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Damian Wayne paced in front of Bruce Wayne’s study as he waited for him to emerge. If Alfred’s information was trustworthy, he was in the middle of a Wayne Enterprises appointment rather than a…masked vigilante appointment. He preferred this if he was being honest. His father was less likely to have a racing mind if he were only dealing with business partnerships and charity funds.
Damian was nearing his thirteenth birthday now, and had filled into his Robin suit rather nicely through the grand power of puberty. Some of these changes he was exceedingly fond of, and some he despised with his whole heart. His arms growing so the sleeves no longer hung off his arms? Fantastic. His chest expanding so the yellow ‘R’ emblazoned on his suit stuck out even further? Not so good.
He also grew out of his name far faster than the general population tended to. The old one was so needlessly girlish- a persistent theme in his life. Damian was much, much better. It was a good, hearty name, a name suited for a vigilante, and suited him well.
Dick, being the only person that had heard the same so far, agreed.
“Da-mi-an,” he said, trying the name out in his mouth. “I like it.” He hesitated for a moment, and then a wicked grin came over his face as he glanced at the boy standing next to him, clearly nervous, though he was trying to hide it. “It’s a good name for a little brother,” he teased, reaching over to ruffle his gelled hair.
“Don’t call me that!” Damian growled, trying to put his hair back into some sort of order, but his words didn’t have the same bite that they usually did. While the words ‘little sister’ usually felt like a cold hand clenching around his heart, ‘little brother’ started something warm and comforting in his chest.
Dick seemed to notice the lack of a threat as well and his gaze softened into something kinder and more protective. “I love you, little brother.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Damian grunted, before turning away quickly so Dick couldn’t see the small, private smile blooming on his face.
Alfred had heard nothing of his new name, but he had to have known something by now. He had given Damian his last haircut, something he always treated with a great amount of respect and caution. His mother had always been the one to cut his hair before and she had never been gentle about it, making Damian even more wary of anyone coming near his head with a pair of scissors than he normally would be.
So, naturally, the task fell to Alfred. He always washed his hair in the sink in the cavernous kitchen of Wayne Manor before sitting him down on a stool in the parlor. He cut slowly and meticulously while letting him know every movement he would make in advance. While he cut, he would entertain Damian with old war stories who gobbled them up eagerly. Once a soldier, always a soldier.
The latest haircut went a little differently; every time Alfred would ask if he was done, Damian would ask for just a few more inches. Alfred raised his eyebrows at the requests, but didn’t comment on them.
By the time he was done, Damian was left with a haircut that no one in their right mind would call girlish. The sides were shorn to his skull while the front flopped slightly over his forehead. Damian absolutely loved it.
“You know what, you look just like your father did at your age,” Alfred remarked as he swept the fallen hair into a dustpan.
Now, any ordinary man might’ve missed the way that Damian’s head ducked in almost a shy sort of manner at the comment, or the way his blinking increased ever so slightly. But Alfred Pennyworth was no ordinary man.
“Shall I take that you wanted to look more like your father…in a certain way?” he asked carefully. Damian nodded, his eyes now firmly fixed on a lock of hair on the floor that hadn’t quite made it into the dustpan yet. Alfred smiled. “I figured as much,” he said.
And that was the end of it. There was no grand declaration or heavy conversation. It was just a simple admittance and that was that. Quick and easy.
And now, as Damian paced in front of his father’s study, he could only hope that it was more of the same with him.
The door swung open suddenly and Bruce Wayne stepped out, nearly running into Damian before stopping himself abruptly.
“Oh, hello there-” He said it. That godforsaken name that made Damian’s skin crawl.
He shook his head quickly. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Ah.” His father folded his arms across his chest. “Okay. What specifically did you need?”
“Uh…well.” Unsure how to begin, Damian resumed his pacing. Bruce looked on, the hint of a smile quirking his lips. Damian had learned to break down his walls, just as Bruce had learned to break down his.
“If you’d like to talk about this later, that could-”
“Damian! Me!” The boy suddenly insisted, jamming his index finger into his own chest. Well, it definitely wasn’t the most eloquent way to deliver the news- briefly reverting into caveman speak, but it certainly got his point across.
“Ohhh.” His father nodded as his expression of confusion slowly morphed into one of understanding. He smiled down at him. “I see. Shall I take it that you are also my son? Damian?”
Damian nodded, somewhat bashfully, which was a feeling he hadn’t known that he could access so readily.
“Well, alright then.” He leaned forward and ruffled his son’s hair, something that seemed to irritate Damian less than when Dick did it. “I’ll see you at dinner then. Damian.”
It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Damian’s chest as Bruce walked away. He was tempted to do a fist-pump and leap into the air, if that wasn’t very un-assassin like of him. He settled for pressing his hands to his cheeks and laughing silently in relief.
“Oh, and Damian!” his father called out. “Your new haircut looks good. Very professional.”