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The fog in Bludhaven wasn't like Gotham's; it was cleaner in a pleasant way, even if it was heavy with the smell of burnt oil and sea air. Damian tightened his grip on the collar of his dark coat, feeling the weight of his backpack on his back.
It was 3 a.m.
It had all started three hours earlier, in one of the offices at Wayne Manor.
"This is an insult to my lineage, Father!" Damian's voice echoed, sharp as a katana. "I was trained by the greatest masters of the League of Assassins. I possess knowledge of quantum physics and military strategy that your high school teachers don't even dream of understanding. Attending Gotham Academy is a deplorable waste of time!"
Bruce, with that exasperating calm that only he possessed, didn't even take his eyes off the Batcomputer.
"You're ten years old, Damian. Part of your 'training' now is learning to get along with people your age. You're going to school tomorrow. And it's not high school, it's middle school.
" "I'm not going."
And he wouldn't go.
At 1 a.m., Damian slid out the bedroom window. He didn't take the Batmobile or any trackable vehicle. He used what he considered the "Depot of the Poor": public transportation. It was better than walking for miles.
There were two clandestine trains, hidden among the freight cars to avoid the cameras, and a dilapidated intercity bus that dropped him off on the outskirts of Bludhaven. He was only 11 years old; they weren't going to leave him unattended. He might be young, but he moved through the shadows with the precision of a ghost.
Now, standing before a peeling apartment building, Damian climbed the fire escape. He knew Dick Grayson would be on patrol, but Nightwing's apartment was the only place where his father's GPS would take any longer to "dare" to invade without causing a diplomatic incident between the brothers.
Dick will understand, he always understands me.
After two trains and a noisy bus, Damian finally climbed the fire escape to Dick Grayson's apartment. He was exhausted; when he left Gotham and passed through Atlantic City it had been raining heavily and he was soaked, though his face remained a mask of arrogance. When Dick opened the window, the shock on his face was immediate.
"Damian?!" Dick exclaimed, taking a step back.
The boy was soaked by the icy rain, water running down his short hair and dripping onto the carpet. He shivered slightly, not from fear, but from cold and sheer exhaustion.
“The security in this building is deplorable, Grayson,” Damian said, his voice faltering slightly. “I could have been intercepted by three different gangs on my way here from the bus station.”
Dick felt his heart race. He glanced at the clock—it was past 3 a.m.—and then at his younger brother, so small and vulnerable beneath that warrior facade.
"You crossed two cities alone? Damian, you're 10 years old! Bludhaven isn't Gotham, people here aren't afraid of Batman, they just hit first and ask questions later." Dick pulled him inside, already grabbing a dry towel. He was astonished by the audacity, but the fear that something might have happened to the boy made him pale. "Bruce is going to have a breakdown. Why did you do this?"
"He insists on sending me to school," Damian spat the words, reluctantly accepting the towel. "I'd rather face the criminals of this filthy city that is Gotham than have to endure a basic geography lesson with inferior idiots."
Dick sighed, watching the little Robin struggle to maintain his dignity while chattering his teeth. The danger Damian had faced was real; in Bludhaven, a boy alone was either merchandise or a target, and not even the League's training would protect him from being shot in the back in the middle of a crowd.
"Go take a shower. Now," Dick ordered, in a tone he rarely used. "I'll get you dry clothes and make you some hot soup. Afterward, we'll talk about how you almost killed yourself over an attendance list."
Damian simply nodded, submissive with exhaustion, leaving a trail of water down the hallway as Dick grabbed his phone to let Bruce know the fugitive was safe.
Do you want to see how Damian's confrontation with Bruce will go the next day, or would you prefer the conversation between Dick and Damian about what really bothers him at school?
The sound of water hitting the bathroom tiles was the only noise filling the apartment, besides the crackling of the stove flame. Dick stirred the ladle in the soup pot, but his eyes were fixed on nothing. His hands acted automatically, while his mind was a chaotic jumble of nightmare scenarios.
He couldn't stop thinking about Damian's journey. Two train transfers and a bus trip. Alone. At two, three in the morning.
"He's a prodigy, but he's still the size of a target," Dick thought, gripping the ladle handle tightly. He imagined Damian in those abandoned train stations where the addicts of Bludhaven usually hide. In Gotham, Damian was an easy target because he was the son of a famous and rich man; here he was too, but he was a target because he was a child, especially with the new child trafficking gang, but all it took was a single shot fired by a nervous mugger in some alley and it would have ended everything. The training of the League of Assassins doesn't make anyone bulletproof against a .38 caliber bullet fired at point-blank range by an amateur. Damian's indiscipline was reaching an alarming level. It wasn't just youthful rebellion; it was a dangerous arrogance that made him believe the laws of physics, probability, and basic safety didn't apply to him. "He could have disappeared," Dick muttered, feeling a knot in his stomach. "One slip, a momentary fatigue on that bus, and I'd be identifying a body instead of making soup."
The fact that Damian had run away because of school left Dick somewhere between exhaustion and fury. Bruce was trying to give the boy an anchor in the real world, a bit of normalcy, but Damian saw it as a leash. For the boy, the world was a battlefield, and the idea of sitting in a classroom was a surrender.
Dick turned off the stove. He heard the shower tap close. In a few minutes, that 10-year-old boy, who acted like he was a thousand years old, would be walking out that door. Dick took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He needed to be the mean older brother now, not the peace-and-love Dick, but the worry of "what if he hadn't arrived?" still burned in his chest more than the hot soup in the pot.
The bathroom door opened and Damian emerged dressed in a tracksuit (shorts and sweatshirt), steam following him like a mist. Before the boy could utter any sarcastic comment about the clothing, Dick banged the ladle against the pan. The metallic sound echoed, dry and sharp.
— Sit down. Now. — Dick's voice lacked its usual brightness. It was cold, an octave lower than normal, the tone he used when the patrol got out of control.
Damian hesitated, surprised, but obeyed, sitting down at the kitchen table. Dick placed the bowl of soup in front of him with enough force to splash a drop onto the wood.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Dick began, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze on his brother. "You think you're invincible because you know how to disarm a bomb or take down a hundred-pound man. But you crossed two cities, in the middle of the night, alone; you're still a 10-year-old kid."
"I'm not just any kid, Richard! I..." Damian tried to retort, his chest puffing out.
"Shut up, Damian!" Dick exploded, and the boy flinched slightly, a rare sight. "I've spent the last twenty minutes imagining your body in a ditch by the train tracks. In Bludhaven, nobody cares who your father is or how well you fight. Here, a desperate drug addict for ten dollars would have shot you in the back of the head without even looking at your face. You didn't use your intelligence today. You were spoiled, reckless, and undisciplined."
Dick leaned across the table, encroaching on Damian's space.
— Did you run away because you don't want to go to school? Because you think you're superior to others? School isn't about what you know, it's about having the discipline to fulfill a duty even when you hate it. And today, you proved that you have no discipline whatsoever. You proved that if something doesn't go your way, you don't risk your life and your family's sanity.
Damian lowered his gaze to the soup, his fingers gripping the edge of his robe. The silence in the kitchen was heavy. Dick was trembling, the adrenaline of fear finally transforming into a protective fury.
I thought you were going to give me some support!
"I'll always support you, but not in such a stupid way. It hasn't even been a month since you were attacked by the League, and what if they were watching you? Since you're my brother... I'm disappointed. And I don't know what hurts more: knowing about your disrespect towards Alfred and Bruce, who must be losing their hair because I already told them where you are and that you'll be with me until tomorrow afternoon, or knowing that you almost died because of pure ego."
Damian swallowed hard, the glint of arrogance in his green eyes finally giving way to a small sliver of guilt.
— You are so undisciplined.
Damian's reaction was instantaneous. The word "undisciplined" struck the boy like an electric whip, wounding what he valued most: his assassin's pride.
He jumped up from his chair, dropping the spoon on the floor. His face, previously pale with cold, was now red with fury.
"UNDISCIPLINED?!" Damian's shout cut through the air, sharp and venomous. "How dare you use that word with me, Grayson? I was forged in fire! While you spent your childhood performing acrobatics in a circus, I was being tortured to endure pain! I was leading armies before I even knew what a classroom was!"
He began pacing back and forth in the kitchen, gesturing frantically, his robe sleeves billowing.
“You treat me like a mascot! Bruce wants to lock me in a room with idiots who don’t know the difference between an atom and a molecule just so I can ‘learn to be normal.’ I’m not normal! I’m the heir of Al Ghul! I’m the son of the Bat!”
He stopped in front of Dick, his chest heaving, his green eyes gleaming with anger that he refused to let go of.
— You talk about 'ditches' and 'drug addicts' as if I were a helpless civilian! I crossed Bludhaven because I can. I'm more capable than half the police force of this filthy city! If I'm here, it's because I decided this was the only place where someone would have the decency to listen to me, but I see I was wrong. You're just like him! You just want to control me!
In a fit of blind rage, Damian punched the table, causing the soup bowl to wobble dangerously.
— I don't need school, I don't need a lecture, and above all, Grayson, I don't need your pity! If my presence is such a burden on your 'sanity,' I'm leaving right now!
He turned his back, heading towards the still-open window, even though he was only wearing sweatpants and barefoot, ready to throw himself back into the Bludhaven night just to prove his point.
When Damian leaped toward the windowsill, Dick was quicker. In a blur of movement, he grabbed Damian's arm and pulled him back with undeniable force.
"Let me go!" Damian roared, attempting an elbow strike, but Dick enveloped him in a bear hug, trapping the boy's arms against his body.
They wrestled for a moment on the kitchen floor. Damian was a 10-year-old beast, kicking and writhing with deadly technique, but Dick was bigger, heavier, and driven by a desperation the boy didn't yet understand.
"Enough, Damian! It's over!" Dick shouted, forcing the boy to press himself against his arms. "You're not going anywhere! Look at you! You're barefoot, in your pajamas, and trembling with exhaustion! You want to prove you're an adult? Adults don't die of hypothermia or stupidity."
Damian tried to resist once more, but his strength finally gave out. The adrenaline rush evaporated, leaving only the weight of a three-hour journey and the emotional impact of the confrontation. He stopped fighting, though his body was still as tense as a piano string.
"You say you're not a child..." Dick said, his voice now hoarse, without letting go. "But only a child thinks that being loved means being controlled. I'm not holding you back because I'm like Bruce or because I want to boss you around. I'm holding you back because if you go out that window now, I'll give you a beating out there, and you'll be deprived of the privacy you'll have here."
Dick loosened his grip slowly, but kept his hands on Damian's shoulders, forcing him to look into his eyes.
— You may be the heir of demons and bats, Damian, but here, in this house, you're my little brother. And I don't lose family. Not to crime, nor to your ego.
Like an unfortunate cue. Dick leaned against the wall and pulled Damian down with him, startling Damian. He dragged Damian along as he slowly slid down the cold wall until he was sitting with his back against the hard oak, and threw the struggling boy onto his lap.
"Grayson, let me go!" Damian said, and even as he lay face down on Dick's knees, the order sounded arrogant and cold, as if Dick were a mere peasant committing unforgivable atrocities against his little prince.
The fabric of the gray sweatpants was thick, but the strength of Dick's hand easily cut through it. When the first blow cracked hard against its target, the impact echoed through the room.
Damian screamed and jumped in fright, and Dick belatedly realized that he had probably never been spanked before. In the League of Assassins, pain was torture or training, never domestic discipline; the shock of being hit in that way, in such a paternal and punitive manner, seemed to paralyze the boy for a second before fury took over.
This made Dick even more apprehensive about his task, but he knew he couldn't back down now. What kind of example would he be setting? That he could get everything he wanted? He continued to deliver painful blows while Damian screamed for him to stop immediately.
"Let me go!" the boy demanded, his words punctuated by sharp gasps as Dick's hand struck him firmly, warming the skin beneath his sweatshirt. "Stop it! Argh! I hate you, Grayson! You're an idiot!"
The insults seemed to have had some unpleasant effects, as Dick grabbed the waistband of his shorts and underwear and pulled them down just below his buttocks, leaving his sitting area exposed.
— RICHARD! N-no...
The boy gripped the rug to propel himself forward, the wool fibers slipping from his fingers as he desperately tried to break free. He pushed Dick's legs to stand up, kicked and struggled, growing more desperate to escape his tormentor's grasp. With each new impact, Damian's body jerked, his wounded pride aching as much as his backside.
Dick held him firmly by the waist and patted him repeatedly, maintaining a steady rhythm until the struggle gave way to a limp resignation, Damian's movements becoming heavy and useless. The imperious orders of Ra's al Ghul's heir gradually turned into low pleas.
"Stop, Dick! That hurts!" he whimpered hoarsely, and Dick could hear the tears in his tone, feeling his brother's body tremble against his legs.
— You. Don't. Give. Me. Orders. — he punctuated each word with slaps on his left buttock — You. Don't. Put. Your. Life. At. Risk. — he punctuated on the left buttocks, eliciting a painful cry from the boy — You. Don't. Run. Away. From. Home. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Night. — he punctuated on the left buttocks, making the boy howl and throw his hands behind his back, with wet sobs when he was struck four times on the right buttocks. Letting his body fall loosely, his mind in sobs and apologies wet with salty tears.
After the sound of the final impact against the cold walls, the only sound was the heavy breathing of Dick and the uncontrolled sobs that shook Damian's small body. The boy was exhausted, the fierce resistance of an heir of assassins completely broken by a discipline he never imagined facing.
Dick sighed, his heart heavy, though his expression remained steady. He carefully grasped Damian by the waist and lifted him from his lap. First he knelt with him, then he made the boy stand. The boy could barely stand; his legs trembled and he hid his wet face in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with barely contained sobs.
With a calm gesture, Dick pulled up the waistband of Damian's sweatpants, straightening the clothing that had become disheveled during the fight. He saw how the gray fabric showed the heat emanating from it, a physical reminder of the harsh lesson. After finishing adjusting his brother's appearance, Dick didn't stand up immediately. He remained seated on the floor, at the same height as the younger man.
"Hey... look at me," Dick pleaded, his voice now overflowing with the affection he had saved up during his punishment.
Damian shook his head, sobbing loudly, but Dick gently pulled him into his arms. This time, there was no struggle. The boy collapsed against Dick's chest, clutching his shirt with trembling fingers, burying his face in his older brother's neck as salty tears soaked Richard's skin.
"It's over, Dami. It's done," Dick whispered, cradling him on the living room floor, giving the boy the comfort he so desperately needed after the storm. He kissed the top of Damian's spiky head, his black hair with a faint scent of berries and mint, feeling his body gradually relax. "I did this because I love you, and I couldn't bear to lose you because of such recklessness. Never do that again."
Damian didn't respond with words, only tightened his embrace, making it clear that, despite the pain and wounded pride, this was the only place where he felt truly safe.
— Sorry, I didn't want to go to school because I don't want to be with those idiots, I don't know how to deal with people my age.
—Nobody expects it to be that way, so I support Bruce and suggested taking him on the first day tomorrow, because today you're going to stay with me, okay?
Damian sobs but agrees.
— Sim Richard.
Dick slipped his arms under Damian's legs and gently lifted him, carrying him as if he were much younger than he actually was. The boy didn't protest; he simply buried his face in Dick's shoulder, his sobs now transformed into trembling, exhausted sighs.
Upon entering his own room, Dick gently laid him on the double bed. Damian immediately curled up on his side, his sweatpants still slightly irritating his warm, sensitive skin, while his eyes were red and swollen from persistent crying.
"Stay here, I'll be right back," Dick whispered.
He went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water and a headache pill. He knew that the intensity of the crying and the tension of the fight would leave Damian with a throbbing migraine.
"Drink it all, Dami. It'll help with a possible headache," Dick said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and helping his brother lift his head.
Damian took the medicine in silence, his hands still trembling slightly as he held the glass. After returning the glass to Dick, he let himself fall back onto his stomach against the soft pillows, his body finally succumbing to the extreme exhaustion that follows a major emotional outburst. Dick pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, protecting him from the cold air conditioning.
"Try to get some sleep," Dick murmured, running his hand through the boy's hair. "I'll be right here beside you."
Damian closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Dick's hand on his head like a safety anchor, as the medicine began to take effect.
Thank you for reading!