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The morning started like any other in the Batcave. Tim Drake was hunched over the Batcomputer, surviving on his fourth cup of coffee and sheer spite. Bruce Wayne was reviewing case files with the intensity of a man who'd forgotten what sleep felt like. And Damian Wayne was sharpening his katana while mentally composing a list of people he found tolerable (current count: his pets, and on good days, Grayson).
Then Jon Kent flew in through the Cave entrance, cape billowing dramatically, wearing that insufferably bright smile that made Damian want to either stab something or... well, mostly stab something, but lately there was a confusing second option he refused to examine.
"Damian! Guess what?" Jon landed with his usual lack of grace, nearly knocking over a priceless artifact that Bruce caught without looking up.
"You've finally realized that flannel is not appropriate superhero attire?" Damian didn't look up from his blade.
"What? No, flannel is awesome. But listen—I just got my hands on this Kryptonian formula that—"
"Jon, no." Tim didn't even turn around. "Whatever it is, no."
"You didn't even let me finish!"
"I've known you for three years. It's always a bad idea."
Jon pouted, floating upside down in a way that definitely wasn't cute. "You're mean before noon, Tim."
"It's 3 PM."
"My point stands!"
Damian finally looked up, one eyebrow raised in what he'd practiced to be the perfect replication of his father's disapproving glare. "What formula, Kent?"
Jon's face lit up like a solar flare. "Okay, so you know how Kryptonians are differently than humans, right? Well, I found this ancient thing in the Fortress that can simulate pregnancy! Not real pregnancy, obviously, but like, the experience? For educational purposes?"
The Batcave went completely silent except for the distant dripping of water and the frantic clicking of Tim's fingers freezing on the keyboard.
Bruce looked up slowly. "Jonathan Samuel Kent."
"That's my dad's voice. You sound like my dad." Jon crashed to the ground, no longer floating. "Why are all the Bats so scary?"
"Because we have functioning brain cells," Tim muttered.
Damian stood, intrigued despite himself. "Explain this formula."
"No," Bruce said flatly.
"I mean, it's harmless!" Jon pulled out what looked like a small vial of glowing liquid from his jacket pocket. "You just drink it and you experience all the symptoms of pregnancy for like, a few hours. The Kryptonians used it for empathy training or something. dad told me about it once."
"clark told you about this?" Bruce's eye twitched.
"Well, he told me it existed. He didn't tell me WHERE it was, but the Fortress database is pretty easy to navigate once you—"
"Jon." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Take that back to the Fortress immediately."
"But—"
"Immediately."
That's when Damian made the mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his natural life. He smirked.
"Afraid, Father? I'd wager Kent couldn't handle even an hour of discomfort. He cries when he gets paper cuts."
"One time! It was a really bad paper cut!"
"It was a scratch."
Jon's eyes narrowed in a way that was probably supposed to be intimidating but mostly made him look like an offended puppy. "Oh yeah? Well, I bet YOU couldn't handle it!"
"Please." Damian crossed his arms. "I've been trained by the League of Assassins since birth. I've endured torture that would make grown men weep. A simple biological simulation would be nothing."
"Then prove it!"
"Fine!"
"FINE!"
"Dear God," Tim whispered, finally turning around. "Bruce, stop them."
Bruce was already moving, but Damian was faster. He snatched the vial from Jon's hand and downed it in one gulp before anyone could stop him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Damian's eyes went wide. "Oh."
"Oh?" Tim stood up. "Oh what? Damian, what's 'oh'?"
"I feel... strange." Damian touched his stomach, confused. "Like there's something—" His eyes suddenly glowed red, and he grabbed Jon by the cape. "KENT. WHAT DID YOU GIVE ME?"
"The pregnancy thing! That's what I said!"
"YOU SAID IT WAS A SIMULATION!"
"IT IS! It simulates pregnancy symptoms!"
Bruce was already on the Batcomputer, frantically searching the Justice League database. "Jon, how long does this last?"
"Uh... the notes said something about Kryptonian gestation periods?"
"WHICH ARE?"
"...Nine months?"
The Batcave erupted in chaos.
TWO HOURS LATER
Damian was lying on the medical bay cot, looking murderous and also faintly green. Jon sat beside him, holding his hand and looking guilty. Tim was stress-eating cookies. Bruce was on the phone with Clark , and the conversation was not going well.
"No, Clark, I am NOT overreacting. Your son gave mine an alien substance that has somehow convinced his biology he's pregnant!"
"In Jon's defense—"
"There is no defense!"
Damian groaned. "I'm going to kill you, Kent. Slowly. Painfully. I'm going to invent new forms of suffering just for you."
"You said you could handle it!" Jon protested, but his hand tightened around Damian's.
"I said I could handle a SIMULATION, not ACTUAL BIOLOGICAL RESTRUCTURING!"
Tim walked over with a tablet. "Okay, so according to the Fortress database—which Clark just gave us access to, thanks Bruce's threatening voice—the formula works by temporarily convincing your body's biological systems that you're carrying offspring. It's not real, but your body thinks it is."
"THAT'S NOT BETTER, DRAKE!"
"I'm just explaining—"
"How do we reverse it?" Bruce demanded, both to Tim and to the phone.
There was a pause. Then Clark's voice came through the speaker, apologetic. "There... isn't a reversal."
"WHAT."
"It has to run its course. But it's accelerated! What would be nine months happens in about nine hours!"
Damian sat up so fast he got dizzy. "NINE HOURS?"
"Could be worse?" Jon offered weakly.
"I WILL END YOU."
HOUR THREE
Damian had discovered morning sickness, except it was afternoon sickness, and he was absolutely certain this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, including that time he died.
"I want pickles," he announced suddenly.
Everyone in the Cave froze.
"What?" Tim asked.
"Pickles. With ice cream. And those disgusting cheese puffs Grayson eats. Now."
Bruce looked at his son with something approaching horror. "Damian, you hate all of those things."
"I DO NOT CARE WHAT I USUALLY HATE. I WILL HAVE PICKLES OR I WILL BURN THIS CAVE TO THE GROUND."
Jon was already flying toward the kitchen. "I'll get them!"
"Get the spicy kind!" Damian called after him. "And the ice cream must be mint chocolate chip! And get those weird Asian pears from the market! And—" He paused, looking confused at himself. "What is happening to me?"
"Cravings," Tim said, having pulled up more research. "Apparently very common in pregnancy. Even simulated ones."
"This is undignified."
"You drank mystery alien liquid on a dare."
"It was not a DARE, it was a matter of HONOR—" Damian stopped, clutching his stomach. "Oh no."
"What now?"
"I have to pee. Again. I just went twenty minutes ago!"
Bruce looked at the ceiling as if praying for patience. "Alfred is going to kill all of us."
HOUR FIVE
Alfred had indeed found out and had taken over the medical monitoring with the efficiency of a man who'd dealt with Robins for decades. He'd also brought down a significant portion of the kitchen.
Damian was surrounded by pillows, eating pickles with ice cream and looking both satisfied and deeply disturbed by his own satisfaction. Jon hadn't left his side, even when Damian had threatened him six more times.
"You're handling this really well," Jon said encouragingly.
Damian shot him a look that could freeze lava. "Kent, I am going to—" He stopped, frowning. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... that." Damian waved his pickle spear vaguely. "All... soft."
Jon blushed. "I'm not!"
"You are. You're doing the thing with your eyes."
"What thing?"
"The THING. The soft thing. The thing you do when you look at injured animals or children or—" Damian stopped, his own eyes widening. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"I'm the injured animal in this scenario."
"You're not an animal!"
"I'm a pregnant bat," Damian said flatly. "I'm literally a pregnant bat. This is my life now."
Tim snorted so hard he choked on his coffee. Even Alfred's lips twitched.
"Master Damian," Alfred said kindly, checking his vitals, "this will pass in a few more hours."
"And then I'm killing Kent."
"I think that's fair," tim agreed.
"TIM!!." whined jon
HOUR SEVEN
The mood swings had started.
"I just think," Damian sobbed into Jon's shoulder, "that animals are really beautiful, you know? Like, birds? They're so small and vulnerable and they SING and what if something happens to them?"
Jon patted his back awkwardly while mouthing 'HELP' at Tim over Damian's head.
Tim was filming. He'd been filming for the past twenty minutes.
"Master Tim," Alfred said warningly.
"This is blackmail gold, Alfred. GOLD."
"I will confiscate that phone."
"You'll have to catch me first—"
"I'm SAD," Damian wailed, "and you're being MEAN and I just want everyone to BE NICE and LOVE EACH OTHER. Is that so much to ask?!"
Bruce walked in, took one look at the scene, and turned around.
"Father!" Damian called out, voice trembling. "Do you love me?!"
Bruce froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned back around. "...Of course I do, Damian."
"You never SAY it!"
"I... show it through my actions?"
"THAT'S NOT THE SAME!" Damian dissolved into fresh sobs. "I just want to hear it sometimes! Is that wrong?! Am I a bad son?!"
"No, chum, you're—" Bruce looked desperately at Alfred.
Alfred, the traitor, simply smiled and stepped back.
"You're a good son," Bruce said stiffly, awkwardly patting Damian's head. "Very good. The best."
"Really?" Damian sniffled.
"...Yes."
"Better than Todd?"
A pause. "Different than Todd."
"THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!" The tears started again.
Jon was trying so hard not to laugh he was shaking. Damian punched his arm without looking.
HOUR EIGHT
Damian had gone through sadness, anger, joy, and was now cycling back to murderous. But it was a tired murderous. A pregnancy-exhausted murderous.
"My back hurts," he complained, lying on his side on the cot. "Everything hurts. My feet hurt and I can't even see them. How do people do this for actual months?"
"Women are warriors," Alfred said simply.
"Tt. I have new respect for Brown and Gordon. And Mother. Especially Mother. She did this and then went back to being an assassin?" Damian shook his head. "Incredible."
Jon was rubbing his back, and Damian was too tired to tell him to stop. It actually felt nice, which was disturbing.
"I'm sorry," Jon said quietly. "I didn't think it would actually work like this."
Damian was quiet for a moment. "You were trying to teach me empathy."
"What? No! I mean, maybe unconsciously? But I really just thought it would be cool to see—"
"Kent."
"Yeah?"
"Next time you have an idea involving alien technology and bodily autonomy, perhaps reconsider."
"That's fair."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"Kent?"
"Yeah?"
"Your hand is warm."
"Uh... thanks?"
"Don't let go yet."
Jon's face went red enough to match his cape. "O-okay."
Tim made a gagging noise from across the Cave. Damian threw a pillow at him with surprising accuracy.
HOUR NINE
The effects were finally wearing off. Damian could feel his body slowly returning to normal, the strange pressure and sensations fading away. He sat up slowly, testing his balance.
"How do you feel?" Bruce asked, running one more scan.
"Like I've been to war," Damian said honestly. "And like I never want to experience that again."
"Understandable."
"But also..." Damian frowned. "I understand now. Why people do it. Why they choose to. It's awful and uncomfortable and undignified, but there's also something... I don't know. Profound? About creating life?"
"Even if it was simulated?" Jon asked.
"Even if it was simulated." Damian looked at him. "You're still going to die for this, but perhaps I'll make it quick."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
Alfred appeared with tea, because of course he did. "Master Damian, I'm proud of how you handled this situation."
"I cried about birds, Pennyworth."
"Yes, and it was very endearing."
"I have a reputation—"
"That can survive showing vulnerability." Alfred's smile was gentle. "Master Bruce cried about birds too, once."
"ALFRED," Bruce said sharply.
"He was eight and had just seen a documentary about penguins."
"PENGUINS?!" Damian's eyes lit up. "Father, you cried about PENGUINS?!"
"We're not discussing this."
"Oh, we absolutely are, the fucking irony " Tim said, grinning. "I'm calling Dick."
TWO DAYS LATER
Damian walked into the Cave to find a package waiting for him. Inside was a book titled "What to Expect When You're Expecting (Kryptonian Edition)" with a note from Jon that read: "Just in case! :) - J"
There was also a smaller note in Dick's handwriting: "Proud of you, baby bat. You're going to be a great dad someday. PS - I heard about the bird crying. Very on brand."
And a note from Jason: "Replacement 2.0 knocked you up? Congrats, Demon Spawn. When's the baby shower?"
And one from Tim: "I made copies of the footage. So many copies. Love, your favorite brother."
Damian set fire to all of them except Jon's note, which he tucked into his desk drawer when he thought no one was looking.
Alfred saw, smiled, and said nothing.
In the end, Damian learned several things:
Never accept mysterious alien substances from Jon Kent
Pregnancy is a nightmare
Women deserve more credit
His family was terrible (affectionate)
Jon Kent's hand was very warm
That last point was irrelevant and he would never think about it again
(He thought about it again. Several times. But that's a different story.)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Three months later, Jon showed up with another vial.
"Absolutely not," Damian said immediately.
"But this one makes you experience being a cat for a day!"
"...I'm listening."
"JON, NO!" Tim yelled from somewhere in the Cave.
"DAMIAN, YES!"
Bruce Wayne added "ban Jon Kent from the Batcave" to his to-do list. It would be as effective as the previous seventeen times, which is to say, not at all.
Some things never changed.