Chapter Text
"Wolves are cool and all, but I really think a dog fits me better."
Damian frowns down at his sketch pad. He's drown an outline of a human form -one similar but not quite inproportion to Jon's body- but that's as far as they could get on the piece. Jon has spent the past ten minutes flipping through the Met-U Zoology Encyclopedia looking for the perfect animal persona. He has yet to make a definitive choice.
"What kind of dog?" Damian asks, already beginning to sketch on floppy ears and tufts of hair-fur. He swipes a piece of straw from the paper. It falls from the barn loft soundlessly.
"A sheep dog, duh!" Jon grins, his hands gripping at his filthy jeans eagerly. "Oh! Or maybe a husky! No, no, wait! I could be a-"
Damian drops his pencil and glares at his friend.
Jon drops his shoulders and sticks out his lip in a pout, the suggestion cut off. "Fine. What do you think I'd be?" Though he says it with a tone of aggrivation, the expression doesn't last long.
"A goat."
It morphs into a crestfallen digust.
"Really, a goat?" Jon looks back down at the paper as Damian erases the dog features and instead impliments his own -much better- design.
Horns that curve upward, eyes with horizontal pupils. A broad face but kind features and shallow fur to indicate his youth. Once Damian has finished the anatomy, he knows he's gotten Jon's attention.
"Your family hold resemblance to goats." Damian explains. "Besides, they have a reputation for being invulnerable to things that would hurt any other animal. I believe it's very fitting."
Besides, the drawing serves the idea well. With some added details -a Superman T-shirt, jeans, and curls- the persona is done.
Jon takes it into his hands, then smiles wide. "Alright, maybe you have a point. And Hey! Goats are pretty smart too, right? That's practically a compliment!"
He could shut it down, suggest that some differences do shine through, but Damian holds his tongue. His father's voice plays in the back of his mind, telling him that not every thought needs to be shared, for the sake of others. Perhaps this is one of those.
"-and Kon would be a really moodly looking goat! Kara can be one of those with- wait, let me find it." Jon flips the pages of the book. "Here! Angora goat! It's got super curly fur, see!" He shoves it toward Damian, who simply lowers the book to their laps again. "Super cute! I think she'd like it."
Damian sets the page aside and sketches another template based on his own physique.
"What'll you be? Ooh, I think I know!" Jon turns to the page on bats, a smug look in his eyes. "Hm...fruit bat? Because you're vegetarian!"
Although it's a good choice, and Damian did consider it seriously, it doesn't quite fit.
Yes, a fruit bat does fit Damian well in dietary needs. He could be a wolf, like Father said he prefers -though, Miss Kyle insisted he's still a bat when he asked her. But if not a bat, if not his legacy and birthright, then what?
Well, he could be a panther, like his mother. While he as yet to discuss the matter with her, he can see a cat-like elegance in her fighting style, as well as her dark hair. The pictures in their book of families of panthers piled together reminds him of curling up in her arms as a babe. Besides, they are known as the best hunters among big cats.
But that too falls short when Damian considers himself. He is a skilled hunter, but he doesn't have the same elegance as his mother. He fights fast, but with power. He is Robin just as much as he is an Al Ghul. And yet, he is also neither.
"A honey badger." Damian says at last.
Jon makes a sound of surprise. "A badger? Why? I thought you'd be something cooler."
"Honey badgers are cool." Damian argues. "They're incredibly feirce and are known to fight of even the largest of predators. Their skin is very thick and they can turn a full one hundred and eighty degrees to bite their attackers, no matter how they're held. They are also omnivores, so I could choose to live off of mainly plants, honey, and eggs."
"Really?" Jon smiles. "I didn't know that! That's so cool!"
They sit quietly as Damian starts to draw his own persona. A white stripe along the back and a smooth snout to resemble the animal, while spiked hair and his Robin tunic shows his own traits-
Something wet hits Damian's leg. When he looks down at the pile of straw he and Jon have stationed themselves in, he sees a freshly born kitten squirming against his pants.
Any other simpleton would freak out or shout about such a matter, but not Damian. He was trained by the League of Assassins and born to a higher standing than most. So, Damian remains perfectly calm and collected as he lifts the still wet kitten into his palm, sets it into his hoodie for warmth, then relays his information to Jon.
"Lucy is bearing her young."
"She- Wait, what?!"
As Damian addressed before. Simpletons.
"Lucy is-"
"Ohmygosh, I have to tell Dad!" Jon stands too quickly and nearly topples off the loft -which wouldn't be an issue, seeing as he can fly.
Damian looks down at Lucy. The barn cat is breathing fast, but she makes no other noise as she tries to stand several times, only for another kitten to slip out against Damian's leg. He scoops that one up as well and holds it carefully against their sibling.
He'll need a towel soon. His hoodie won't have space for six kittens and with the way Lucy is trying to move-
The cat stands with a loud cry. She carries herself to the edge of the stray pile, where another kitten falls and begins to roll off the loft. Damian's heart spikes but just as quickly, Jon is catching it in his gentle hands and giving it over to join the rest.
"What do we do?! She's just going to keep having more!" Jon goes to bite his finger nails, remembers he just touches a freshly born kitten with them, then bites his lip instead.
"Calm down." Damian commands without raising his voice. "Lucy needs us to remain here. Cats are private creatures and the fact she chose to give birth here means she has intrusted us with the care of her and her young."
Jon's frown doesn't ease.
"Which means," Damian clarifies. "No calling for the household to join us. It could cause her stress. But we will need things to keep the kittens warm and you are best equipped with that task."
"Okay," Jon lets out a steadying breath. "Okay, okay. What do we need?"
Good. There's a reason Damian trusts him. "A heater. Something that can be warm but not hot. I also need a towel to place over that heat source."
"Heat and a towel, got it!" Jon zips away in a blur of colors.
Another gets stuck halfway out and Lucy hisses angrily as she tries to squirm away from the pain. Damian is thankful Jon isn't here for the way his heart starts to speed up. He doesn't like this. There's blood pooling in the straw and he knows the kittens aren't warm enough, but he can't hold all of them at once and Lucy nearly crushes one when she tries to stand again.
But, Damian reminds himself that he has seen worse. Recently. The cries of pain from grown men should be nothing in comparison. What is a hurt cat to an adult whimpering over shattered bones? What is the blood of birth compared to gushing wounds?
Everything, Damian realizes. It makes all the difference. He is trained to kill, to maim. To hurt. He isn't trained to sit beside an innocent creature like Lucy and watch her struggle with the processes of nature.
They're going to need more supplies. Water for Lucy, first of all. Another wash cloth to clean up the blood, but Damian has already accepted the loss of his hoodie.
By the time Jon returns, Lucy has let the last one go and is now curled up against Damian's side, licking their soft heads. She isn't howling or crying anymore, thankfully. But she will need rest while they set up a proper nursery for the kittens.
"This is all I could find," Jon says as he sets down an electric heating pad and a thick kitchen rag. He is saved by the electrical outlet Mr. And Mrs. Kent installed in the loft a few weeks prior.
Once it's plugged in and the rag is set on top, Damian, with hands he never knew to be so gentle, sets the kittens down onto the bundle. They shift their little paws and try to move, but they can't get far with their weak little bodies. Lucy settles in with them, continuing to groom each and every one of them.
"I hope Kara doesn't yell at me." Jon mutters under his breath.
Ah. So that's where he found the heating pad.
"Jon," Damian starts. "I will go get more supplies. Stay here and listen to their hearts. If anything changes, call for me."
They switch places and Damian hopes no one comments on the bloodied hoodie as he walks back into the house and toward the kitchen. He drinks a cup full of water to ease his traitorous nerves, then refills it for Lucy.
As he passes the living room, Damian stops. Father is sitting with the Kents. He appears focused on whatever he is holding in his hand, a smile crossing his expression. It's become more and more present over the past few months. Not since Superman become his...relative. But sometime soon after. Father started reaching out to Grayson more, and his conversations with Todd ended less in arguements in more in bittersweet understanding.
He started encouraging he and Damian go out together every Sunday. A whole day just for them to do what Damian wanted, whether it be about animals or training or anything else.
Damian will silently thank Superman for it, even if he can't be one hundred percent sure it's the Kryptonian's fault.
Then, he remembers Lucy, the water.
"Dam-" Jon freezes in the doorway. All eyes fall on them.
Father notices the blood. He's standing the very same second.
"Are you hurt?" Father asks, his very going severe, like Batman's but kinder.
Well, there's no bother in hiding it now.
"Lucy gave birth...unexpectedly. I offered by hoodie as warmth until Jon could find something suitable as a replacement."
"Lucy gave birth?!" Superman reacts much the way Jon did. Ironic, given he's supposed to be a well seasoned hero.
Wait. He told Jon to inform him if something went wrong.
Damian marches from the house and back to the barn. He tries not to spill water, but it's difficult when he's battling the nerves that stubbornly try to cloud his mind. He needs to be focused but all he can think of are small, sufficating kittens. Stillled hearts and Lucy, alone.
He tries not to think of Mother.
"They're getting enough warmth, but the brown one isn't breathing and I didn't know what to do, I don't want to touch them in case I hurt one but-"
"Which one is it?!" Damian doesn't mean to yell. He surprises himself.
Large hands pass the two of them and Damian watches as Superman -Clark- lifts the kitten into his palm and examines it with his alien eye.
The kitten is impossibly small in comparison. It's the side of his pinky, but Clark treats it with such a light touch, he might as well not even be touching it. Then, with a slight touch to the kitten's nose, Clark channels air into the little thing's lungs through it's open mouth. Damian can see how its lungs expand through its chest, then breathe out again.
After a few more attempts, the kitten begins to gather the process and does it on its own. Clark sets it down with the rest of the litter. Lucy shows her graditute with a lick to Clark's finger.
"Oh..." Jon stares at the kitten with wide, wet eyes. He turns to Clark and wraps his arms around the man's check. "You saved it, Dad! It's gonna be okay!"
Clark holds him back, just like he held the kitten.
"I can stay with Lucy, if you want to wash up."
Damian looks down on Father. Despite his advantage on the loft stairs, he still feels like his heart has been broken open and strung out for all to see.
"No. I want to be with her." And Father doesn't protest. He nods once, then follows the two Kents back into the house. There are no meaningful glances or second thoughts.
It feels like trust.
Damian climbs the rest of the way onto the loft and lays down opposite of Lucy. He doesn't touch her babies, now does he scoot closer into her space. He watches, though, like he watches over Gotham. Protective. Ready to jump into action the moment a problem arises.
"They will be safe, Lucy." He promises. "Robin is here."
After a long, long day, Bruce is happy to be back in bed. Over all, the day was successful. Alfred would be proud of how well they did.
"So," Clark says as he walks in from the bathroom and settles into the sheets beside him. "It wasn't so painful, was it? All that worrying for nothing."
"You like being right too much." Bruce says in lieu of a real answer.
"I sure do." That little smirk pulls at Clark's lips and Bruce roll his eyes.
They settle deeper into the pillows, only a thin line seperating them. Bruce doesn't plan on bridging it. Without real air conditioning, they'll get sweaty and hot before they can fall asleep and Bruce would rather not wake up feeling uncomfortable.
At least, not without some added fun -which isn't going to happen. At all.
A foot apart, they settle in and prepare to rest from the day of controlled chaos, only for the bedroom door to creak open. Bruce holds his breath, hoping it's the breeze and not the child shapped shadown cast over them.
His luck ran out hours ago, it seems.
"Dad?"
It will be noted that Clark does well in covering his sigh. He sits up with a tired smile and addresses Jon. "Hey, Buddy. What's up?"
It's well past midnight. Bruce spent most of the time between sending the boys to bed and doing the same himself talking with Martha and Jonathan about the holidays and when they could do this again with the rest of the family. Bruce, while fighting the urge to run far away from future commitments, agreed that Christmas could work, depending on League responsabilites. Possibly with Dick, Duke, and Alfred as well. Maybe Steph, if he can convince her. And Kara, of course. They were sad -not too sad- to miss her this time around.
"I can't stop hearing." Jon says with a quiet voice. It wavers more than Bruce originally heard and immediately he feels like an ass.
Clark's smile turns genuine as he offers his arm for his son. Jon floats above the bed to curl into his father's arms, his own small hands pressed against his ears.
To Bruce's surprise, the shadow doesn't fully disappear.
"Father." Damian walks forward with the soft patter of bare feet. He stops in front of the bed, a shadowed look in his eyes.
Bruce, too, sits up. It takes a moment of consideration to figure what's wrong. Lucy's little miracle today must've affected him more than the boy will admit.
"Want to sleep here tonight? Jon could use the comfort."
"Please?" Jon asks, though, the question is pointed toward Clark.
And Clark, the angel he is, agrees. "Of course. We've got plenty of room for you." He settles back and Jon lays on Clark's chest like a baby sloth.
Damian surprises Bruce again by accepting the offer and climbing in between them. His shadowed expression eases ever so slightly, a dark blanket pulled tightly around him the way he does with his Robin cloak.
Bruce pulls him to his chest, safe and secure. Damian tenses at first, but relaxes just as quickly. They don't need words for this moment.
"Good night, Dad." Jon whispers.
"Night, Boys." Clark yawns.
Now, they can rest. Without screens in his face, Bruce finds it easy to let sleep pull at him. He wills to have a dreamless night for both him and Damian. Who knows if it'll work-
The door opens again. Clark fully sighs this time.
"I told you he'd hear." Comes Tim's voice.
"Uh, there's a leak." Kon-El says into the darkness. "Think we could crash in here tonight?"
There's a good amount of space at the foot of the bed where they could set up pillows and sleeping mats. Bruce knows Tim has already prepared for that scenerio -he wouldn't have allowed Kon to get this far if he didn't also want to sleep in here.
"Sure, Kid. Why not." Clark answers. Jon giggles on his chest.
"Sweet." Kon lays across the foot of the bed. Not at all on the floor, like he should be.
"Kon," Clark starts.
Kon-El stops him. "What? I can already see like ten spiders down there. No way am I sleeping on the floor. Besides, there's room. Right, Tim?"
The bed dips again. Bruce has to move his feet to make room for Tim.
"Kon, you fight giant robots- Oh, fine." Clark gives up quickly. Bruce can't tell if it's the exhaustion or if Clark secretly doesn't mind them sleeping here.
Seeing as the teens aren't going to be moving, Bruce settles in and prepares for a morning of cramps and soar muscles.
He's thankful this bed was made to withstand their weight and much more.
"Good night." Jon says again.
"Night."
"Hm."
"Goodnight, B. Goodnight, Clark."
"Night, Boys."
Yeah, they'll be coming back for Christmas.