Damian Wayne | First Son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dfordangerous) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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
Oh, they're talking about this. They're... discussing it, this topic that she knows is true and yet has never discussed. Not even with Tim, no matter if he brought it up. It was sensitive, it was not her decision to make, and it was painful (in its way) to her big brother.
But here he is... bringing it up. ]
Yes. [ She signs slowly, her expression troubled and a little uncertain. ]
no subject
Tact? For lesser people. ]
He knew, too. There was maybe a time I could have been, but after Jason--
[ He rolls his shoulders back, cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. Jason's back with them, alive again and stolen out of Talia's grip, but the ordeal, the loss, left its mark on him. On them all.
Damian made his choice that night. Batman doesn't kill. No matter what. And when he'd come back with the Joker's blood on his hands, it'd been the most violent altercation between father and son yet. Even now there's not a hint of regret, nothing but grim satisfaction; he'd seen the heartbreaking relief on Jason's face when he realized the clown was dead and gone, and that more than justified it for him.
He digs around in his jacket pocket, producing a small thumb drive, turning it over between his fingers and pursing his lips. ]
Father... understood he might not be coming back from the fight against Darkseid. He knew what he'd be leaving behind.
no subject
Because Damian had done what he needed to.
Cass couldn't have done it, for her own sanity and sense of self she couldn't have done it, but she can't say that she thinks Damian did the wrong thing. They had Jason back, and Damian removed the greatest threat to Jason's recovery from what happened.
And, well. She wouldn't admit it but the fact that the Joker paid for what he'd taken from them didn't hurt.
Still, she'd also understood why it angered Bruce so much. It's such a fine line for all of them, in their own ways, and Damian was supposed to be setting an example. Damian was supposed to abide by the rules, at least the most important ones. Damian was supposed to be his father's son, and he took an action that made it clear that however much he loved Bruce, he was his mother's son, too. At least, that's how she'd understood the issue, maybe there were parts of it that she'd never understand.
She tilts her head slightly, eyeing the thumb drive, then flicks her eyes back up to Damian's face expectantly. He'll get to the point eventually. ]