Chapter Text
Damian had seen photos of the manor before arriving, Mother had made sure he knew every detail about the location and his father before she brought him here. But despite it all, he couldn’t keep his wandering eyes from following hallowed staircases or tracing glittering chandeliers.
Father had brought him to the sitting room, and at first, Damian had sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, but it had been long since he and Mother had left for his office to speak and now, he stood, gaze fixated on a massive portrait above the fireplace, depicting who he imagined were his grandparents and a younger version of his father. They were dead now, murdered in front of his father when he was a child. Mother had told him as much.
A smaller frame off to the side of the fireplace caught his attention. It was draped with black fabric, so that he could not see the picture hid behind.
He knew better than to be curious, but this wasn’t curiosity, he was much too grown for that. This was simply… reconnaissance. Knowledge is power, and the more he knows about his father, the better he can meet his standards.
That was all.
His fingers drifted slowly toward the frame, brushing aside the fabric just barely to see a pair of blue eyes and dark hair—
A giggle caught his attention.
Damian turned sharply, hand forgetting the frame as it flew to the knife hidden beneath his turtleneck.
Before he could ascertain the whereabouts of the sound, however, the door pushed open and in stepped his father.
To a regular person, Bruce Wayne looked the picture of a billionaire playboy relaxing on his day off. Sleeves rolled to the middle of his arms, perfect hair ever-so-slightly ruffled, sweater and slacks of matching graytones and black. But Damian Wayne had been trained better than that.
His father was built, far more than someone in his position needed to be, muscles made for use, not just recreation. And there were scars, unexplainable to the masses, barely peeking out from under his sweater. This was everything he had expected from the Batman.
He hadn’t expected how tired he would look. The lines under his eyes, the slightest hint of gray touching his hair, the somber, far-off expression in his dull eyes. Damian sniffed.
“Hello, Father.”
“Damian,” Bruce responded curtly.
~
Mother bid her goodbyes, showing a rare bit of affection as she cupped the back of his head then planted a short kiss on his hair. Then she was gone, the smell of earth and tea gone with her.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” Bruce grunted, breaking the silence.
Damian fixed him with a look. He couldn’t imagine a house this great didn’t have servants, so why—?
Somehow, Father knew what he was thinking. “We—I had a butler… he was more like family. But he is not here anymore,” he cleared his throat. “Your room?”
“Of course,” Damian bobbed his head and quickly joined his father as he led him upstairs.
As Bruce led him down the wing, Damian counted how many doors they passed on the way.
Three bedroom doors and one bathroom. Not that he could see into the former, he was thankful he had memorized the manor’s floor plans before arriving.
“This will be your room,” Bruce pushed the ajar door until it was open but did not step inside.
Damian slipped past him into the simplistic room. A mattress sat upon a heavy wooden bedframe against the wall to his right, a window across the door, a closet on the opposite side of the room from the bed, a dresser beside it. And a desk with a lamp beside the window.
Damian’s nose wrinkled at the stale scent of the room.
Damian held his tongue, he was here to appease his father, for all he knew, his disdain at the room was just another test.
“Thank you, Father.”
He imagined Mother would be pleased with his tone.
“Hn.”
Bruce shuffled away, then paused. “Dinner will be at eight. Then bedtime after that. We’ll discuss your… training… tomorrow.”
Damian bit his tongue to keep from commenting on the unhealthiness of eating dinner at such a late hour.
“Yes, Father.”
Damian stared at his surroundings. He could work with it… somehow.
He moved swiftly to the window, pulling back the curtains to let the dying light in. The lamp on the desk had already been switched on, but it was too dim for cleaning. He switched the ceiling light on and got to work.
He started in the closet, but a quick scan of it revealed nothing other than some hangers. No matter, he’d go to the dresser next. It was entirely empty, until he reached the bottom drawer. Inexplicably, a t-shirt displaying a local high school’s cheer team was crumpled in the corner of the drawer. Perfect.
He grabbed the T-shirt and busied himself dusting every surface he could. Clearly, Father losing his only servant had taken its toll. Surely, he had a housekeeper of some kind, stooping to as low of a position of cleaning your entire house seemed unthinkable.
Damian sneezed as he wiped down the bedframe. Clumps of dust had fallen from his makeshift rag and onto the bedspread. Just another task to handle.
He debated on where to put the dust rag now that he had finished and finally settled on tossing it into the corner of the closet. Gingerly as to not disturb the freshly fallen dust, he undid the duvet and folded it inwards. He carried the bundle to the hall and shook it as best he could.
Standing in the empty hall, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears as if he held a seashell to it. Father was nowhere to be seen, and even as he strained, he couldn’t hear even a shuffle or murmur.
He hurried back to the bedroom and hastily tucked his bedspread back into place. He mulled over what Father had said before leaving him to his devices. It didn’t take that long; he had barely said anything.
Mother had told him all about Father’s nighttime job, how he enacted justice as the vigilante known as the Batman. He worked alone, but he hadn’t always. There had been a brightly colored apprentice at one point, but for one reason or another, Batman was back to being a loner.
Damian wondered if his father would appoint him as his new apprentice.
He shook the thought from his head.
The important thing was he was in unknown territory now, literally and metaphorically. Father had not deemed to show him around, and was clearly keeping his base secret, as there was no way Batman existed in the same area Bruce did.
Perhaps it was another test.
Damian pressed his lips together. Of course, he didn’t need help. He could find his way around. He had memorized the blueprints anyways. And when Father saw that he was competent, then he would reveal his secret base.
Damian padded softly down the hall. He encountered the bathroom first, quickly taking in its basics and moving on, there was nothing intriguing about a sink or shower.
That left the bedroom doors. Damian cast a furtive glance about before slipping into the first one.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t… this.
The room was perfectly clean, albeit dusty and stale. The layout of the furniture was similar to his, although the desk and bed had traded walls and the dresser was now beside the door, just out the path of its opening. The bed had been stripped, a coarse blanket stretched over the naked mattress, stacked pillows shoved under the bedframe.
Damian inspected the dresser, easing the drawers open and feeling around, but came up with nothing. He moved to the desk, but a quick inspection revealed nothing again. Not a pad of paper or even a pen.
That left the closet.
Piles of unmarked cardboard boxes greeted him as he opened the door. They were taped shut and from the look of the cardboard, they hadn’t been opened before.
Damian gritted his teeth. He couldn’t open them, not without it being obvious he had. He hated it, but he would have to leave this line of investigation until he had an idea of how to be discreet with it. But he didn’t leave without some poking and prodding of the resilient boxes.
He left the room as it had been when he entered and slinked down the hall to the next bedroom.
Just like the first, the door was shut on this one as well. After ensuring he was still alone, he slid forward pushing the handle.
But it didn’t budge. He rattled the doorknob.
Locked.
Why would it be locked?
The doorbell rang, startling Damian away from the bedroom door.
“Damian!” Bruce called as he hurried to the front door. “Dinner!”
Damian didn’t call back, it was impolite to yell inside, but instead slipped down the stairs to appear behind his father.
Bruce was busying taking bags of… food? From what he assumed to be a deliveryman on the front porch.
Bruce turned, not reacting at the sudden appearance of his son.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
~
Father had told him it was “Chinese takeout,” whatever he had meant by that.
“I don’t have time to cook,” he grunted in explanation, sliding a small red box toward him.
Damian eyed the box before unfolding the top. At least it was recognizable as beef, broccoli, and rice. It would be healthy enough. For now. But there would need to be some real food soon, this excuse for food didn’t measure up to his usual.
“You didn’t bring your bag upstairs,” Bruce said between bites.
Damian unwrapped his chopsticks and split them. “I will make sure I get it after dinner, I apologize, Father.”
Bruce shrugged, unscrewing his water bottle to wash down a cream cheese rangoon.
There was nothing to say now and the pair ate silently, avoiding eye contact as they did.
“Did you find your room alright?”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Father.”
~
Father hadn’t lingered after he finished eating. He bustled about, throwing away the trash and sticking the few leftovers they had into the fridge. Then he bid him goodnight and disappeared.
It was no matter, Damian didn’t require anything else, and it made sense why Father left so quickly. He had patrols to get to, after all.
Damian stood up, returning to the main hall to retrieve his bag by the stairs, then headed to his room.
After brushing his teeth, he unpacked his bag. It had been important for him to pack lightly, to not be materialistic. He only had a couple spare changes of clothes, some utilities, and clothes to train in.
He folded his clothes neatly into the dresser then set his empty bag on the shelf in the closet. He turned sharply, mentally going over his routine in his head. There wasn’t anything left to do but go to bed now.
He hadn’t brought any form of pajamas, but he would make do. He had slept in worse conditions than jeans. He shrugged his sweatshirt off and hung it off the closet’s doorknob then set his shoes beside the desk.
He settled into bed, breathing as he would while meditating. The bed was soft and the sheets gentle, if not musty, and the room was perfectly dark and silent.
Too silent.
Damian squished his eyes shut, but his mind wandered, nonetheless.
Father had three other bedrooms that he could have lent him, but he was specific on this one. He lived alone, but he seemingly refused to make use of those perfectly good rooms.
His eyes flicked to the analog clock on the desk. 10:09.
Damian exhaled, forcing himself to roll over.
~
Damian woke some time later, entirely unaware of falling asleep.
He blinked blearily, brows scrunching as he tried to ascertain what had awoken him.
Something buzzed, nearly imperceptible if not for his straining to hear. It buzzed again and Damian carefully pulled the blankets back, socked feet silently hitting the floor.
He crouched, pulling open his desk drawer and feeling for a false bottom. But it was just a drawer.
He stood, holding his breath as he listened, waiting for the buzz to return.
It never did.
He couldn’t solve it tonight. He knew that much. And his body was insisting he return to bed, it was much too late for him to be standing around waiting for a mystery buzz he may not have even heard.
~
Father was nowhere to be seen that morning. The TV showed him waving to a crowd as he cut the ribbon on a new hospital. Damian decided to take stock of the kitchen inventory.
The supplies were… meager.
The pantry was a bust, used mostly to stock paper towels and medicine, and the only food was some cans of beans and soup and a stale box of honey nut cheerios. The fridge was even worse, jampacked with protein shakes and water bottles. A few leftovers were scattered here and there, and an expired bottle of orange juice sat on the door. At least the two eggs left in the carton seemed relatively new.
Damian busied himself, scrambling the eggs and reheating the rice from the night before. He mixed them together, making a bland version of fried rice. At least Father still had some seasoning he could add to it.
Damian tidied up after breakfast and looked about, mind buzzing as he looked for a new task.
The memory of the night before drifted into his mind. The incessant buzz that had awoken him.
At the time, he was so addled with sleep he couldn’t tell if it was waking or dreaming. But his body was not the only thing trained with Mother and Grandfather. His mind was as well. If he remembered waking to the sound, he trusted his thoughts.
As he hurried up the stairs to his room, he couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate. It had been the first time he had slept in new surroundings, every house had sounds unique to itself. Maybe the buzzing was just the sound of… a branch scraping on the roof! Or the air conditioning running through the walls.
That didn’t stop him from wanting to enact a thorough investigation.
He stepped into the bedroom, narrowed eyes scanning. He had already gone through the desk and the dresser and closet seemed too far for him to have heard such a quiet sound. That left the window and the bed itself. The window was farther from the bed than the desk was, but it would be good to check, nonetheless.
He ran his hands down the curtains, inspecting every inch of them before doing the same with the windowsill and frame. For all he could tell, it was a normal window.
Stalking over to his bed, he carefully peeled his bedspread, sheets, and fitted sheet off, going over each one-by-one. It was a painfully slow process, with no results, but he knew he must be patient. He inspected his pillows next, but like the sheets, he found nothing.
Inadvertently, he had already gone over the bedframe when he had dusted it, so he skipped over it for favor of looking under the bed. There was no room to crawl underneath, so he jammed his arm under, feeling around until—
There was something sticky… tape. There was duct tape stuck to the underside of the bedframe.
Damian’s brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers grasped at the corner that had begun to unstick. It took a moment to get a hold of it but then he did, and he pulled.
Something fell onto his hand.
Damian pulled his arm free from under the bed and looked at the object in his hands.
It was a cellphone. The screen was scratched, a hairline crack dashed horizontally across it. The purple case around it wasn’t in much better condition, several dings in it revealed it had served its duty well. He peeled the tape off, taking flecks of paint with it, and tapped the screen.
But it remained stubbornly black.
Dead.
Why was there a dead phone taped to the bottom of his bed? He suspected he would have to charge it before he got any sort of idea. But how to charge it? He didn’t have any—
“Damian?” Bruce’s voice interrupted.
Damian straightened up, standing suddenly, jamming the phone into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he did. “Father.”
Bruce’s brows twitched. “What are you doing?” His eyes flicked over the unmade bed.
“I was going to clean my sheets,” the lie came easily. “If that’s alright with you, Father.”
Bruce pressed his lips together. “Later. I brought lunch, come on downstairs.”
Damian rushed forward, joining his father. Bruce gave him a look but said nothing.
Bruce sat down at the table in the kitchen, neglecting the dining room once again. A slim carboard box stained with grease sat in front of him. Bruce flipped it open and grabbed a slice of some sort of saucy bread thing.
“Eat,” Bruce’s voice was muffled by the slice.
Damian eyed the box. The design on the cardboard proudly displayed that it was the best pizza in the state. So, this was pizza. Mother would never have—
Bruce grunted, nudging the box closer to him.
Eating with your hands was barbaric and Damian’s nose crinkled at the idea, but he didn’t see a way to refuse. He gingerly pulled a slice free and bit into it and—
His eyes widened. It. Was. Amazing.
He stifled a gasp as he chewed, quickly devouring the slice before grabbing another.
“I realized we don’t have a way to communicate when I’m out,” Bruce said suddenly. “Talia didn’t call ahead so I imagine you don’t have a phone either.”
Damian was thankful for the food, so he didn’t have to control his expression.
Bruce slid a small box across the tabletop toward him. Damian set his pizza slice down, carefully wiping his hands on the paper napkins provided before handling the box.
“I already put my number in, so you can text or call anytime.”
Damian peered at his reflection in the crystal-clear screen. “Thank you, Father.”
Bruce only grunted in response, looking away as he bit into another slice.
Damian fidgeted. This was the longest they had sat together, and a swirl of thoughts crashed together in his mind.
Bruce seemed to notice, as his startingly-blue eyes were now digging into his skin. Damian opened his mouth, to ask or to explain, he wasn’t sure but before he could, Bruce stood up.
“I have to get back to work. Sorry, chum. Are you okay with handling the leftovers? You can just put the box into the fridge.”
Damian snapped his mouth shut, nodding dumbly. “Of course, Father.”
~
Damian lay on his belly on his unmade bed, uncharacteristically ignoring the mess. He held his new phone in his hands, flipping through apps already installed. There was nothing of interest, the only personalization there was his father’s number in the contact list.
Bruce Wayne, it read.
Damian wasn’t sure what he expected.
He shifted, the dead phone in his pocket digging into him. He pulled it out, eyes flicking over its silent screen.
It wasn’t much unlike the phone his father had bought him, albeit more damaged and a seemingly older model…
Damian’s eyes widened. How could he have been so stupid?
He grabbed the cellphone’s box and tore it open feverishly, yanking the charging cord free. He fumbled for a moment, fitting it into the outlet in the wall by the desk and jamming the other side into the old phone.
Its age had taken a toll on it and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the screen lit up.
The screen was black except for green text across the bottom. The date and time read from the night before, 2:37 AM.
“ Hello.”
“ Who am I speaking to?”