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No one could pinpoint why or how it started. But, it had started and no one could figure out when it would end. All they could do was pray that, eventually, it would.
Tim was the first to experience it, much to the disbelief of his patchwork and largely dysfunctional family. He had just stumbled in to the manor after an absolutely grueling day at Gotham Academy; most of that day had been spent trying to figure out the correct balance of ‘I’m definitely smart enough to be here, thank you very much’ and ‘I laugh at your petty notions of lessons; I train with the best, am tutored by the best, and actually am the best. I fall asleep charting polynomial factors and twisting together new carbon chain possibilities’ as well as trying to explain that, yes, Bruce-freaking-Wayne was his legal guardian now and he hadn’t forged his signature as a joke. Add on the typical school yard bullying, and he was just ready to disappear with a plate of Alfred’s cookies, watch Bill Nye, and take out his aggression on the nearest punching bag until he could conceivably continue venting his problems on Gotham’s scum.
He had barely dropped his bag in the hall when a dark shadow loomed over him, a small figure dropping squarely on him and elegantly flipping and pinning him to the floor. Two bony knees were pressed into his chest, a black cape obscuring the majority of his captor’s face as a hand pulled it taut. Black eyebrows and green eyes were furrowed as they glared at Tim. Tim just stared, too frozen with confusion for any of his training to kick in.
Damian leaned closer, voice pitched low and gravelly as he said, “I’m Batman.”
He let Tim blink twice before flipping off of him and scampering away. Tim just stared at the ceiling, desperately trying to fathom what in the ever loving fuck just happened.
Babs was next—which Tim thought was very due. The only one who had laughed louder than Dick as Tim tried to explain that Damian was broken was Babs. To be specific, she had doubled over and started sobbing with laughter.
Tim felt rather vindicated, in other words, when Damian had made her into the next target.
She was over at the manor helping patch up security, isolating herself in the second living room as she tried to hack through the firewalls Tim and Dick had collaborated on. Every time she broke through one layer, three more protections were created—the Hydra method, as Dick had coined it. Babs was fairly quick at deducing it and was invested in trying to combat the exponentially growing walls.
So invested in fact, she didn’t notice the door quietly open and shut.
She did, however, notice the soft sound of footsteps on carpet and looked up. A small figure was decked out in a full Batman costume—cowl, cape, black suit. One hand was holding the cape over the lower part of his face, and his green eyes locked on Babs’s for a moment. “I’m Batman,” he growled before launching himself out the nearest window.
Babs just stared at the space where the youngest Bat had stood moments before, mind temporarily blank.
Her computer shrieked at her as her work was obliterated by the safeguards, but all she could think was what the hell just happened?
Dick prided himself on preparedness, and believed himself to be completely ready for whenever Bat Jr. decided to target him.
So ready, in fact, that the fact Clark Kent befell Damian’s weird antics next totally blindsided him.
Clark had come over for the simple fact of talking business-slash-friendship, of proposing that maybe John and Damian should see each other more than once a month and wouldn’t Bruce like to just maybe stop at the farm and eat real food (sorry, Alfred, your cooking’s great, but Ma’s pies are heaven-sent) and can’t we get over these petty school yard antics and just accept that we actually get along?
Clark had been in the manor all of about twelve seconds, ushered into the kitchen to see if Alfred’s latest recipe resembled Ma Kent’s pie even a little bit, before It happened.
Alfred left to grab the cookbook he’d used from the library and Clark had relaxed into the barstool, licking the remnants of pie off his fork when a form literally dropped from the rafters. In Clark’s retelling, it was like he had shut his eyes for a second when this thing touched down inches from the precious pastry.
A cape was held in front of the intruder’s face, but the tiny stature meant it was most probably Damian.
He glared at Clark, the majority of his features hidden by the bat cowl on his head. “I’m Batman,” he growled, before launching at Clark, using his massive shoulders as a springboard to vault out of the room.
Clark was found snickering minutes later by Alfred, insisting Bruce really needed to exercise his kids in more normal ways.
When it was ultimately Dick’s turn he, regrettably, wasn’t ready.
But, honestly, who would be?
He had spent two weeks reconfiguring the Batmobile at Bruce’s request, trying to figure out a way to make it self-tracking, self-driving, voice activated, heartrate activated, invulnerable to hacking, and a direct line to the Bat computer all at the same time. All without frying the car or draining its battery in a second.
Each feature had been utilized in the past in some way, but never concurrently and clearly the car wasn’t actually built to house this much tech. So Dick had to recruit Jason and Tim to help him alter the car itself to allow more room for all the necessary components, which naturally was the best and worst idea he’d had in a while.
But, finally, Dick was on the precipice of a working super vehicle. Just a handful more tweaks and a test drive should have everything sorted.
So, he slipped into the driver’s side, booted up the car, and directed it to take him to the nearest lake. Nothing happened, so he had to hop out, fiddle with more wires and try again. “Nightwing request. Take me to the nearest body of water,” he said slowly and clearly. The car chimed the notes he’d programed in, letting him know his request was heard and, hopefully, understood. The car drove out of the cave and meandered down the back road as it presumably took him where he wanted.
He had been on the road for just a few moments when he heard movement behind him; he turned to find a small figure behind him. Damian stared at him. “I’m Batman,” he growled quietly, fumbling to find the door handle.
“Recognize: Batman. Request?”
Damian stared at the console, gaze flicking to Dick. “Off a cliff,” Damian said, voice still gravelly. He shoved open the door and dove out.
The car chimed, and Dick stared at the still-open door.
“Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by Damian Al Ghul Wayne,” Babs said solemnly, perched in a plush armchair in the parlor. The Bat family was assembled, minus Bruce and Alfred. It seemed like Damian had spared them, for some reason. Tim was next to Jason on the couch, a respectable and forced distance between them. Dick was in the second armchair, by the fireplace. Babs, naturally, raised her hand first, followed by Tim and Dick. Jason reclined further in his seat, folding his arms over his lap as he kicked his legs up on the coffee table.
“Jason?” Babs prodded. Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Alright, just us three then. Is the MO consistent?”
“Popping out of nowhere and freaking us out? Yeah.”
Jason tilted his head towards Tim, eyebrow raised. “Baby Bats has been doing what?”
“He’s been ambushing us dressed like Batman. He dropped on me, appeared in front of Babs, and was apparently hiding in the Batmobile to scare Dick,” Tim explained, and Jason smirked. “He even got Clark.”
Jason snorted loudly, the hint of laughter bleeding through.
“It’s not funny!” Babs snapped. “I lost a whole laptop to him and his stupid ‘I’m Batman’ weirdness.”
Jason began laughing loud and unabashedly, evolving into full guffaws as Dick smacked his leg. “I think Dami might be affected by something,” he said. “He doesn’t do this. What if he really thinks he is Batman? He’s only just started the Robin training—it could be dangerous.”
Jason reeled himself back, schooling his face into the mockery of seriousness. “Yes, of course. Only explanation,” Jason said regally, steepling his hands in his lap.
“Do you think it’s a League of Shadows thing?” Babs asked, focusing in on Dick, who shrugged. “We don’t know the full extent of his training. It could be brainwashing gone wrong. It could be a protocol he misunderstood. It could also have been a covert attack by one of the villains he and B took down last week. It could be anything, really.”
Jason’s eyes flicked over to where the door slowly opened. Everyone’s attention gradually honed in on the doorway, where a small figure in full Batgear was stood. He locked eyes with Jason as he announced in a gravelly, low voice, “I’m Batman.”
He slowly closed the door, the sound of rapid, retreating footsteps following.
Jason doubled over laughing, hiccupping and gasping as his breath caught.
“It’s not funny!” Tim snapped.
Jason continued to laugh for several minutes, much to the alarm of his siblings. “It’s—fucking—hilarious,” Jason managed out. “He’s—a—fucking—genius.” He covered his mouth as mirth continued to overtake him.
Dick looked between him and the door, realization slowly dawning. “You put him up to this,” he said slowly. Jason managed to shake his head, forcing himself to stop laughing. “Nope,” he hiccupped out, taking a few steadying breaths as the last giggles flitted out. “All on him.” At the three Bat-glares fixed on him, Jason shrugged and elaborated, “I might have gotten it into his head, but he wanted to do this.” He coughed a few times, trying to regain a sense of dignity and intimidation. “You were babying him, Dickie-bird. The bat has to learn how to fly, even if it’s straight for your jugular. And because you’re a nice big brother, you will act the right amount of scared for him.”
“You need to stop teaching our siblings it’s okay to be petty.”
“Learned from the best, Dickie-bird.” Jason batted his eyes at Dick.
Three Months Ago…
“I do not understand where I am going wrong,” Damian said, delicately reclining on the crate that served as his pseudo-brother’s coffee, dining, and end table. “I have tried everything Mother has taught me, and they do not seem as wary as before. Grayson—Grayson hugged me two days ago! And Drake no longer takes himself away from whatever room I walk into.”
Jason flicked his switchblade absently as he watched Damian fidget slightly as he spoke.
“Since you seem rather skilled in making both of them on their guards, I demand guidance.”
Jason chuckled lowly, leaning against the wall his cot was pushed up against. “What I’m gonna assume here, Mini Replacement, is that you’ve been going in guns ablazing—knives and chokeholds and whatever crazy martial arts shit Talia taught you.” Damian sputtered, and Jason grinned wider. “And that’s exactly where you went wrong. Any fuckwit can get a knife. Dickie-bird and Replacement deal with that on the regular. But the real threats? The ones that they can’t figure out?” Jason tapped his temple with the blunt side of his knife. “They go for the mind. Psychological warfare, baby bats.”
Damian looked at him skeptically.
“Why do you think Daddy Bats keeps fucking around with Joker? It ain’t for his contraptions. It’s cuz B has no fucking clue what Joker’s thinking. One day, Joker’s talking about how he’s fed up with bananas and how all bananas should be green. Next Tuesday, he’s assembled himself a monkey army or some crazy shit. You wrap them up in your crazy, and they won’t ever be able to settle again.”
Damian cocked his head as he studied Jason.
“Look, like Dickie-bird, right? We go round in circles because he doesn’t know if I’m gonna snap anytime soon. I keep dropping hints, and he’s wound round my finger. I only have to act out a little bit to get him off his game. He’s used to my guns and my knives and all of that. He knows I won’t shank him, probably. But he never knows if I’m gonna string him by the ankles and dangle him off a building.”
“I can’t exactly lift Grayson.”
“It’s just an example! Look, you just gotta find what they think about you. Play with it.”
“I have no clue what they think about me! I make a point to ignore them.”
“Look, Mini Replacement, I’ve only known you, what, less than a year? But I think I know what they think about you. They think you’re this tightly wound freak of nature with no concept of how to be a kid. Dickie is trying to give you childhood, Replacement is giving you space. You have a lot to work with. You could, I don’t know, run around pretending to be Batman or some shit kids these day do.”
Damian stared at Jason for a moment, before nodding. “I believe I could devise something,” he mused.