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Unlike his siblings, Damian has no trouble when Grayson and his Father are fighting. Yes, it's mildly unpleasant for the shouting to echo across the manor. Yes, the tension during patrols can become uncomfortable. Yes, it's annoying at best when the two of them attempt to display that their love for Damian is greater than the other's.
There's a mitigating factor, though, that is major enough so as to completely overcome all the unpleasantness and then some:
When Grayson and his Father are fighting, they're incapable of agreeing on anything. Including, for example, whether or not Damian should be allowed to patrol on school nights.
It's such a simple act it feels almost criminal. If Father says he's benched, all he needs to do is go up to Grayson with wide eyes and a sad face, and his brother will sneak his suit out for him and cover for his absence with Pennyworth. If Grayson is hesitant about allowing him to go out into Gotham, all he needs to do is mention it to Father and he has full access to the Cave and all the equipment he needs.
It's when they're getting along that he most often finds himself stuck in the Manor overnight while all his family goes out to fight crime. When they're both insistent on nonsense such as a good night's sleep and healthy work-life balance, he has to use every last bit of his Mother's and Father's training to gain his freedom.
For example: tonight. He has bribed Pennyworth with evidence of his completed homework and cleaned room, so there's no need for juvenile pillow-under-the-bedsheets deceptions. His exit through the Cave is necessarily delayed until all the others have already left for the evening, which is frustrating but manageable. And, most importantly, he can't use his own motorcycle (which he refuses to call the Robincycle, Grayson, that doesn't even sound cool–) because it'll instantly send out an alert that Damian is attempting to escape confinement.
Instead he'll have to take Todd's.
Yes, that one will also send out an alert, or at least a notification that it's in use. However, it's completely in character for Todd to drop by to borrow equipment and use his motorcycle to get back into Gotham without bothering to alert the rest of the family. Nobody will think it odd, out of character, or worth paying attention to. (Except Todd, of course, but he's one of the most likely to cover for Damian.)
Yes, it is bigger than Damian's motorcycle, and an unsightly red color, but it'll get the job done and that's what matters. Especially tonight. There's a minor cult (live-action role playing club, Grayson insists) that Damian has been tracking the activities of, and if he's right, tonight is the night their leader (Grayson insists she is their game master) plans to complete a dark ritual (or, as Grayson called it when Damian laid out his research, their campaign finale).
While it is fair to say that he has no strict evidence as such, he has deep suspicions. It does appear to be a normal live-action role playing club on the surface, and Damian does understand such things (he's not an imbecile, Jon's been bugging him to play Dungeons and Dragons for ages and he's done his background research), but this feels… different. Something about the symbology they use for their gaming rituals makes the back of his brain itch. Damian is certain that they are up to something nefarious, and he's not going to let something as ridiculous as the concept of a school night stop him from finding out what.
The cult has just finished setting up their ritual circle when Damian senses a presence behind him. An unfortunately familiar one.
"Sup, squirt," Todd says. "Fancy meeting you here. Right next to my motorcycle. My motorcycle that's supposed to be sitting unused in the Cave–"
"Shhh!" Damian hisses. "Do you want to get us caught by a cult?"
"Oh, yeah, Nightwing mentioned you were worried about some sort of LARP group," Todd continues on, thankfully at a lower volume. "This them?"
Damian glares up at him. "Yes. Their dark ritual is set to begin when the gibbous moon crosses the horizon, and requires some sort of blood sacrifice."
Todd hums. "Are we talking real blood or stage blood?"
It takes all of Damian's effort to not stab Todd, and he grits his teeth and carries on. "It's some sort of summons, but I haven't been able to decode the rune circle they've used; the script is unfamiliar to me–"
"–Is that because it's, like, Tolkien elvish–"
"–And they speak in a sort of code that obscures their true intentions." Before Todd can say something about how that's probably how their game works, Damian elbows him in the gut.
Todd wheezes out something thankfully incomprehensible. Possibly a vow of vengeance. Damian, because he's the mature one of his siblings, ignores him.
"Take a look at the notes I've taken on the ritual composition," Damian says instead, pulling out his casebook and thumbing through to the appropriate page. "If it is Tolkien's elvish script, as you've suggested, perhaps you'll be able to decode it for me." Because you're the kind of nerd that can read fantasy languages is left unsaid but heavily implied.
"Whatever," Todd says, grabbing the casebook. "I'll take a look at this, but listen, we aren't going to just skip over you stealing my motorcycle, okay? What if I'd needed it? What if I'd been halfway through some sick-ass modifications that make it explode when you make three left-hand turns in a row? What if I'd painted something rude in it and then Nightwing and Batman come after me for accidentally teaching you swear words… hm."
Damian's almost fully tuned Todd out by this point, watching from his hidden vantage point as the cultists finish setting up their ritual and take their places around the circle. Something about it looks wrong - incomplete?
"This isn't right," Todd murmurs.
Damian wants to scream. "Of course it's right," he hisses. "I copied it over myself–"
"Not what I meant." Todd's tone is deadly serious. "These are real magical sigils. How many do they have in that circle? Sixteen?"
"Sixteen," Damian confirms, then shakes his head. "No, twelve. Four of the cultists are missing."
"Hey!"
The voice is indignant, loud, and most importantly not supposed to be there. Damian and Todd both draw their weapons and spin around, to find - of course - two of the cultists.
"We're not cultists," one of them says indignantly. "We're mages."
"Uh huh, sure," Todd says, and aims his guns at them. "What's the difference?"
The cultist, dressed in normal Gotham streetwear except for the intricately patterned green cloak adorning their head and shoulders, grins. "The difference is that a mage can do things like this." They toss something - some sort of powder - forward in an arc and shout "Ice field!"
No ice forms, and Damian is about to laugh and mock their 'spell' when he realizes that he can't. Can't laugh, can't speak, can't move at all. Doesn't feel himself breathing – though he also isn't running out of air. He's frozen still.
"Help me bring them to the circle," the cultist orders, and together the two somehow drag Damian and Todd out of their hiding space, towards the ritual circle, and all the other cultists. Mages.
Who require a blood sacrifice for their ritual.
"Perfect," the cult leader, the head mage, says. "Safir, bring that one over here. Imogen, dump Robin somewhere out of the way–"
With a snap, the spell wears off, and Damian lunges away. The mage who'd been holding him swears. Todd is free as well, easily pushing his mage away and drawing a gun. But there's a flash and a shout of "Aura of Light!"
Damian pauses, expecting to be frozen, but - isn't. Whatever effect this spell has had is less obvious. He launches himself towards the leader, spinning into a kick.
His attack simply bounces off.
Magic is extremely annoying.
Todd's bullets are having similar (zero) effect. The cultists surround them, and while normally Damian and Todd would just grapple away, they're in the middle of a park - no buildings are immediately in reach. They're effectively trapped.
The cult leader watches them calmly. "We only need one sacrifice," they say. "To summon the Rose Dragon into this scape. The other will be free."
Out of the corner of his eye, Damian sees Todd hesitate. "One of us helps with the crazy ritual, and the other goes free unharmed," he repeats.
Damn his idiot brothers.
"Don't you dare, Hood," Damian says. "This isn't–"
"I'll be the sacrifice," Todd says with a sigh.
The cult leader seems to relax a bit. "Good. The stronger the sacrifice, the stronger the summons, so–"
Damian scoffs. "Nonsense. If that's the case, I'm a much better sacrifice than Hood."
He can feel Hood stiffen beside him. "Age before beauty, brat. Older brother's prerogative–"
Damian elbows Hood in the gut - ineffective with his body armor but still sharp enough to prove his point - and steps forward, crossing his arms. "You will take me as your sacrifice. I am the Batman's blood son, heir to a demon, and second-eldest of my brothers."
There's silence for a moment.
"No you're not," Todd says indignantly. "What? You're the babiest brother, demon brat."
Damian sniffs. "A common mistake. Nightwing is eldest, it is true, but you, Hood, were adopted after I was born. Therefore, I've been part of the family for longer, and that means I'm the older brother to both you and Red Robin." And Black Bat, technically, but Damian has enough common sense to not insist as such in front of Cassandra.
Todd makes a wordless noise. "That's not how it works!"
"Yes it is," Damian says. "Not that you would know such things, younger as you are."
"Not to interrupt this fascinating family drama," the cult leader says, "But if Robin really has demon blood, then he's the prime sacrifice. Eldris, get him to the center of the circle–"
"No," Todd says. "No, that's bullshit. Just because you ~joined the family first~ or whatever," he says, using a mocking, sing-song tone, "Doesn't mean that you're older. Besides, I've died and come back to life, that definitely trumps your grandpa's fake demon nonsense."
"Plenty of people have died and returned, Hood, you're not special," Damian snaps. If Todd would just stop arguing they could get this over with. "Where must I stand for this sacrifice?"
"Over there–"
"No, shut up," Todd says. "I'll do it, Nightwing will be so annoying if I let you sacrifice yourself. Can you even imagine the kind of fit he'd have? No way I'm sticking around for that."
Damian growls. "You must–"
The cult leader tries to interrupt. "Okay, this is starting to get annoying, we need to get a move on–"
"Before someone notices?" Batman growls.
There's a moment of silence, as everyone turns towards the shadows.
"Oh shit," one of the cultists says.
"Yeah, you guys are screwed," Red Robin says amiably, melting out of the shadows on the other side of the circle. "Feel like surrendering peacefully?"
"Can we have a minute to decide?" one of the cultists calls out.
Batman looms over the cult leader. "No."
"We'll surrender," the cult leader says meekly.
Todd sighs in relief. "Fucking mages," he mutters. "Come on, Demon Brat, show me where you parked my bike."
Damian wants to resist – this is his cult to deal with – but he also doesn't want to handle the inevitable complications that come from figuring out how to imprison magic users. "Fine," he growls, and follows Todd away.
Grayson meets them back at the Batcave. Damian considers his options and decides to be bold. "I was right about the cult."
"You were," Grayson agrees. "I apologize for doubting you."
Damian relaxes slightly. "I accept your apology."
"If I promise to not point out that you snuck out against orders, right?" Grayson teases him, and Damian knows his tone well enough to know that it is just teasing. "I'll ignore it, this once, because you were right."
"Kid did pretty well - better delay tactics than I thought he'd have," Todd admits. "He's decent at BS-ing, but needs to figure out how to really draw things out."
Damian frowns. "What do you mean?"
Todd also frowns. "What do you mean, what do I mean?"
"About delay tactics," Damian says, glancing from Todd to Grayson. "Is–" inspiration strikes. "Oh. Why you were arguing with me, when the cultists caught us! You knew Batman was in the area."
"Yeah," Todd says slowly. "That's what you do when you get caught, you delay and distract and wait for the rest of the team to come help. That's why we were arguing, coming up with distracting BS. Like that older brother thing. We were just saying things so that the cultists would be too busy listening to go through with their sacrifice."
"I see," Damian says. It seems like he'll need to lay things out more clearly, then. "I will keep that in mind for the future. But it was not, as you say, BS. I did become a member of this family before you did–"
"Damian, that doesn't mean he's not family," Grayson interrupts, apparently unaware of Damian's status as well. Unfortunate.
"I'm aware," Damian agrees. "I have been convinced as such, that family can be both of the blood and of the bonds we forge." He pauses. "But I joined this family before Todd and Drake did, and that means I'm the older brother."
Grayson's face goes blank for a long moment as he processes Damian's declaration.
"No," Todd says.
Grayson says nothing, but Damian can see the grin starting to form on his face.
"No," Todd says again, more urgently. "Dick, you know that's not how this works."
"I don't know, Jason, it might be," Grayson says, his smile growing. "Consider the evidence, after all–"
"No!"
"This means that Tim is the youngest!"
Todd pauses. "Okay, maybe."
Damian sighs. He can't believe he's willing to sacrifice himself for these beloved idiots - his brothers, both older and younger. No matter what Todd and Drake have to say.