Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Beloved,” Talia stood tall, as always. Her posture perfect, black hair sleeked back from her face and her tanned skin radiating under the midday sun. Her body lined in a sleek emerald green dress with gold embroidered at her neckline. A sword hitched to her side.

Bruce met her gaze with his sea blue eyes; she just wore a tight smile. It was every bit calculated and precise. Practiced and perfected. His eyes drifted to the small boy standing beside her, posture perfect but his face wore disgust and boredom. He looked small for his age, 9 if he remembered right.

“This is our son, Damian,” She introduced moving her hand onto his back, she nudged him forward softly, “As promised, he’s all yours.” The kid didn’t look up from the ground he stared at.

Bruce knelt in front of him, a sign of respect. He held his hand out for the young child, “I’m Bruce, I’m your father. You’re gonna come stay with me from now on.”

Talia let out a low laugh, “My beloved, he’s already been briefed.”

“It’s an introduction, Talia. It’s polite.” Bruce muttered to her, still holding his hand out to Damian who just watched it, “You’re a quiet one.”

“Get used to it. Hasn’t spoken since he was 6.” Talia muttered is disgust, “Still don’t know why the boy chose to make my life more difficult. As if raising Ra’s heir wasn’t hard enough”.

Bruce didn’t falter, didn’t even look up at Talia, “That’s completely fine, we’ll just have to adapt. Won’t we, Damian?”. The boy blinked quickly as if processing his words still, “Do you know sign or morse? Whatever your most comfortable with?”

Damian eyes lingered on him, the seemed wider than moments ago. Slowly, he raised his hands and signed in sharp, efficient movements.

“Sign huh, I know a bit an of ASL but that doesn’t look like ASL.” Bruce just smiled, “guess you gonna have to teach it to me then.”

“Stop taking pity on the boy,” Talia muttered, “It’s a league variant of sign designed for combat and one hand adaptions.” Bruce raised his eyebrow, he thought Talia was against Damian’s quiet personality. She shoved a book at him, “Everything you should need to know about it, basic signs. Damian should be able to teach you the rest.”

Bruce took the book gratefully, Damian who still had his hand raised from signing slowly reached forward, he placed his small palm is Bruce’s, “Appreciated Talia, we’ll be off then. Say goodbye to your mother.”

Damian nodded before signing towards her, her eyes lingered on his hands. Unclear what her intentions were.

“Goodbye my son, please be safe,” She nodded towards them both before heading back onto the plane.

Bruce picked up Damian's case in his free hand and walked his son back to the car.

----

Damian watched the man closely; he took one final glance back at his mother before falling in step with the man who claimed to be his father. They walked down the airstrip to a black sleek car waiting for them.

The man did not seem to be a threat; however, it was clear he knew his way around a fight. Mother had told him that the man was trained and the Batman. Whatever that was. The man flashed him a gentle smile as they approached the car. He gave Damian’s small hand a sudden squeeze before letting go.

Damian froze in step as the man approached the boot of the car without him. Was he to get in the car? Was he to help? No. He would not be disobeying his father on the first day. He had a new chance in this strange city; he would not ruin it on the first day.

He raised his hands quietly; Damian signed slowly for the man to interpret. He stuck to easy finger signs, the man- Father would pick those up… Right?

May I get in?

Sir?

The man blinked awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry kid, I didn’t magically learn sign in the last 5 minutes.” Damian found his hands retracting closer to his chest, he wasn’t a kid. He was a prince. The demon heir.

He felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak. He had been trained to command respect, to act older than his years, to calculate every step. And now his thoughts, so carefully curated, were colliding with this strange, gentle man. Could he trust him? Could he-

The man closed the boot gently and stepped toward him. Taller than Damian expected, yet somehow not imposing. He brushed a hand through Damian’s short, dark hair. “Promise,” he said softly. “I promise I’ll learn sign for you.”

Damian looked up at him, his chest swelling a little with something unfamiliar. His jaw tightened. He pushed the feeling away; this was not a time for weakness. This man was just taking pity on him.

Damian hated pity.

----

“So did Talia tell you much about us?” Father began quietly, glancing away from the road toward Damian in the passenger seat. Damian’s eyes stayed staring out at the road, he shook his head slightly, “Didn’t think she would, we’ve got a manor in the heights of Gotham. Largest one around, it’s a little obnoxious but I’ve been there since I was a kid.”

Damian's eyes flicked toward the window, he studied the passing city. The way the sunlight reflected off the buildings. He stared up at the dull blue sky, it compared poorly to the bright skies in Tibet.

“We’ve got a family butler; his name is Alfred. He’ll do the cooking and cleaning, so you won’t need to worry about any of that,” His father continued as he drove them through the heavy traffic, “Then there’s my other kids, the adopted ones. Last I heard they were all out of the manor at the moment. Should give you some time to… adjust. They can be a bit much together.”

He lifted his hands to gain his father’s attention, signing slowly and clearly. Simple signs, like he was talking to an idiot.

Who are they?

His father’s jaw tensed, Damian's shoulders fell in defeat. He should’ve known he wouldn’t understand. It was like back home.

“Give me a couple days to learn sign, alright?” Bruce said, his voice quieter now. “I only found out a week ago you existed. I know even less about who you are.”

Damian stared at his hands like they betrayed him. He tensed his hand into a fist. Useless. He let out a heavy breath before reaching forward. He tapped on the dashboard, a single question.

M-o-r-s-e?

His father nodded, surprised. “Yeah. I know Morse. It’s not perfect, but- it’s something.” He exhaled, tension softening. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Dark clouds had already gathered by the time they reached the oversized manor. Damian would’ve thought it was excessive if he hadn’t lived in a temple twice the size his entire life. It didn’t take him long to make a mental note of how dull Gotham was.

Bruce- his father, had talked through out the drive. Damian hadn’t responded much, not like he could understand him anyway. The car engine died out as Bruce turned to look at him once more.

“We’re here kiddo, this’ll be your home for hopefully the rest of your life.” The man smiled softly. Damian just unbuckled his belt; he reached for the handle. His door was opened from the outside before he could.

Damian retracted away from the door, hands tensing. An elder man stepped around into Damian’s view, he offered a gloved hand to the young boy, “You must be Master Damian, It is a pleasure to finally meet you sir.” Damian watched him closely as he climbed out the car silently, he didn’t take the man’s hand.

The elder butler nodded at him before shutting the door behind Damian, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, but please just call me Alfred. I am the family’s butler.” Damian shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Bruce walked towards them, he was carrying Damian’s case, “Hey Alf, mind taking these?”

“Of course, Master Bruce,” Alfred took the case with ease, he met easy eye contact with his father, “How was your drive?”. Servants weren’t meant to be this casual with masters- this was… wrong.

“A nightmare, so the usual for Gotham.” Bruce replied with a stifled laugh, he slowly walked towards the large front doors. Damian lingered by the car as the butler followed.

“I hope your father didn’t bore you on the way here, Master Damian.” Alfred tried to speak to him again; Damian quietly fell in step behind the two. He just shrugged at the question politely. Alfred’s gaze softened on him, that same pitying look, “A quiet soul you are.”

“Alf,” Bruce shook his head, “He doesn’t speak.” Damian looked to his feet, waiting for the comment. Mother hated how he didn’t speak, always called him difficult, “Means we got some long nights learning sign ahead.” Bruce spoke easy with a light smile.

Alfred nodded approvingly, “Ah very well.” He gestured to the stairs in front of them, “How about I show you to your room, young Master. You can take the evening to settle in.”

----

His room was larger than his back in Tibet, the Butler, Alfred had had given him a quick tour around the manor and told him he had free reign. On the far side of the room, a dark oak bed dressed in emerald green linen. A decent size study desk on the opposite side and a half empty bookshelf. It had a few old looking books in it, like they had once belonged to another kid.

The room felt too open, wide windows and an open balcony. Unsafe, unprotected. The halls outside his room were too quiet.

He didn’t like it.

Damian reached cautiously for his bag that the butler had left on his bed, he unzipped it quietly. Like he couldn’t be trusted to disturb the lingering quiet of the manor. He took out a well sharpened dagger; it had a dragon etched into the blade.

The young boy walked along the side of the bed, too large for his small form. He tucked the blade beneath his pillow. His hand gripping the handle for a second too long.

Damian nosily walked to the far side of the room, hands brushing against the worn books in the shelf. He picked up a particularly worn copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. He opened the front cover.

This book belongs to J.T

He wondered who J.T was. Damian was quite fond of a good book; he’d grown up in the library of the temple. Surrounded by scriptures dating back hundreds of years. He’d never heard of a Jane Austen though.

Maybe J.T had been as fond of reading as he was.

----

The book tumbled from his hands at the sharp knock on the door. It hit the floor just as the door creaked open. Damian pressed his back to the wall; hands tucked against his chest.

“Master Damian?” The old butler called, “My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.” Damian didn’t meet his gaze as he picked back up the worn copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Alfred’s gaze settled on him cautiously as he walked towards Damian.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Alfred commented. Damian glanced up once. “I believe that was Master Jason’s copy.”

Who?

Damian raised his hands, signing the question before he could stop himself. Confusion bloomed in his chest. The book lay in his lap untouched. Alfred’s careful smile fell at the fluid motion of his hands.

“I apologise my dear, I don’t understand sign just yet,” Alfred told him softly. Damian lowered his hands, of course. He traced the edge of the book with his finger. Carefully opening the front page.

His small finger pointed to the name scrawled on the first page.

J.T

“You would like to know about Jason?” Alfred knelt in front of him, observing the book with a reserved look. Damian nodded his head shyly. Alfred let out a heavy breath, “Very well, young Jason passed 4 years ago.” Alfred tapped the edge of the page, “Master Bruce never had the heart to throw out his book collection.”

Damian stared down at the name on the page, Alfred continued, “Do you like reading Master Damian?”

Damian nodded faintly, his gaze still fixed on the letters. As if the name itself might tell him more than Alfred ever could.

----

“Is Damian coming down for dinner?” Bruce asked, as Alfred returned downstairs alone. The butler shook his head quickly. Bruce’s brows furrowed.

“The young Master is quite content reading upstairs; I did not want to disturb him.” Alfred told him politely. Bruce nodded, grabbing a plate of pasta from the kitchen and walking it to the dining room.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us Alf,” Bruce sighed, he glanced to the book Talia had given him. He was ready to learn how to understand his son.

“We sure do, Sir.” Alfred nodded, “But it will be worth it for Master Damian’s sake.”

Chapter Text

Damian did not sleep.

The room was too open, too quiet. The loud rustling of the leaves and harsh hiss of the wind left him unsettled. Throughout the night his hand wrapped instinctively around the handle of his dagger that had been tucked under his pillow.

The halls were silent. No armed soldiers on patrol, no crackling torches, no scrape of steel from midnight sparring. It was nothing but quiet.

Damian didn’t like quiet.

By the time the sun had finally risen, Damian was sat in the corner of the room. His knees pulled to his chest, back against the wall. The dagger tense in his hands, his knuckles white around the handle.

He let his shoulders sag at the sight of the sunrise; it eased his tension slightly. Damian’s eyes traced the untouched bed. He had tried to sleep for an hour before giving up and curling into the safest spot he could find. The narrow corner between the bedside cabinet and the wall.

He hated it here already.

His head snapped toward the door at a noise in the hall. Voices. Damian moved the knife closer to his chest. His eyes fixed on the locked door.

“No- don’t come home.” Bruce’s tone was tense, low. Then a sigh. The voice seemed to linger outside Damian’s room, “I know- I said it wouldn’t happen again after Tim but Damian. He’s biological. And I wasn’t about to leave him with Talia and the league.”

Damian held the knife tighter; his knuckles cracked under the pressure. His head leaning forward to hear more of the conversation, “Let him settle in first.”

The hallway went quiet for a minute. Damian found himself moving closer to the door.

“Dick, you’ll just scare the kid.” The voice was drifting away, Bruce was walking away, “He needs space not whatever you bring to the table.” The conversation cut off from there. Damian finally stood up.

His knees sore from crouching most of the night. The knife loose in his small hands now. Damian glanced down at it, the black metal glinting gold in the morning sun. After a long second, he placed it on the end of the bed.

The click of the lock broke the eerie silence that was left in Bruce’s absence. Damian stayed low, his footsteps silent. Like he wasn’t meant to be there. He sure as hell felt like he wasn’t meant to be there.

Damian stopped at the top of the staircase; it overlooked the foyer. Bruce was still on the phone, a book clutched open in his other hand. He slowly sat on his knees, peeking through the gaps in the railing.

“Dick- I swear to god it was one time.” Bruce looked visibly defeated, the book gripped tightly in his other hand. There must’ve been a response from ‘Dick’ because Bruce looked even more annoyed.

Before Damian could go back to listening, he shot around to light footsteps coming from the hallway beside him. He was too exposed.

He was-

“Good morning, Master Damian.” Alfred smiled at him politely; he stood beside Damian looking over the rail. The butler kept his voice low enough not to alert Bruce, “how did you sleep?”

Damian just stared at him.

“My apologies, I did not intend to startle you. Again.” Damian tensed under his words. This was the second time the butler had caught him off guard.

Damian drew his attention back to the man he was supposed to call Father. He began to walk towards a room downstairs, from what he remembered about the layout. Bruce would have been heading towards the kitchen.

“Well? Shall we.” Alfred asked him, “we can’t nosy from up here.”

Damian stared once again.

“Oh please, young master.” Alfred gave him a sharp look, something Damian wanted to call amusement but wasn’t sure, “you’re not the only one who likes to observe.” Damian slowly rose to his feet, eyes still wary.

Alfred quietly led him down the stairs, halting for Damian to stop at a door frame. Damian knelt down, slowly peeking around the corner.

Bruce now had his phone on loudspeaker, clearly still annoyed at ‘Dick’. He had the book raised in one hand. His other hand was what caught Damian’s interest.

Bruce, although not good at it, was attempting to sign.

His chest tightened, though he couldn’t name why. No one had ever tried before.

“Admit it Bruce, you’re a slut.” The voice was flat, like he’d had this same conversation a thousand times. Alfred went stiff behind him; Damian didn’t look his way.

Mother had taught him a good education was most important, that no matter his age he should have a good understanding of the world. That meant nine-year-old Damian already knew what a slut was.

“Dickie- for the last time I’m not a slut.” Bruce grumbled, “I just haven’t found someone to commit too.” The person on the other side of the line scoffed at him.

Alfred stepped out from behind Damian, he flicked the young boy a wink before stepping inside the kitchen, “Good morning, Master Bruce, you are up quite early.”

“I know Alf, it’s crazy that he’s existing before 2pm.” The voice on the line laughed freely, his father grumbled again.

“Good morning to you too, Master Dick.” Alfred offered. But Damian was back looking at Bruce’s free hand. How it sloppily signed the word hello. His form was completely wrong, and his fingers were too awkward. It was a disaster of an attempt.

No one in the League had ever bothered to learn for him. He’d been misunderstood, treated as an inconvenience. Yet here Bruce was, fumbling through signs for a son he’d only just met… Determined to understand him anyway.

“Some help here Alf?” Bruce sighed gesturing to the phone. Dick cackled on the other end of the line.

“This is your own battle to lose sir.” Alfred hummed before opening the fridge, “We have a young boy who will require feeding sometime shortly.”

“I’ve been trying to make sense of these signs all morning, they’re so complex. For a kid his age to be fluent is impressive.” Bruce commented, his hand failing the sign once again, “slight movement and context could have completely different meanings.”

“Is Bruce Wayne the greatest detective alive- stumped?” Dick howled with laughter, he clearly enjoyed insulting Bruce.

“I’m not stumped- Dick.” Bruce huffed, his hand balling as he gave up trying to sign it once more, “I just want to get it right, for Damian’s sake.”

Damian stayed hidden behind the wall, wide-eyed, his hands trembling without his permission.

----

Ten minutes later, Damian finally worked up the courage to walk into the kitchen, acting as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping for the last twenty. Bruce was slouched over the kitchen bench, the book open in front of him, his hands still flailing like a bird with broken wings.

Alfred was hovering by the stove, shooting Bruce a hesitant stare. There was a pan on the stove, something was cooking just out of Damian’s eyesight. The call had ended 5 minutes ago.

“Master Damian, good morning.” Alfred smiled at him; it was softer than earlier. Bruce looked up from his book, his blue eyes finding Damian. The man’s hands still held out in front of him.

He looked down at the book again, “Good morning.” Bruce spoke slowly as he attempted to sign something that just looked like nonsense. It started as ‘hello’ and somehow ended as ‘bread.’

Damian just tilted his head; it was a pathetic attempt.

But it was still an attempt.

He raised his right hand and signed slowly. Damian wasn’t sure if Bruce was truly committed to learning, but maybe it was the thought that counted.

Good morning.

Bruce’s face went to puzzled, before a determined stare as he began flicking through pages helplessly to find a translation. Damian watched him with the faintest hint of amusement.

“Yeah, I’m confused,” Bruce sighed, “Sorry, Damian.”

Damian just shrugged, he was used to it. He climbed up onto the stool beside Bruce. The elder man watching him softly. Damian reached across the bench to a piece of paper and pen.

He signed it again. Before writing out ‘Good morning’ on the paper. He jabbed his finger at it.

Bruce stared, “Good morning? Is that what you said.” Damian shot him a glare. Did he really have to repeat it a third time? Bruce took that look as his answer, he attempted to sign it. Damian wondered how badly he could screw it up this time.

It was really bad. His fingers bent at the wrong angles, his hands stiff, somehow even backward.

Damian scribbled on the paper again.

That was terrible.

“Yeah, I figured.” Bruce huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.