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When Damian first arrived at the Wayne manor, he was nervous and scared, not that he would ever admit it to anyone. He had learned from a young age to mask his emotions and put up impenetrable walls, as to not show his opponents weakness. Or, at least, that was his mother’s justification for punishing him any time he acted vulnerable. Damian had just assumed that was how the world worked and moved on, his sore back as a reminder. In the League, his purpose was his skill, and his skill was his respect, a rule of thumb he assumed was ingrained in everyone, omnipresent. His mother had hammered into his head that he couldn’t be weak if he were to inherit his birthright as an Al Ghul, and when he eventually learned of his full parentage, he assumed the same of the Wayne name and the Robin moniker. He had arrived in Gotham with the mindset of having to fight his way to the top and eliminate his competition, afraid of being rejected by his father if he didn’t do so.
It seemed as though he gravely misunderstood his assignment somewhere, if Grayson and Father’s yelling after he had attempted to kill Drake was any indication. He wasn’t sure what he had gotten wrong, but grateful that they hadn’t punished him for his failure.
Damian paused for a moment, deliberating. Did that mean they expected him to punish himself in their stead? He knew that mistakes were not taken without consequence. Perhaps, to be accepted, he would have to take responsibility for his mistake and perform the lashes himself.
Not wanting to mess up further, Damian set off to find Pennyworth. When Father had been showing him around, he had mentioned that Damian could ask Alfred any questions he desired. Though Damian wasn’t sure if he desired an answer to this particular question, he knew he needed to ask it. He marched up to Pennyworth, who was sipping his coffee, and asked if he was meant to whip himself for his failure, or if his father would do it for him.
Pennyworth spit out his coffee at the inquiry, staring at Damian with a horrified expression, to which Damian’s confusion grew.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, a tad more timid than he would allow himself to be around his father. Pennyworth just stared back at him with wide eyes before suddenly turning on his heel and marching down to the cave. Damian’s stomach dropped. Of course, he was already supposed to know this. The butler must be heading to Bruce, letting him know how incompetent his own flesh and blood was. Damian ran to his room, allowing himself to sink to the floor as soon as the door closed behind him. He wished he could go back to Infinity Island where everything had its order and everything made sense. He hugged his knees as tears of frustration dripped onto the hardwood floor.
Around an hour later, Damian heard knocking at the door, with a familiar voice accompanying it.
“Damian, are you in there? May I please come in?”
This must be when his father would punish him. He was likely just busy before.
“Yes, one moment Father,” Damian replied evenly, removing all traces of his emotional outburst from his composure. He collected the knives he had hidden in his drawers, and laid them down in a small arch. Damian opened the door and rushed to kneel behind the knives, his head bowed in submission. He heard a choking noise come from his father’s direction, but he stayed focused on his task.
“I presume you are here to punish me for my failure, Father. I did not bring a whip with me, though I have these knives if you would like to make do with them instead,” he bowed his head further down, held his breath, and waited. When a full thirty seconds had passed without response, Damian risked looking up and found his father staring at him from the doorway, openly crying.
What?
“Would you like me to do it myself?” Damian weakly offered, and picked up the sharpest knife of the pile. In an instant, it was knocked out of his hand, a pair of large arms wrapping around him instead. He flinched.
“Damian, Habibi, no,” his father whispered clearly distraught, “no, nobody is going to hurt you here.”
He was stumped. He knew the rules, he knew them, and yet his father was acting as though they didn’t exist.
“Is… is this a test?” he questioned quietly as a last resort. His father tightened his arms around him, resting his chin on the top of Damian’s head.
“No, sweetheart, there is no test.” he whispered into his son’s hair, and kissed it lightly “i swear to you, Habibi, nobody here will cause you any harm,” he promised, determination in his voice.
“But, then how will I learn?” Damian whimpered into his father’s chest. He wasn’t aware that there would be new, confusing rules.
“You will learn the way we all do, by helping one another and learning from each other’s experiences.”
“So… I’m not supposed to earn my place by killing Drake?”
His father pulled away from him, and Damian nearly let out a little whine, catching it from leaving his throat at just the last second.
“Damian, honey, can you look into my eyes? It’s very important you look at me while I tell you this,” he asked gently. Damian sat up and stared at his father who was kneeling before him.
“You,” he held Damian’s face in his hands, “do not need to earn your place here. You are allowed to be here just because you’re you. You deserve kindness simply because you are alive. You do not need to earn your stay here.”
Damian’s brain promptly short-circuited.
“I don’t understand,” Damian eventually croaked out. He heard sobbing coming from somewhere, then distantly realized it was himself, and that he was wrapped up in a warm hug again.
“I just… I just don’t understand,” he was openly sobbing now, clinging onto his father like a lifeline, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.
A half hour had passed of Damian being held by his father, and feelings of exhaustion kicked in. He must have yawned at some point, because he was soon being set on his bed under the covers. He felt himself being tucked in.
“Sleep well, Habibi,” his father hummed. When he made a motion to leave, Damian had started to say ‘wait’, but aborted the word after the first two letters had been pronounced, looking down in shame. His father paused, and turned around.
“Actually, I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” he mentioned offhandedly, as if it was his idea.
Damian nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring a quiet “thank you, Baba,” unsure of what the future would hold. He didn’t notice his father’s eyes shining with more tears.
When Damian awoke the next morning, he hadn’t immediately remembered what had transpired the night before. It was only as he began to change into a fresh set of clothes that the reality of his situation hit him. His hands started to shake, and his mind started to race. What was he supposed to do?
He figured that finding Father was as good a step as any, so he exited his room to head downstairs, stopping short when he heard his name.
“I’m thinking about getting Damian a therapy dog,” his father voiced aloud. Damian wasn’t sure what a therapy dog was, but he did enjoy the company of animals, so it didn’t sound too bad. He was about to begin his trek downstairs again when he heard a plate breaking in response. He stopped at the top of the stairs to listen.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Drake shouted, “the little demon tries to literally murder me, and what he gets in return is a motherfucking puppy???” Damian froze as he heard a glass break.
He… had messed up badly, hadn’t he? His eyes filled with tears as he slowly backed toward his room, bolting the door shut once he was inside. Judging by the older boy’s tone, Drake would never forgive him, and Damian figured he probably deserved that. Damian had one chance to be accepted by the rest of the family, and he blew it. He wanted to explain the Rules he was following at the time, but whenever he tried to practice an explanation, the words got caught in his throat.
He isolated himself in his room the rest of the day, ignoring the calls of Pennyworth and his father. He didn’t feel like talking.
The next morning, he actually made it all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Pennyworth was already awake, and evidently delighted to see him, if the exuberant “Master Damian!” was any indication. The butler quickly moved back to the stove, promising to make him something called ‘pancakes.’ He wasn’t sure why he would be eating cake for breakfast, much less from a pan, but he didn’t have time to question it, as Father came down the stairs not a moment later. His eyes lit up when he saw his son.
“Damian!” his father yelled. The boy in question wasn’t sure what he had done wrong to be shouted at, but he tensed in anticipation, only to be taken into a hug.
Was there such a thing as nice yelling? That was new.
He smiled up at his father once the hug was broken, and the two of them sat down next to each other at the dining room table. The supposed ‘pancakes’ that Pennyworth brought out were close in composition to Atayef, though without the filling, which Damian greatly enjoyed. As he was about to dig in, he heard someone clear their throat from behind him. Drake.
Damian froze, slowly turning around to stare up at his supposed older brother. “So…” Drake started, glaring at Bruce before turning back to Damian, “have anything you’d like to say to me?” Damian nodded, and tried to open his mouth to apologize, but no sound came out. He tried again, but found that he couldn’t speak.
“I knew it,” Tim mumbled, and sat down on the opposite side of the table. Damian attempted to speak again, with the same results. He looked to his father in fear, and only saw disappointment staring back at him.
He felt his throat close up more, if possible. Damian scrambled back from his chair, desperate to get away from the judgement. His father stood up, the expression on his face rapidly shifting to concern, but Damian ran from the kitchen before he could witness anything else. He ended up stopping in the library, figuring it had some decent spots to hide. He took an emerald green blanket with him and scaled the bookshelves, finding a hidden nook about fifteen feet up. Wrapping the blanket around himself, he huddled in the small space, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He had never not been able to speak before while his vocal cords were intact.
Damian ended up falling asleep in the nook, only to be woken up by an insistent nudging of his shoulder.
“Hey, Lil’ D, wake up!” he heard Grayson’s voice whisper-shout. He opened his eyes to see Grayson crouching before him, holding a massive Tupperware container which seemed to be full of the ‘pancakes’ from earlier. He tilted his head in question, and shrunk further into his blanket.
The young man seemed confused for a second, and then seemed to get the message. “Oh! They’ve been looking for you for the past hour or so. I only just woke up or I’d have been looking too. This is my favorite hiding place, so I figured I’d check here first.”
The rate at which he talked made Damian’s head spin a little, but he appreciated that it seemed to pull him out of his own mind.
Damian tried again to speak, but quickly gave up. He simply pointed at the Tupperware.
“Oh, yeah, pancakes! B had mentioned that you hadn’t really eaten yesterday? And Alfie said that you seemed excited when he served the pancakes, so I figured I’d bring you some. Is that okay?” he asked all in one breath. Damian paused, and then nodded.
As Grayson divided the pancakes between the two of them, he decided to address the elephant in the room.
“Does your throat hurt? How come you’re not talking?”
Not knowing the answer himself, he tried to convey as many emotions as he could by looking at Grayson, shrugging, and pointing to his throat.
“You can’t talk?” Damian nodded. “And you don’t know why?” he shrugged defeatedly in response.
Grayson paused mid-bite, opting to put his food down and turn toward him.
“Have you ever heard of selective mutism?”
Damian racked his brain for the term, but ultimately shook his head. The older boy continued, “it's an anxiety disorder where you aren’t able to speak sometimes. Is this your first time experiencing it?”
He nodded, his eyes wide.
“Yeah, I’m sure that would be scary for you. I’m sorry you’re going through that Dami— can I call you Dami? I think I’m going to call you Dami— that must be rough.”
He looked down at his hands, not really knowing how to respond. He continued eating his pancakes, finding them to be quite enjoyable. The comfortable silence stretched between the two of them for a while, before Grayson suddenly sat up.
“Oh shit, I was supposed to call them when I found you! I completely forgot. Here, we can continue eating at the tables down there.” Grayson grabbed the Tupperware and leaped down, flipping gracefully through the air. Damian slowly climbed down after him, and shuffled over to the table he had moved to. The younger boy draped his blanket back over himself, his posture tense.
“Hey, I can, uh, explain to them what’s happening with you if you’d like?” he offered, and Damian nearly broke his neck by how fast he nodded. Grayson let out a laugh in return, “yep, I get the message, loud and clear captain!” He gave a quick salute to Damian, but before he could run off, Damian grabbed his arm.
“Thanks,” he croaked, his voice a little rough from the disuse.
Grayson’s eyes lit up and he grinned fully, doing back handsprings out of the library.
Surprisingly, Drake was the first one to visit him after he emerged from his hiding place. He had gone straight up to his room, bringing the rest of the pancakes with him, not realizing quite how hungry he truly was until he had started snacking with Grayson. As he munched on the food and thought of ideas for introducing Pennyworth to Middle Eastern cuisine, he heard a knock on the door. Expecting his father, Damian got up and opened the door, only to find Drake.
“Uh, hey,” Drake greeted him awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. Damian simply stared, unsure what the older boy wanted.
“Oh, right! I brought this for you so you can communicate a bit easier,” he handed a notebook and a variety of pens to Damian. Taking this as a peace offering, he moved aside, gesturing Drake into his room. Damian opened the notebook, uncapped a pen, and immediately started writing.
I am sorry for trying to kill you. I tried apologizing at breakfast, but my voice had stopped working.
Drake, who had sat down on the edge of his mattress read the sentence, and let out a small laugh. Fearing the worst, Damian tore out the page from the notebook and started tearing it into small pieces, preparing to go hide again. The older boy, seeing how his reaction might be interpreted, heavily backtracked.
“Nonono, I’m not laughing at your apology! I’m sorry it came across that way. I laughed in disbelief, because after feeling so unsafe in your own home that you stopped talking, you’re apologizing to me?"
Damian stopped ripping his paper up, and returned to the notebook.
But I made you feel unsafe as well.
Tim ran his hand through his hair, as if figuring out how to phrase his next sentence. “Yeah, maybe, but B had vaguely told us about your past before you came. I should have been more patient with you or tried to explain things better. I know firsthand how intense Ra’s can be. If it would make you feel better though, I forgive you.”
The younger boy looked up in shock, not expecting forgiveness. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling uncomfortable with his vulnerability around someone he hardly knew.
After a moment, Drake cleared his throat. “Um, I’m not sure if you heard, but B was thinking about getting you an emotional support animal. I know a few shelters nearby if you’d like to go check them out with me?”
Damian nodded, and began to write in his notebook.
I was not allowed to have pets back in the League, so having one sounds pleasant. However, I have not heard of a ‘therapy dog’ before.
Drake looked up in surprise, “I didn’t even consider you hadn’t heard of them. Therapy dogs are dogs specifically trained to help relieve anxiety and stress in their owners, as well as provide comfort.”
Damian heard footsteps by his door, but ignored them for the time being.
That seems nice. He gave Drake a small grin, and he ruffled the younger boy’s hair in response. Damian felt another hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Grayson grinning down at him.
“Having a dog around would be awesome! Bruce used to have Ace the Bat-Hound when I was younger, and I’ve been pestering him for years to get another pet.”
Another voice sounded from his room’s entrance, “his name was just ‘Ace’ you know,” Father mentioned in an amused tone, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yeah, but his secret identity was The Bat Hound,” Dick protested childishly, making his father let out a little chuckle.
“Sure, whatever you say.” Lighthearted bickering ensued between Grayson and his father, with Drake occasionally throwing a quip in their direction. Damian simply observed from the sidelines, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. After letting the friendly jabs continue for a while, Damian felt content. He reached for his notebook, quickly scribbling some words. The commotion around him paused, and he held up the notebook a moment later.
Would you all accompany Drake and I to the shelters?”
Damian was promptly squished in a group hug.
Maybe these new rules weren’t so bad, he thought to himself.