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It’d been an easy lesson to learn.
Sharing his opinion meant getting punished, and getting punished meant getting hurt. Damian would avoid punishment if possible. He wished to excel in all things, pleasing his family with his obedience. At a young age he learned to keep his thoughts suppressed in his mind. He did not make decisions, not unless given permission to, and he never acted against his mother’s wishes. He was her prince. He carried out her orders. He executed them with violent efficiency. He never asked any questions. He never challenged his grandfather’s authority.
He assumed the same would translate to his father. Damian had only known him for a couple of months. His mother had told him to listen to him. He was to learn from him. His mother’s words were law, so Damian treated his father as he would his mother. He paid attention. He kept quiet. He listened. He kept his opinions in check. He was not allowed to express them, not if he wished to fit in this new set of dynamics, and avoid critical punishment.
So, when his father handed him a cup of punch to try, Damian obeyed.
It was a charity event. Damian’s first appearance was to be made with only a select few members of the press in attendance. High society surrounded him in interest. Old money, new money, and aspiring socialites regarded him with necessary examination. Getting on his good side, they supposed, meant getting on his father’s good side. It meant making important connections. Damian was predictably barraged by adults at every turn. He was only spared their company when his father pulled him over to take a break.
His father handed him a cup of punch. He had said, “Why don’t you take a drink?”
Damian had taken a sip.
He paused. He stared into his drink. His father stopped fixing Tim’s tie to give Damian his attention again. He had a frown on his face. Damian knew that he was displeased.
“Don’t like it?” He said.
It’s a test. Damian knew this game.
“It is satisfactory,” Damian had lied.
He didn’t know why his father was serving him a spiked drink, but he assumed it was to test his obedience. Damian had downed the entire drink in gratitude, thanking his father for the beverage, and then waited for the after-effects.
After fifteen minutes, he wobbled for the balcony, and leaned against the stone rail.
Now, he stares up at the night sky, humming a lullaby his mother would sing him in his youth. His head felt heavy on his neck. Damian’s thoughts were in a jumble. He hears something happening inside, there’s an uproar, but Damian’s mind is too hazy to focus on his surroundings. He’s too busy tracing constellations with his eyes. The stars waver in his vision, the moon doubles in faded duplicates, and the dark clouds that lingered hid the shy night.
“Damian,” Tim’s voice, relieved, and worried at the same time, rings in his ears. Damian looks away from the sky to squint his eyes at him.
“You-” Tim breathes out. He’s crouching in front of Damian. “The punch. You drank it.”
Damian nods. “Mhm.”
“Why?” Tim asks. “You- I know you know how to tell if your drink has been tampered with.”
Damian sighs out in a drunken haze. “You have nice eyes.”
Tim blinks.
“Oh, uh,” his surprise was plain, “thanks.”
Bruce pops out into the balcony. He closes the door behind him. There was a big frown on his face. Alfred closes the curtains on the other side to give them privacy.
“Father,” Damian greets respectfully.
Bruce’s frown deepens. Damian thinks it might just be meant for him.
“The punch, Damian,” Tim tries to grab his attention again. “Why did you drink it? Why didn’t you tell anyone? We’ve got several drugged individuals. You could’ve-”
Tim sighs.
Damian reaches out a hand. He pats Tim’s cheek mindlessly.
“Bouncy,” he decides.
Tim raises a brow. Bruce grunts as he gently nudges Tim out of the way. Tim straightens himself. He moves for his father. Bruce then lowers himself to collect Damian into his arms. He guides Damian’s arms to wrap around his neck. Damian obeys the soundless command, and allows himself to be plucked off the ground.
Damian rests his cheek on his father’s shoulder.
His father turns. He heads for the glass doors. Tim opens it for him. Damian takes notice of several eyes that follow after them as they disappear out of the ballroom. He didn’t have enough energy to think too hard about what they were doing, though, because he felt it drain from him with every passing second.
Tim follows after them through a corridor. He had a frown on his face, too. He was trying to figure something out. Damian could see it in his expression.
Damian is deposited in a side room. His father lays him down on an armchair, taking great care in making sure Damian was comfortable, and then he takes a step back to sit on the coffee table. Tim stands guard at the door.
“How are you feeling, son?” He asks. “Alfred should be coming around with the car soon.”
Damian smiles. He holds a thumb up.
“Good,” he says.
His hand falls in his lap. He leans his head against the back of the armchair. “Good,” he repeats.
“Hm,” his father hums as he pats his knee. Damian grabs at the hand. He narrows his eyes in examination, straightening himself, to hyperfocus on his father’s skin. He turns his father’s hand in his, and follows the lines on his father’s palm. There was nothing too interesting about the sight, but for some reason Damian’s brain wanted to analyze every single detail.
“Why did you drink the punch, Damian?” His father asks quietly. Seriously. “You should have told me something was wrong with it.”
Damian peeks up at him shyly.
“Are you angry with me?” He asks.
His father looks startled for a moment.
“No- I-”
His father shakes his head as if to regain his train of thought. “I’m not angry with you, Damian. I’m just- I’m just worried about you- and I want to know why you didn’t prioritize your health. It’s important to me that you’re healthy.”
Damian presses his father’s hand against his own cheek. He leans into it.
“You told me to drink it,” he hums. He closes his eyes.
“That doesn’t mean you have to poison yourself.”
“Mother told me to listen to you,” Damian explains. He pats his father’s hand.
“You’re well within your right to refuse something that might cause you harm.”
“No,” Damian denies. “I need to do what you tell me to do. I can’t disobey. I must be good.”
He opens his eyes. His father looked pained. That was strange. Damian had never seen him with that expression before.
“You are good,” his voice pulls out in a stretch of strain.
Damian beams.
“I like that,” he decides.
Tim moans. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking this way the entire time you’ve been living with us.”
Damian looks over at him in confusion. He lowers his father’s hand from his face, releasing his grip on it, but his father grabs hold of his hand. He enfolds Damian’s smaller one in his larger one. He squeezes with worry.
His father explains, “Damian. I know you’re really good at listening, you’ve proven that in the past, but I want you to prove it again. Think you can do that?”
Tim protests. “Bruce. You can’t seriously mean to take advantage of Damian!”
Bruce ignores him. He waits for Damian’s reply. Damian nods obediently.
“Okay,” Bruce says. He rubs his thumb over the back of Damian’s hand. “Here’s what I want you to do from this point on. I want you to make your own safety your number one priority.”
Damian’s brows dig into his forehead.
“Think you can do that?”
Damian nods reluctantly.
“You won’t punish me?” He adds as an after-thought.
The pain on his father’s face almost splits his face in half.
“No. No, Damian. Never.”
“This is messed up,” Tim says.
“Oh. Okay, then,” Damian replies simply. His father didn’t look quite satisfied with that, but that didn’t stop him from lifting Damian up in his arms again. Damian slinks his arms around his neck without help this time, and Tim grumbles something underneath his breath about how stupid the League was.
“Let’s see if Alfred’s outside.”
Damian stays in his father’s hold on the way out. Distantly, he wonders if he’ll remember any of this when he’s in his right mind, but for right now? He just wanted to sleep.
So, he does. His father might claim that he should make his health a number one priority, but Damian didn’t think it was necessary when his father was holding him. He knew his father would keep him safe.
He had just promised it, after all.