Chapter Text
Damian couldn’t think of a worse torture than the one he was enduring now.
“The good little dog ate his tiny bone. Clapped his paws twice, wagged his tail once—”
A ridiculous cartoon played as Jason gripped his wrists and forced his arms to follow the movements of the animation. Jason seemed to be having a good old time, making his limbs move however he wanted, but Damian was not as entertained.
He’d lost a lot of privacy ever since he’d become a baby.
He hadn’t cared about it at first. He’d been a baby after all. Babies don’t really care about things. They don’t have the capacity to, but Damian was different than other children his age. He’d been reborn. His mind had woken up after having a long nap, and now he was having an existential crisis.
Didn’t I kill myself?
A harsh thought, for someone of his stature.
“—ood little cat ate her tiny fish. Clapped her paws twice, swished her tail once—”
Jason clapped his hands together and occasionally looked down to see if Damian was reacting well. Damian didn’t want to admit it, but his baby brain loved this kind of interaction. He was fighting a smile right now. A smile that came from the developing part of his brain, not the adult spirit that currently resided in his body. Somehow, the two had become interwoven with each other. They were inseparable, which meant he was having a confusing time of ‘thinking’ like a baby and then backtracking into the thoughts of an adult man.
Who would do this to me?
His father and eldest brother, that’s who.
He’d heard them. They thought he didn’t understand them, but he did. He knew they were responsible for this. He should have died, but they brought him back again. He had to start all over from the beginning, and he wasn’t excited about it. No. Damian was terrified and frustrated. He didn’t want to live again. He wanted to be buried six feet underground, trapped for all eternity. He couldn’t hurt anywhere there, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being perfect. He could just be quiet. Forever.
“The good little bird ate his—” Jason stopped when he heard the doorbell ring. Damian felt his world tip as Jason quickly removed him, abandoning him for the next best thing. “I’ll answer it!”
Damian stared at the ground for a good second before deciding it wasn’t worth looking at. He had a plan already in motion. First, he’d need to get on his feet. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do without a support, so he crawled towards the coffee table to fix that problem. With some effort, he managed to pull himself up.
Let’s go some place they won’t be able to find me, his adult mind murmured, but then Damian felt all of his intelligence zap away immediately afterwards. His next thoughts were unpredictable. I want to put that strange thing over there in my mouth and see what it feels like.
Damian couldn’t stop himself as his inquisitive mind took over his body and directed him towards a pen that was on the ground. It must have been dropped accidentally. Damian couldn’t find many things to put in his mouth recently, and that was because the adults around him were really good at clearing his surroundings.
Damian toddled, almost falling over himself, until, eventually, he gave up on walking in favor of crawling, and stretched out his hand for the pretty blue pen. He almost got his fingers around it. He probably would have if a pair of hands didn’t dig underneath his armpits and then lift him up into the air.
“Alley-oop!”
Damian was unjustly hooked to Dick’s side. That made him upset. He began fussing and making noises that didn’t make sense. Dick ignored most of them and readjusted Damian’s weight. Then he walked out of the living room and out into the main hall. They paused once the front door was in sight. Dick observed his little brother, Jason, and the timid boy who was being ushered inside.
“Wanna see my room?” Jason couldn’t stop talking. “I’ve got lots of action figures. Lots of them. Have you ever heard of Wonder Woman? What kind of heroes do you like? Do you want to sleep over? I’ve got lots of blankets and pillows!”
“Did he walk here?” Dick murmured with concern.
Oh. Damian remembered him now. Tim. The boy who lived next door. He’d been visiting a lot recently.
Wait, he’s not just the kid that lives next door, Damian’s spirit squeezed in for a comment, he’s an insufferable blockhead!
I like blocks. Tastes weird though. I want to play with blocks. When can I play with blocks?
Damian raised a fist to his mouth and tried to chew it. Dick, without even looking at him, drew his hand away from his mouth, and put it away. Damian wondered how his brother could possibly have known he was trying to chew his fist.
Must be those vigilante skills in play.
Jason caught sight of Dick and decided to ignore him. He instead tugged Tim up the stairs and out of sight. He was excited to have someone around his age to play with.
Damian’s eyes followed them until he couldn’t turn his neck anymore and then he gave up. He set his head on Dick’s side, and Dick squeezed him reflexively.
“Well,” Dick exhaled, “we shouldn’t disturb them.”
Why am I included in this equation?
Dick’s decision returned them back to the living room. Dick sat Damian down on the couch and expected him to be entertained by the cartoon playing on the television. Damian was not amused, not in the slightest, but man was this cartoon amazing.
“If you were a cat, would you eat at the table like Ms. Turly-Whirly? Polite and thoughtful? Or would you eat like Mr. Zoney-Toney? Messy and talking with his mouth full!”
Dick picked up the magazine sitting on the coffee table and flipped through the pages.
Damian would not waver. He was immune to his father’s steel gaze. He wouldn’t fall, and he certainly wouldn’t change his mind. This was for the better. He shouldn’t be here anyways. He should be elsewhere. The only reason he wasn’t was because of the man sitting besides him.
“Damian,” Father spoke with a serious tone.
Damian turned his head away and refused the bottle that was being pressed up to his lips. It was supposed to be his feeding time, but Damian wasn’t in the mood to eat right now. He’d rather perish and wither like a plant that was out-of-season. That’ll teach his father for thinking he could change his fate. Damian had been so determined to bring justice to everyone he’d killed. How could his father take that away from him?
“What’s wrong with him?” Jason asked. He was sprawled across the floor with Tim. They were in the middle of a board game with Dick, and Alfred was keeping points for them. While Tim contemplated his turn, Jason’s attention had turned to his father. “Why isn’t he eating?”
“Perhaps he’s not hungry,” Father reluctantly answered. He sounded far too skeptical though. He didn’t believe a word he said. “Babies can be stubborn sometimes.”
“Oh, okay,” Jason accepted easily.
He returned his attention to the game, missing the concerned glances Dick shot over his head. Damian refused to acknowledge anyone in the room. He looked anywhere else.
Dick stood up and momentarily left their game. Then he approached his father and bent down to whisper discreetly. “He hasn’t eaten for almost the entire day, Bruce.”
“Yes, but we don’t want to worry Jason,” Father returned.
Dick seemed troubled. Father withdrew the bottle and handed it to him. “Hold this, please.”
Dick grabbed it. “What are you doing?”
Father didn’t answer. Damian’s irritation spiked when the man tugged him closer, and he was about to throw a fit about it too. What was he thinking? Damian didn’t want to sit on his lap, and yet his father was hefting him up laying him down on his back. His head was almost hanging off the couch, but it was supported by his father’s hand.
“Damian,” he said, voice softer than Damian had ever heard it in his previous existence, “do you like making me worry?”
Pfft, you? Worry? About me?
“You know it’s not a good thing to make me worry,” Father playfully warned. “I might just have to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”
Damian scowled and inwardly scoffed. He didn’t know what his father was planning but—
Father drew his shirt up and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Damian was instantly rendered into a brainless buffoon, and he squealed and squirmed. Stop that, he demanded, but his thoughts were quickly dumbed down into childish delight. He smacked his dad’s head with a fisted hand, but it didn’t have enough strength to do any damage. It was a weak motion, one that was incapable of stopping the next raspberry. Damian couldn’t stop the next high-pitched voice that left his throat.
He got a brief glimpse of his brother hovering nearby, displaying a relieved smile.
“Dick—” Bruce beckoned swiftly.
With the next raspberry, Damian couldn’t stop the baby bottle’s nipple from being put in his mouth. His starving body cried out for relief, but something deep within the crevices of his mind moaned with defeat.
Damian’s hands flew to the bottle in an attempt to steady it, and then he was sucking needily.
“So, was he just in a bad mood?” Dick asked.
“I don’t know, but at least he’s eating.”
Shut up, Damian brooded, you guys don’t even understand half of what I’m going through right now.
His baby brain replied quickly. Mm. Milk. Drink all of it.
I hate this.
Damian was in a bad mood for the rest of the evening and nothing could pacify him. He was annoyed. These people were pretending to be his family—pretending everything was okay. How could they see that this was all wrong? He didn’t belong here. He would never be able to live up to their expectations. Were they keeping him around to use him as a future scapegoat? Were they planning to make him do their dirty work? He wouldn’t. He was done with all of it.
Damian’s emotions built up late into the night, as he lay staring up at the ceiling in his nursery, and eventually his little body couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much to process for a baby, even though his adult-self would have no trouble keeping it all pent up inside, and that was why he ended up bursting out into screeching cries.
NOISE!
NOISE!
I hate this noise! Make it stop! My ears hurt! I can’t see! I’m so tired!
It took a moment before anyone came to his rescue, but Damian wasn’t looking for a rescue. He needed to be anywhere but here.
His father invited himself into Damian’s nursery, groggy yet alarmed. He dipped his arms into Damian’s crib and collected him. “Son,” he murmured.
Damian could barely hear him. He was too busy busting eardrums.
“Shh, shh,” his father tried to soothe as he bounced Damian. He walked around the room because sometimes that calmed Damian down. It didn’t this time. Damian kept crying and crying. His tears weren’t sad. They were angry and infuriated.
Damian could somehow feel that his father was growing increasingly agitated as he failed continuously. That bothered him even more. The volume on his cries went up and his father looked less than pleased. Damian saw the shift of his jaw and the clenching of his teeth. At one point, he stopped moving altogether. He stood in place and squeezed his eyes shut.
Damian kept crying regardless. He didn’t care if his father was having a difficult time. He was having a difficult time too! His needs were more important now! More important than anything that could possibly come up.
After two minutes of standing around and doing nothing, his father finally managed to get himself moving.
They left the nursery and starting walking through the halls. Then they went downstairs. Away from the bedrooms. Father carried him outside onto the back porch, traveling through the kitchen to do so. Then they were sitting down on a large bench-swing, cushioned for comfort.
It was pitch dark outside, save for the porch’s gentle light.
Damian was turning red now and he could barely stand this situation. He hated this. He wished his father wouldn’t hold onto him like this. He didn’t want to care about him. He wanted it all to end. He wanted to stop feeling.
Damian wailed and wailed and wailed. He wailed so loud that he couldn’t hear what was happening around him, not until he hiccupped and caught wind of the smallest little hum. One that had been going on for the past three minutes they’d been sitting out on the porch.
What’s that sound?
Damian hiccupped again as a large hand rubbed his belly. There were too many distracting things happening right now. Not only were they swinging, but there was a palm rubbing up and down his stomach. There was also that little, tiny noise—the one he could barely hear. Every time he hiccupped between cries, he caught the hum of a pleasant baritone.
Father is humming to me.
Damian wasn’t sure what to make of this information as his wails turned into pitiful hiccups. It took him a good long while to settle down, but when he did, his father had his undivided attention. He listened closely to what he was doing.
His father hummed through the night, repeating his tune multiple times. He didn’t think to stop, not even as Damian quieted completely. He kept it up for a long time. It only seemed to stop when Damian was once again on the verge of sleep. For once, there were no thoughts in his mind. Only calm.
Father let the silence stretch for a while. Damian nearly fell asleep until his father began to speak.
“When I lost you Damian, I realized it was too late.”
That was a loaded sentence for a baby to process.
“Batman was supposed to be a symbol of hope, a protector of people and an averter of tragedy. I wanted what happened to me to never happen to anyone else but…” Father had a far-away look in his eye as he gazed out into the darkness. “I didn’t realize that I was hurting the people around me. I was so obsessed with my conviction that I’d neglected to pay attention to my new family, and when I saw you Damian—when I saw your broken body—” A hitch. “I wondered to myself if I ever told you once that I’d loved you.”
Damian blinked sleepily up at him.
“Now that I have a second chance, I don’t want you to ever feel trapped or driven into a corner. Always remember Damian, your father loves you.”
Father’s eyes finally glanced downward and the hand resting on Damian’s stomach navigated upward. He lightly fixed Damian’s thin bangs. Damian almost couldn’t feel it. He was falling asleep fast and against his will.
"He loves you more than you could ever know."
Damian reluctantly allowed his father to stick the baby bottle nipple into his mouth.
“Looks like someone’s in a better mood today,” Alfred commented.
Jason laughed in the distance as he ran around in the grass with Tim. Tim shyly let himself be pulled along with innocent happiness. Tim wasn’t a member of their family, despite having parents who didn’t spend too much time with him, but he seemed to fit in well enough. Bruce always treated him tenderly and with fondness. Dick was much the same, handling Tim like a precious, little rabbit he wanted to be friends with.
“He was terrible last night, Alfred,” Father said. “He wouldn’t stop crying until I took him outside.”
“He’s probably just upset that he woke up to begin with,” Alfred said. “Babies are horrible at sleeping.”
The two continued to exchange words, completely unaware that Damian could understand everything they said. Fortunately for them, Damian didn’t feel like teaching them a lesson. He was too busy drinking up his meal.
Damian half-listened to them until a whining cry could be heard. Alfred murmured an, “oh dear,” before going out into the backyard to rescue Tim’s cut knee.
Father remained on the swing they’d been in last night except, this time, Dick was standing next to him.
“Bruce,” he said, “I think I finally found a lead on Cass.”
Damian was shifted in his father’s lap. He was surprised, Damian could tell by the change in his body language.
“I know you said you’d take care of it, but we’re a team, and I didn’t want you going into the cave more than you have to.”
“Dick—”
“I know it sounds out-there, but maybe we can commission the Justice League to help us. They’ll reach her faster than we can.”
“…that might be difficult.”
“Not with friends in high places,” Dick said, holding out his phone for Bruce’s inspection. He scanned Dick’s phone quickly with his eyes.
“He’s willing to help you? Even though you’re retired?”
“He’s my friend, Bruce. You should think about getting a few too. Wouldn’t hurt to put Clark back in your social circle. Throw a gala and invite him over. He’s easy to please, so I don’t doubt you’ll make fast friends.”
“Hrm.”
Bruce pretended to think about it as he took Damian’s bottle away. It was empty. He’d stuffed it all down as if he’d never eat another meal ever again.
Bruce rested a hand on Damian’s head.
“We almost have our family back together,” Dick said. He sounded nostalgic. “Everything’s going to be different this time around.”
“Yes,” Bruce agreed.
The two went silent, perhaps lost in memories, or simply content with the momentary harmony spread between them. Even Damian felt a bit of it, and that was probably because a lot had changed from last night. He’d realized something that had changed his whole mindset. After his father had talked to him, he came to understand the truth of the situation. His father hadn’t gone back in time willy-nilly. He hadn’t saved Damian to rub it in his face and throw him into another fire. He’d done it because he’d loved him.
Maybe redoing this life won’t be so bad.
Damian knew his father was telling the truth. After all, what sort of sane-minded person talked to a baby about those sorts of things? He imagined his father never would have said those things if he’d known his baby could understand him. If he did end up saying the same things, he probably would leave out a few details.
Damian was hesitant to do so, but he wanted to give his father a chance.
I’ve given him so many chances though, and I’m so tired of living.
Damian’s mind quickly spiraled back into a depressive haze until his father pinched his nose. Damian startled and craned his head back to look at him.
“No more keeping daddy awake at night, alright?”
Dick snorted. “He’s not going to listen to you.”
Damian huffed and looked away. He landed his gaze on Alfred. The butler was putting a band-aid on Tim’s knee. Tim’s sniffling decreased dramatically once the boo-boo disappeared.
Okay.
Damian exhaled.
Let’s give it one more try.
Even if it hurts.
Father pinched his nose again.
Damian's face twisted.