InsaneJournal

Who: Bruce and Damian
When: Before the villain stuff
Where: The Batcave
What: Father and son talk it out
Warnings: None, really.



Down in the Batcave, between the echo of falling water and squeaking bats, Damian tinkered away at the Batwing. It was close to completion when he left to live with Selina, but wasn’t fit to fly yet and needed some extra calibrations. He had been keeping indoors lately, letting Jade take most of his time when he wasn’t at home improving gadgets for himself, Selina and Stephanie. It was mostly because he knew his time as Talon was almost up and trying to think of a new identity when he really didn’t know himself was hard enough. He didn’t have any powerful symbols in his life anymore. Nothing that he could take for himself. Besides, it was easier to just focus on things he could tinker with than worry about Selina or Tim or anyone else in Gotham that proved to be a threat.

While he crawled over the Batwing with a belt of tools and a face covered in grease, Bandit slept quietly in a chair near the computer Damian had put as much information into as he could before leaving. Below her was a duffel bag stuffed full with clothes and supplies in case he really did plan on staying. That was still up in the air, partially because he didn’t like leaving Selina alone, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be spending much time in Gotham despite what he said. Still, he hadn’t informed his father that he’d be there. He just decided to pack up his things, grab his cat and go.

Bruce had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that the Batcave was no longer a secret only he and Alfred knew about by the time Damian left the Manor, and afterward he no longer expected to stumble upon any guests while he was absent. There was no one else who had need of it, after ask, aside from Stephanie, but their paths never seemed to cross. It became a place of solitude once more, and he felt as though he should have been more relieved by it than he truly was. That was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To be alone, as he was in his Gotham, where Batman was very much a lone figure. Failure was disheartening, but it seemed a common trend, at least when it came to his relationships. As always, Alfred was the only one with whom he felt he hadn't damaged things beyond repair.

Rather than enter through the waterfall, or one of the other hidden entrances, he came down using the service elevator from the Manor itself. He knew halfway down that he wasn't alone, yet he said nothing, merely watching as the familiar figure tinkered with the Batwing, which he hadn't touched since Damian left, even once the elevator shuddered to a stop. He was nothing short of surprised to see the boy here, since it had been quite some time since they'd spoken, and even as he approached, regarding the cat with raised eyebrows, he found himself at a temporary loss for words. "Hello," he said finally, tilting his head back slightly to look at him.

Damian heard the clicks and pull of the elevator, but pretended to not notice. It could have just been Pennyworth or one of the other Bat children. No, he didn’t even acknowledge his father until he said something. Crouching on one of the outside panels, Damian kneeled and looked over at Bruce. The little bird didn’t say anything at first, just looked at his father with a very familiar serious stare that he couldn’t hide even if he tried. “It was you. On the journals. It was you the whole time after the memories hit.” His voice wasn’t acustitory or angry, just matter of fact. Bruce needed to know that if they were going to really work this out.

“I don’t understand why you’d bother.” Damian did understand. Part of him knew exactly who cared about him. Who he couldn’t let down anymore. But, he needed to hear it from his father. Just like he heard it from Batgirl and Catwoman. He needed to hear them say it. He’d take anything that wasn’t I thought you were a threat. That much could be taken from his tone.

There was little else in this world that was unnerving as being fixed with your own stare, and Bruce found himself wondering at the familiarity in the boy’s firm gaze. In truth, the two of them weren’t so different, and he thought that might be why they had a tendency to clash. His surprise was fleeting, as he had expected Damian to realize the truth sooner or later, though he had, admittedly, also been expecting some sort of accusation for deceiving him. Did that mean he wasn’t angry? Everything he’d said had been true, and it was a rare opportunity for insight, as Selina often told him he didn’t make enough of an effort to understand his son.

“Yes, it was me.” There would be no denial, not here. “Luke was unable to cope with what he saw, so I temporarily took control.” As for why he’d bother, well, there was a simple answer for that, but Bruce had never been very good with simple answers. “I thought,” he said, after a long pause, “you might be more willing to talk if you thought it was Luke you were speaking to, and not me.”

Damian fiddled with one of his tools, now sitting cross-legged on the Batwing like a teenager waiting to be grounded. He had hoped it was his father, or at least, part of what Bruce thought shone through Luke’s answers. Even if he were speaking to the anti-hero, his father would hear it all. If the little bird didn’t want that, he wouldn’t have talked to the Vegas man at all. But, Selina was right, all Damian wanted was for his father to try and get him back in the nest. He might have been eighteen, but he wasn’t ready to do this on his own.

He kept his head ducked down, staring at the metal between his hands as he twisted it with his fingers. There were a lot of excuses. This wasn’t his Gotham. It was hard to accept that this was his real father. The line between good and evil was confusing. They were all things his father knew and didn’t need to hear. “What’s there to know about me that Selina wouldn’t tell you?” Damian asked, finally. If he was merely checking up on his son, the cat was more than happy to give progress reports.

Considering how poorly some of their past conversations had gone, Bruce was acutely aware of how much rested upon this. Normally, he was the picture of confidence, and while he still stood straight, with an iron posture rather than a slouch, his hands found their way into his pockets while he watched Damian for a reaction. There seemed to be no sign of hostility in the boy, which he thought was promising.

He blinked at the mention of Selina. Yes, she could update him on his son's well-being, but he wanted more than that. "A great deal," he said. "What you think, how you feel. She's not you." And, maybe, there were certain things Selina had said that he wanted to hear from Damian himself.

Damian wanted to know why his father cared what he thought, what he felt. Was it because then it’d be easier to predict his movements or trick him into believing they were on the same side? That thought alone received a very hard mental slap from Jade. You know better. She scolded him. He had to hand it to the girl, she did brave through the other movies even after what happened with the last one. She knew just as well as Damian that Bruce did care. Even if he didn’t know how to manage it. Still, it wasn’t enough for Damian. Just to know without being told.

“Well, did you learn anything about me?” Damian asked, eyes on his father. His expression changed to that of someone who desperately wanted to hear the right thing, even if he didn’t really know what that was.

Bruce was a great many things, some admirable and some not so much, but he would never have sunk so low as to use Damian’s trust against him in order to gain information for his own selfish means. The boy was a complication, even a mystery, but he was not a threat, and he had no reason to predict his movements or lull him into a false sense of comradery. That sort of manipulation sickened him, and he would have been saddened to know that Damian had considered, however briefly, that he was capable of it.

“Yes.” His pause was slow, and he looked up, past Damian, towards the sloped ceiling of the rock face, where the bats which dwelled down here with him appeared as black shapes against shades of grey and brown. “You’re more Wayne than Al Ghul.” It was simple, perhaps, but honest, and he returned his gaze to the boy with a faint smile.

Damian had expected anything from mention of his anger issues to how skilled he was as a fighter. Superficial things everyone could know about him, but few appreciated until they really got to see what he could do. He didn’t want to believe that there was anything else about him that was worth noting. A sentiment that deserved another smack from Jade. But, when his father mentioned the one thing that had been weighing heavily on his mind, he looked up. There wasn’t a smile, but his eyes gave away the relief that pushed through him like a wave of warm water.

The little bird fumbled for words, mouth pressed together as he tried to think of a response that wasn’t more than gratitude. “When I first appeared here I didn’t think you were my father. Not exactly.” Damian broke eye contact, looking at the batcave, the tool in his hands, the black metal plates he was sitting on. “I know I was wrong. Maybe things are different, but- if you’d let me go back to trying to be your son I think,” he checked for his father’s reaction. “I think that would be for the best.”

The relief in Damian's eyes spoke volumes, and Bruce was pleased that he had not only managed to say the right thing, but the honest one as well. He’d initially assumed that the boy was too much like his mother, like his grandfather, but he saw now that he was wrong. There was so much more potential in him than that, and he was almost ashamed of himself for being so quick to judge. Then again, he was not the only one; he was a different Bruce, and so they had made their own assumptions based on what he wasn’t instead of what he was. It hurt less than it initially had, though at the time he’d feigned indifference.

Yes, things were different, and perhaps once he’d believed he was no one’s father, incapable of the emotion necessary to be a parent.The key, however, was to try, and if they were both willing then they might just succeed. “I’d like that,” Bruce said. “And I will try to be your father, a better one than I have been in the past.”

Damian knew they had been here before when he had first shown up in this Gotham, but a lot had changed. Before he wanted to find a way back to his home where he could be some ten year old Robin again. Now, this Gotham was his home and nothing that could happen past this point could change that. He nodded, standing up to jump off the Batwing in one fluid movement that was natural to him but looked impossible for an average person to pull off without landing on their face.

“I’m still working on a new name, but until then I could go with you on missions.” Damian suggested, walking over to Bandit to pick up the formerly sleeping kitten. “We haven’t worked together in the field yet. I think it would be important for you to see what I can do.”

Bruce had never met anyone capable of the sort of skill he possessed, yet as he observed Damian’s dismount, he saw the potential in the boy, surprising in one so young. Then again, if he had been raised as an assassin by the Al Ghul’s, then it was little wonder. Ra’s would accept nothing less than the best, and his daughter, from what he could piece together, was very much the same. Forgetting his past would be impossible, but all that mattered was the choice he made; the choice to be a Wayne, to fight against crime, rather than with it.

“You could,” he agreed, despite his former objection to working with a partner or, for that matter, anyone at all. It would take some getting used to, but perhaps it was time for Bruce to start making an effort in return. He could remain solitary, and push everyone away in the process, or he could adapt. “I haven’t given you the chance to show me what you can do. I should have. I think you're right," he said. “It’s about time I did.”