own strength to put behind it, so he'd mostly had to let gravity do the work.]

Shut up. [Totally the picture of a capable threat.]

He wouldn't let her come over if you asked anyway because you're always a bigger jerk than Khan.

[Also clearly the picture of an appreciative younger sibling. If he cared you would be totally ruining his life right now, Damian, which he didn't care but you were still a jerk.]

[ It is absolutely a thing up for debate, but Tim has long since given up on trying to point out that Damian is not so standoffish as he thinks he is.

(Of course, this only applies to family. Ask anybody else in the superhero community and they will swear up and down that Damian is as cold as ice. Even his JLA teammates, heroes he's spent months in the field with, would say he isn't someone you can just go up and hug, or clap on the shoulder. If they saw him now, with Robin hugged to his side and a grin on his face, they would be flummoxed.)

He chuckles, laughter rumbling through his frame at the weak hit, and he catches Dick's fist to pre-empt any follow-up attacks. ]

He would, but maybe I won't ask him if you're just going to call me a jerk. And here I thought you might appreciate my efforts to find you some company for the long, boring weeks of recovery ahead.

I suppose I'll have to rescind those sleepover invitations for when you were feeling up to it.

[ A shrug, casual as can be. Inviting a flock of junior superheroes over to the Manor was out of the question with Bruce, but Damian, unlike his father, was not so worried about keeping secrets from fellow superheroes, and Dick's little crew already knew the boy's identity. ]

A shame. Kid Flash seemed so excited.

[ God, but Damian can be such a dick. ]

[He made a halfhearted attempt to pull his fist free of Damian's grasp, but that was a pretty futile effort even when he wasn't bedridden, and simply let his arm fall slack again.

Even if Damain totally deserved a punch because god the thought of Barbara seeing him all beat up and messed up like this was awful and absolutely unacceptable. He would probably die where the surgery and the beating ha failed to kill him.]

Wally already knows how to get into the kitchen. [Spoken with a scoff, and yet somehow with some sort of pride-- it was great when your best friend could sneak into your house and you got to correct your big brother.] I showed him how to get in when he could smell Alfie's cookies down the street.

[Smug and grinning. Though it didn't mask the hint of excitement Dick always got at the very mention of his friends (he hoped they weren't too worried about him being bedridden, in retrospect. Roy was a worrier, even if he didn't want to admit it.)]

I've never had a sleepover at the manor before-- [Top Secret Security Breach, he could already imagine Tim complaining now. He'd never even had a sleepover before period, if you didn't count the times they'd gone camping.] Is that even allowed?

[ That had been Damian's plan from the very start: death by embarrassment. ]

I know. [ Damian's eyebrows raise, as if the thought of him not knowing what 'you kids' get up to is ridiculous. Does Dick really think he doesn't know everything that goes on involving his household?

Bruce had an obscene amount of cameras and recorders and tracers and bugs, and Damian continues to have access to every single one. ]

I know everything.

[ Ominous. As if he knows exactly what discussions they've been up to, every whispered word about how scary the eldest Wayne boy is. There's a dry stare accompanying the declaration. (Shit. Shit, he knows, he so knows.)

Damian lets up on the heat, though, snorting at the question. ]

I'm the master of the house. It's allowed. [ ... ] --and I confirmed with Timothy, as well. The sleepover has his blessing, if your friends behave themselves.

[ Tim holds the real power. ]

[A horrible and cruel plan, really.

Although he'd... actually kind of believe it if Damian knew everything. It's probably about as true as Damian being invincible but it was kind of Batman's job to be obsessive and creepy like that.

(Hopefully he hadn't heard all the jokes he'd made Damian and Titus starring in their own Disney movie.)]

...You need a better hobby. [Was his grumbled response. Even Tim didn't sit around watching every monitor in the house.

But still, he chuckles lightly (the only one who could ever overrule Tim was Alfred), and nuzzles back into Damian's side sleepily, even if Damian was still a total super jerk.]

I told them all about what happened when you bled all over the couch and made Alfie angry, so I they'll be too scared to touch the cupboards while he's awake.

[Hehehe.]

[ (He heard every last one of them you little punk.) ]

I have plenty of hobbies. [ Plenty. He fights crime. He trains. He upgrades his equipment so he can fight crime better. He trains more. Sometimes he draws, though not as much as he used to. The older he got, the more things got in the way, and when you have three, then four little siblings, free time tends to evaporate, spent on other things.

Scrimmaging some baseball with Jason and other kids from the street. Practicing ASL with Cass and working with her on linguistics. Watching Timothy do skateboard tricks at the skate park. Taking Dick to the zoo (and arguing that, no, they can't take the elephants home with them, that's not even a thing they can do, it doesn't matter how rich they are, where would they even put the elephant--).

Entirely worthwhile things, he thinks, and subtly shifts so that Dick can rest against him a little more comfortably (and -tt-, he really must be getting older, he already knows this is going to leave a crick in his neck). ]

You really had to tell them that story? Really?

[ In his defense, he'd been hit with Poison Ivy's spores, and hadn't been thinking straight in the first place. The couch had seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to fall asleep after getting sliced and diced by thorns.

Alfred had, clearly, overreacted.

(And Damian will never, ever, ever do it again.) ]

[(He regrets none of them. He and Donna already have a whole basic storyline figured out.)]

Hobbies that don't include updating security systems. [The mumble precedes a small yawn, and even with all the ridiculous topics of conversation, there's a small smile settled permanently on his face.

He loved going to the zoo, even if the idea that they couldn't bring one of the elephants home hadn't quite made it into his head yet. The fact that the only pet they had was Titus was possibly one of the weirdest facts of all to him, and he'd instead taken to naming all the Bats in the Batcave in lieu of a herd of circus animals. But he'd caught the slightest glimpse of an old sketchbook, when he'd been shadowing Alfred while the older man was cleaning-- Damian was good, and sometimes he was worried Damian didn't get to do anything fun for himself.]

Yes, 'cause it's the best story, Roy didn't believe that an old man like Alfie could be scary.

[A personal offense. He'd made sure that Roy in particular had been terrified by the story. Anything Batman was afraid of, he was sure to be scared of tenfold.]

[ At least his hobbies don't include writing Disney movies about a boy and his dog, okay. ]

Plenty of hobbies. [ A grinding reiteration, distinctly grumpy - Dick's ear gets a tweak for his sass. His entirely on-par sass. These days, Damian's only real non-productive hobby is passing out in random locations to steal some sleep for an hour or so at a time.

(How did his father ever manage it all?) ]

There are much better stories. When I was younger, Alfred was even more daunting. He saved me, many times, from dangerous odds.

[ Damian's early years had certainly been fraught with danger. Batman hadn't known how to work with a partner that well, nor how to control his headstrong son. ]

[Hey that was a great hobby. Especially when that boy was Batman.

He made a meager noise of protest, and shrugged his shoulders and squirmed in his spot like the tweak was more of a mosquito bite.]

No one ever tells me those stories.

[The sentence was a mere slip, probably from a combination of sleepiness, warmth, and the effects of the drugs. He wasn't complaining-- it was mostly a matter-of-fact statement. Getting anyone around here to talk about anything that happened before Bruce died was next to impossible.

He doesn't entirely mind, but Dick and his incessant chatty curiosity simply can't stop him from at least trying on an off week. He'd yet to have very much luck.]

I guess not, huh.

[ He hmms, fully aware of that, of all of them, perhaps only Alfred has been the most talkative on that front. Part of the reason is that Damian, unfortunately, just doesn't have many happy, or even pleasant, stories to share about his youth. A lot of those stories center around him being a less-than-ideal hero.

(He'd been angry, constantly. Bitterly, violently so. Still is, he's just gotten better at hiding it, at being what the family needs; taking all that stubborn, wrathful determination and turning it into an anchor point for the rest to rely upon. A more productive usage of his energy.)

The other part is that Bruce's death is still too new, too fresh, for them all, so that even peripherally discussing him is like taking a knife to an open wound. But he can try. Dick has more than earned that, as his partner.

(He just has to be careful. There are some things Damian prefers buried.)

His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if about to divulge a secret. ]

So what do you know about the League of Assassins, Richard?

[ --Careful-ish. Mentioning the League is dangerous. But it's one of Alfred's shining moments. ]

[Dick angles his head up at the change of tone, the interest and curiosity on his face laced with a childish awe. He looked like he fully believed that this was some kind of well-guarded secret; knowing this family, it probably was.]

That's-- Where you and Cass are from? [It was about the full of extent that Dick really knew about either of their lives that didn't have to do with Batman.]

A bunch of highly trained assassins that work for Ra's al Ghul. They're really good.

[Scary good. Dick was hardly allowed near them, though he'd just about pored over every file they had about them on the Batcomputer.]

[ 'Where Cass and he are from.' Well, you could put it like that. Damian seems amused by the phrasing, lips crooking in a grin and eyes squinting at the corners; the way he laughs without really laughing most of the time. ]

Cassandra - something like that, yes. [ That's her history to keep; if Dick wants to know more about her, he'll have to go to the source. Damian makes no mention of himself, neither confirming nor denying any ties to the League. ]

Yes, the League assassins are exceedingly skilled. They're some of the most dangerous people in the world, but no one is more dangerous than Ra's al Ghul himself - the Demon's Head. A man who has lived for centuries, guiding the League's operations. They work in the shadows, and it's Ra's' desire to eliminate the worst of humanity - to bring about his vision of paradise and peace by decimating the unworthy. In this case, that would be well over half the world's population.

[ Wry. Ra's was certainly a discriminating man. ]

And did you know that Alfred -- our Pennyworth -- held his own against some of the League's most dangerous killers? All to protect a boy he'd offered sanctuary to: the only grandson of Ra's al Ghul himself.

[ Damian snorts. ]

Although, between you and me? The kid was a murderous asshole, and more trouble than he was worth. Alfred is a saint.

[His face grimaced at the thought of the man-- Ra's al Ghul sounded for all the world like a boogeyman. A man who lived forever, and wanted to kill the mean and naughty people of the world. It felt like a story to scare kids with, except Dick has the keen idea that maybe Ra's' idea of 'worthy' wasn't something he would agree with at all.]

Alfred fought off assassins? [Completely shocked. If Ra's al Ghul was like a boogeyman story, then this sounded like something out of a fairytale.]

How'd he do it? Were they attacking the Batcave?

How come-- were they trying to attack you?

[Far too many questions. And he was far too excited to hear what the answers would be to think about the repercussions of asking.]

He did. Father was on a mission when they attacked the Manor after tracking the boy here. Imagine, dozens of ninja, headed by a team of three assassins, and the only adult here was Alfred.

[ Swarming the building. They'd quickly overwhelmed the automated defenses.

He chuckles, huffing out a snort at the questions. ]

They wanted the boy. Everyone else was collateral damage.

[ Damian is skillful at gently deflecting questions without actually answering them. Oh, sure, they'd attacked him - but that was because he was that boy. ]

Alfred managed to get us to the Batcave, and into lockdown. From there, he carried the fight using the remote defenses, and then eventually fought one face to face. Knocked the woman right out with a fire extinguisher.

[ Just knocked her right the hell out. Beautiful. ]

Unfortunately, by the time Father arrived, we'd been overrun, and the boy captured.

Whoah.

[He can imagine it now; legions of angry, deadly ninjas, swarming the Manor, leaking in through broken doors and windows like a flood, trying to get to the Batcave-- and Alfred and the kid, barricaded in the Batcave like it was some kind of medieval siege.]

A fire extinguisher? [That thought is one of his favorites; the idea that a super trained and deadly assassin could lose to a fire extinguisher wielded by the elder English butler of the house.

(He hopes Alfred isn't too old to pull something like that again, he'd give anything to see something like that.)]

So wait-- what happened then? [He's almost trying to sit up now, trying to prop himself up to look at Damian with a new energy-- and gets a few coughs for his effort and a reactive shudder in his shoulders. But it's just not important right now, and he bats the various tubes out of his way before his prodding continues.] What did Ra's and the League want with the kid? What'd they do?

[ He nods, perfectly serious. ]

A fire extinguisher. Alfred can bring the pain when he wants to.

[ It had been pretty impressive in hindsight. Only minutes before Damian had been helping the old man when he'd tripped upon the carpet, and the next thing he knew the Wayne butler was smashing a fire extinguisher into the face of their attacker coming out of the elevator.

Damian clicks his tongue, gently nudging Dick back into place - a warning that if the boy keeps pushing it he'll cut off story time altogether. ]

Ra's' immortality isn't foolproof. He uses what's called a Lazarus Pit to keep himself alive and in his prime; every time his life runs out, all he has to do is arrange for a swim and he'll be brought back. But it became less and less effective over the centuries, and eventually stopped working altogether. He intended to use his grandson's body as a new, fresh vessel, so that he could live for another seven hundred years, or longer.

[ Damian's voice darkens at that, a pinch coming to his eyes. How close he'd been to being thrown into the waters as a sacrificial lamb. ]

It would have meant certain death for the child. And he came very, very close to that fate, but Father teamed up with the boy's mother to storm Ra's' stronghold and save him in the knick of time. As expected of Batman. The boy was so charmed by Batman coming to save him that he wanted to go back with him and be his new partner--

[ He'd thought his father so much cooler than his mother, god. He rolls his eyes at that. And if Dick interprets it to mean that Damian was not amused by the thought of a young assassin boy trying to upstage his place at his father's side, all the better. ]

--but his mother knocked him out and fled with him, and Batman escaped as well.

[His nose scrunched up his face at Damian's clicking (staying still was so hard), but silently complies with the nudging and settles back down-- mostly in the interest of getting to listen to the rest of the story.

He decided he didn't like Ra's al Ghul. Not at all. It wasn't much of a jump to make before, but-- the man was willing to take over his own grandson's body so he could keep living even longer so he could kind of basically destroy the world?

His expression sours in distaste at the impromptu turn back to completely sucky at the ending. And Dick isn't so out of it to not connect the dots-- he was pretty sure the story was about Damian. He's kind of amazed that Damian would tell him that story if it was about him. But he is a bit too out of it to remember to voice his thoughts, and instead burrows back into Damian's side, a small attempt at a hug when the man was simply far too large for Dick to give a proper one.]

His mom sounds mean. But I'm glad everyone got away OK.

[Hmph. He really didn't like Ra's al Ghul.]

[ What, no. This story is absolutely not about him, what are you talking about. He's telling a story about one time Alfred was a badass, okay? Nothing to do with him.

(Damian, of course, assumes his youngest brother knows nothing. Certainly not enough to connect dots. All Dick should know, in his eyes, is that Damian was Bruce's blood son and first partner and came from a brief stay in the League of Assassins, during which at no point in time did he ever kill anyone.

Ever.) ]

Mean? [ He purses his lips, considering. ] I thought it was a reasonable action. The kid was about to turn around and run head-first into danger again. Plus, if he had declared his allegiances to Batman, it would have meant making an enemy out of the entire League. He'd have lost everything just to chase after Father's footsteps. What mother would let her son throw away everything like that?

[Come on Damian, you just mentioned how Alfred had saved you when you were younger, and that there had been no other adults, and he knew Damian had started woking with Bruce when he was still a kid. Plus Damian had been super avoidant about mentioning himself-- maybe he couldn't be absolutely certain, but he could assume with all the conviction of a child convinced he was right based on even less evidence.

(It seemed pretty obvious to him right now, and yet it didn't even cross his mind that if Damian was the subject of the story, that mean he would be Ra's al Ghul's grandson. Hopefully he'd remember when he was able to move around, and think to take another look at the files in the computer. Before freaking out about it.)]

But Batman helped save him. If Ra's wanted to do that, then I think he was kind of already an enemy of the League anyway. 'n' if he wanted to be Batman's partner, that means Bruce would be able to teach him to defend himself from ninjas too if Ra's wanted to try and steal his body again.

[Maybe Dick was a bit biased and didn't quite realize how dangerous and stupid it was to volunteer to be Batman's partner.]

Letting him stay with Batman would be the best way to keep him safe from the League. If I were her I'd be scared of what the League would do next and get all the help I could get.

[ ~~And what if he was a kid when all this was going down, huh? So? Alfred could have saved him and the boy. Gosh, Dick, your logic, so fallacy.~~

In actuality, Damian may be too confident in how well locked down his information is. Bruce, of course, kept meticulous records on everything to do with Damian. His file is, perhaps, one of the most extensive and detailed out of all the entries in the Batcomputer's database, although most of the information is locked away with one of Bruce's passcodes.

He'd kept notes, theories, approaches. Damian had read them all; entries concerning his mental health, his social behaviors (or lack-thereof), commentary on something he'd said or done and through it all the worried tone of a parent who'd been watching his psychologically scarred son walk a thin line for years. Scans of his sketchbooks. Copies of essays he'd written, his own case notes. Bruce had even gotten a hold of records of his League training, those ages three through ten, what he'd been put through and tasked to do - the dozens of teachers he'd had, found at the bottom of the ocean once he'd outstripped their knowledge and they were no longer useful. Clinical medical photos of the damages he'd suffered and the steps taken to restore his body to perfect condition, interspersed with the rare few pictures of him looking judgmentally at the camera, or sometimes caught unawares in more natural posing.

And, of course, the course of action Bruce would have taken if he'd gone rogue. A hit list, revised and updated as his threat level changed, grew exponentially.

Damian hasn't been able to look at it again. ]

The League is extremely political. The boy's mother had her own people who were loyal to her, and her own resources, and the boy was still the League prince. Batman was one man, and she had an army.

[ His tone is wry - it was dangerous and stupid to take up being Batman's partner. ]

My impression of her? She was a very intimidating woman. Intelligent, cunning, and a leader. By all rights, the inheritance should have gone to her, but Ra's' views are a little dated. And she loved her son, more than almost anything. Good luck to anyone that got between her and him.

[ Sixteen years later Damian is an adult, and she still hasn't given up on him, disowned or not. Although at this point, if he were to be captured, she'd have him broken and then reconditioned -- she knows he would never stay with her willingly. ]

[If Damian had been a kid at the time then clearly he was the only kid given details in the story. His logic was the most impeccable ten year old logic ever.]

If she had an army, why did she need Batman's help?

[It's said with an audible scoff to his voice. The man may as well have saved his life, taken him in, and disappeared almost just like that. It still hurt to think about, but the more he heard, and the more he dwelled on the man's memory, the more Dick's imagination would fill in the blanks; the more infallible the man became in his own memory. And he didn't particularly like the sound of the League of Assassins, so it just convinced him more.]

And why would he want to be prince of the organization led by the guy who wanted to go alien body snatcher on him? [So dumb. He didn't understand politics very well, least of all between freaky assassin ninja corporations.] If I were him I wouldn't have wanted to go back at all.

If she loved him, she should've asked what he wanted. [So. She still sounded pretty mean to him.]

[ ~~W o w what a master detective not.~~

Damian is quietly exasperated. How can he explain something he'd barely understood at the time, anyway? Everything was politics. His mother needed his father's help because Ra's respected Bruce, and using him was a political statement in and of itself - a chance for her to formally begin seizing power. ]

It's different. [ He finally settles on, with an annoyed huff. ] Their values, how family worked -- it's just different. He was born for the role, and in their family, duty comes before love. Care, affection-- [ He shrugs, casually. ] --in a den of vipers, that's a weakness. Not like our family.

[ It had taken time, but Damian had eventually built into realization the kind of family he'd come to desire after time spent away from the League. One where love came before duty.

Their family is small, and varied, and might be volatile and fragile at times, but it's a family. The best one. ]

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