Chapter Text
Bruce can’t help but think about how tiny Damian is in general. He’s small enough that Bruce wonders if its a good idea to even use the clawfoot tub in the master bath. Still, he can’t exactly see the use of the sink being up Damian’s alley. So he fills up the tub with slightly warmer than room temperature water, a task that took Damian far too long to decide on. He manages to find the bubble bath in Dick’s bathroom along with an unopened bottle of children’s shampoo in Damian’s bathroom. It smells like apples.
“I don’t use that,” Damian pouted.
“It won’t hurt if I get it in your eyes,” Bruce told him, “We can use my body wash still.”
“I can wash myself father,” Damian looked up. Scary scenarios of Damian’s little body drowning in the tub or slipping and cracking his head fill Bruce’s head. That same sickening feeling that he develops when one of his children is out on the streets alone develops in his stomach. It’s irony.
“Just humor me, okay?” Bruce ruffled the boy’s dusty hair. The boy seemed to contemplate for a moment, his eyes lingering back down to his arm where Bruce had Tim hold him down in order to take the blood samples. Bruce can agree that it wasn’t one of his brightest moments and is now the current reason his second son isn’t talking to him and his aging butler gave him cold coffee that past two days, “I grabbed bubble bath. I use to like these as a boy. Richard still uses them.”
“Richard still uses the bendy straws,” Damian stated, “But I guess I can try the bubbles… for you.”
“Thank you, Damian,” Bruce noticed the boy was having issues with the buttons on his pants. Too little fingers not being able to properly undo the pants, “Do you need help? It’s okay if you do.”
Damian’s ears grew red as he bashfully nodded. Bruce splits the bubbles in the water before returning to his son. First he sat the boy on the bathroom counter and began to work on the shoes. Before going to help his youngest out of his shirts. The marks that Damian had barred when he first arrived here and the ones he earned as Robin had lessened. Unfortunately, they had not lessened to the degree that he had hoped as he saw the lash marks along a child’s back.
“What’s wrong father?” Damian stared up at him with those big eyes. How could someone hurt something so small and innocent? Bruce cusps the tiny face and plants his lips against the boy’s forehead. The affection came much more easily when Damian was much more accepting of it.
“Nothing Habib,” Bruce promised, “I’m just happy you are here.”
“Oh,” Damian frowned in confusion, “I’m happy you are here too.”
It was something that was so Damian, even at the tender age of four that Bruce couldn’t help laughing. Wayne's weren’t the best at the touchy-feely stuff but atleast they tried their best. Bruce finished Damian take off the dusty clothing and climb into the warm tub. It absolutely swarms Damian’s small form. Only the top of his shoulder and his head come above the water, Bruce has to fight away the bubbles from drowning him. Damian run his dirty hands through the water before staring up at Bruce.
Bruce can’t deny that he wishes he had this with all his children. He can’t deny that he wished he had them since childhood and that they were his from the start, not that he could possibly love them anymore. They already own his heart blood or not but he wished he could share this experience with them. He wishes that he was somewhat involved when Dick first learned to cartwheel or flip. He wishes that he was able to take Jason to the chili diner when he was a boy. He wishes that he was the one to take Tim to the doctor’s office when he was a sickly child. He wishes that he was the single father sitting amongst the dance mothers at a Cassandra childhood dance recitals. He wishes that he had the chance to wake up at three am to feed Damian as an infant.
As nice and wonderful as having little Damian is, he wouldn’t trade the ten year old spitfire that had made so much progress for the world. Still they said this was temporary and Bruce can be selfish enough to enjoy these moments with his son. His little boy who's trying to be so adult and not play with the bubbles. Bruce grabs a handful and blows it in his son’s face. Damian pauses and stares at his father long before a mischievous grin sprouts over and he has no problem drenching Bruce in bubbles and water.
“Brat,” Bruce smirked.
“Grayson would say you started it,” Damian points out as if that gives him permission to drench Bruce to the high heavens. That argument seems to apply whether Damian is four or ten and will most likely still be used well into adulthood.
“I’m in charge of Grayson too.”
“Tt,” Damian crossed his arms, “If that’s what you think.”
Bruce readied a loofah with his shower gel, something that he knew Damian liked to use. He would be willing to place all bets that Damian would appreciate the sentiment. He then readies a washcloth, “Okay. You use the loofah to clean your arms, legs, and feet while I get the back of your neck and behind your ears. Then we will figure out something to do with this face and hair.”
“Will you get my back too?” Damian silently requested. Bruce nodded at the request, happy that Damian was bouncing back so easily. Children weren’t as complex as Bruce originally thought. But that doesn’t mean he is going to underestimate them. He starts making movements on Damian’s back while the boy switched between washing himself and playing with the bubbles.
Damian sneezed again causing the bubbles to go everywhere. Including his father’s face, Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to be upset as he repositioned the boy to face him. He began to gently scrub at the dust face. When he pulled back it was to finally see the tanned skin on his youngest, dirt free but still blushing red. Bruce grabbed the cup of water before tilting the tiny head up, “Close your eyes. I don’t want to get dirt or shampoo in your eyes.”
“I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt,” Damian frowned before reverting his gaze to the child’s shampoo next to the body soap.
“It won’t,” Bruce agreed, “It’s just something you’re supposed to do.”
I was supposed to be doing this since you were actually this age. I was supposed to kissing the boo boos away. I was supposed to be asking your sibling to be watching you when you were younger. I was supposed to be around.
“Oh,” Damian frowned, “That’s an usual rule.”
“Not as unusual as you’d think,” Bruce told him. Damian quirked his head but didn’t comment further before closing his eyes and letting Bruce wet the dry but dusty hair a few time. The dirt streaked down his back again, letting Bruce know that he would have to wash his boy’s back for the second time.
He took the children’s shampoo that smelt like apple, but not the harsh apple that was obnoxiously fruity. Then again the children’s shampoo was of high quality, he’s pretty sure that Dick still uses this as an adult. He scrubs gently at the boys dark wet hair. He also asked if he was hurting the child at all only to receive that wonderful -tt- sound in response.
“I like the smell,” Damian told him after Bruce began to rinse it. The boy’s head was tilted back in order for the water not to run down his face any more than it should. Bruce paused inorder for his son to look up at him with those green eyes once again.
“You can use it when you’re older too. You’re not as old as you think you are,” Bruce cusped his son’s face. The boy blinked up at him before turning down to stare at the scars that mark his body, “I killed when I was three. It was a simple kill. A starving servant that attempted to steal from the temple. Grandfather marched me down and handed me the knife. No training at all. The thief sat there and let me do it.”
“I know,” Bruce nodded. The little boy was starting to shiver, even if he hadn’t noticed it yet. Bruce can recall Damian’s first winter with blue tinted lips, he wants to scoop the boy out soon but he doesn’t think that Damian will be easily reverted until he get whatever response from Bruce that he is looking for. If only Bruce could figure that out.
“I kept killing and hurting people. Good and Bad,” Damian said.
“I know,” Bruce said before tilting the head up again and spilling the water over his face. Damian’s eyes closed without needing to be told.
“Is it easier to forgive me now than when I’m older?” Damian asked. Bruce froze. Damian keeps switching between this youthful mindset and his own far too old ten year old mind. Bruce feels more whiplash now than he ever does in the batmobile.
“I forgive you because you are a good person,” Bruce told his son, “You were just a boy when you took that first life, guided by an evil man and scared. I forgave you when I first met you because you are still a child, still scared by the people who were supposed to protect and love you. You are not a killer, Damian Wayne. You are a child whether you see it or not. I know you think that doesn’t mean anything. But it does whether you are four or ten or eighteen. You shouldn’t ever be forced into those situations, have to make those decisions.”
Damian was quiet for a second, “Would it please you if I stayed this way? If I held no memory at all?”
Bruce quirked his head, confused by the question. The boy looked scared of what Bruce would say, “But you have memory.”
“Fleeting and min-mini- small,” Damian frowned, “I can sup-press. Make myself forget. You can raise me as you’d like.”
Bruce frowned at the boy, “What do you want, son?”
Even though Bruce knows what the boy wants. He wants the complete love and approval of his father, something he never felt like he could gain. Bruce cursed himself for being so closed off with the boys… in general. He’d been working on it but clearly not as much as he’d like. The child in front of him views himself as irredeemable and toxic, as if the only way to fix himself is to erase who he is completely. Instead Damian stares at him with big eyes instead of answering.
Bruce pulls the plug in the tub before grabbing the towel set next to him. Damian stands to reach for the towel as Bruce wraps the wet yet clean body in it to pull him out and on his lap while they sit on the bathroom floor. He fits just as good now as he does when he is ten. Damian wriggles to be comfortable but stays with his father.
“I love the child I have, no matter how bratty or violent he can be. I love the progress you’ve made. I love the boy I have in my arms whether he is an infant or four or ten or forty. Damian, you are who you are. Erasing you and being selfish because I wish I was there for your first day of kindergarten or anything else would not change a thing about you and neither should you… So I’ll ask again, what do you want?”
Damian peered up at him, “I want to be myself again… But for now, I suppose I can bear this just for a bit.”
“I think I can bear it too,” Bruce snorted. He’s still human, he still wants to treasure this fleeting time with his youngest child. He stands up Damian to rub down his body with the fluffy towel that dwarfs him. He leaves the child to stand before grabbing a clean hand towel and rubbing his child’s head in the same way Martha did when Bruce was younger. Damian’s squeak of a giggle please his ears when his hair is semi dry, they share a small smile that’s reserved for Wayne’s only when they feel necessary.
“You’re wet,” Damian frowned at his father.
“I suppose I am,” Bruce retorted, “Lets go get clean clothes, shall we?”
The little boy waddled after him towards the room where Alfred brought the current clothes that fitted his son. It wasn’t much but enough for them to get by until they needed more. Bruce went towards his own closet, choosing something more casual and loose considering little Damian seemed to be his charge currently. When he came back out the boy was staring at the clothing. A cheap Nightwing and Batman themed children shirt hid amongst it. Alfred would never buy something like that, but Dick would.
“I think the Batman shirt is more flattering personally,” Bruce said as he held out a pair of underwear for Damian. The boy wiggled into them while being as modest as he could.
“Grayson is a fo-foool,” The word sounded hard for the child, but he managed. Though the ‘ol’ sounded far too emphasized. Damian held up the Nightwing shirt considerably before returning to the Batman shirt. He looked at his father with an evil look in his eye. Bruce helped the boy put on the Batman shirt and children’s jeans before tightening them.
“So what now?” Bruce asked, “We can’t rub it in your brother’s face that you chose Batman over Nightwing until he returns from work.”
Damian looked bashful but didn’t stop him from speaking, “Where’s Timothy?”
Imprinting is what the psychologist call it. Damian’s younger mind had imprinted on Tim the same way it did Talia when the teenager was the only one present. Bruce prayed that when Damian returned to normal that the twos relationship would stay improved. Still, Tiny Damian calling for Tim rather than his father hurt a bit. Yet Bruce is grown enough not to let that cloud their judgment. This is about Damian’s comfort right now.
“I’ll go get him for you,” Bruce said, “I should-”
“Wait,” Damian’s little hands clutched at the hem of Bruce’s shirt, “Maybe we can all do something.”
“Together?” Bruce asked. He hadn’t done something with Damian and Tim together beyond their nightlife. Damian shook his head, clutching a little more at Bruce’s shirt.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Bruce smiled at his son. Damian straightened his posture at the praise, “Lets go find Tim together.”