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I guess not.

( It's said in between slow chews and he sets the half eaten sandwich down on the counter then, letting out a sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. )

Were you just checking up on me? Or did you want to stay the night?

I hadn't been entirely certain how this meeting would go.

( if he's being honest. their first interaction hadn't gone well, but - nor had the first time damian had met his father back home either. perhaps bad first impressions should just be expected between them. )

I have been sleeping in the Cave alongside Goliath. The others inside the manor are. . . odd.

I know the feeling.

( It's usually why he keeps his distance from them, even more now especially with there being yet another version of himself here. The one he's briefly met and has no intention of interacting with. It's just... too strange for him. Especially when he comes from where Damian, Tim, Barbara, and Dick are all from. Makes him feel like he shouldn't be around them even more. )

You have a room here, like I said. Just be mindful that Jason is also staying here.

( And, as he'd asked of Damian before, to keep the peace here between them. )

( there's a moment where he's quiet, chewing through his sandwich while contemplating his options, here. because he could stay. but what are the chances of damian ruining it? relatively high, considering his history with drake. )

I'll return to the Cave.

( He's quiet when Damian goes and makes his decision there — slowly nods while hiding the disappointment there on his face. It's for the best anyways, he tells himself. So he can be around his father — try and get to know him better. He'd told Damian before that he would get him back to him. It's just... difficult. Maybe it was always going to be, he was just in denial about it. He's good at being in denial about a lot of things. )

Sure. I should get some rest anyways.

( At that, he pushes away from the counter — leaves his half-eaten sandwich there and sighs. )

I need to lie down.

( bruce starts to walk away, and damian - watches for a moment. waits until he's almost out of the kitchen before he finds his voice and speaks up, loud enough for bruce to hear. )

I don't trust Todd. Just as I am uncertain of most of those within the Manor, and while Goliath makes for an excellent deterrent in others targeting me when I am asleep, he is not meant to fit indoors.

( At that, he stops and slowly turns some to look back to Damian. He's quiet — mulls over something before he's pinching the bridge of his nose again; he can feel a headache coming on. )

You can stay in my room with me.

( He says then, dropping his hand away. )

If you want to stay.

( it's complicated, for damian. on one hand, acceptance is something he's strived toward for as long as he can recall. on the other, while he doesn't trust todd, he's uncertain if he should trust this bruce wayne that much either. he trusts grayson but there's - he isn't the damian grayson expects, and richard isn't who damian would have expected, either.

bruce reaches a hand up towards his face as if something's irritating him, and damian gets the distinct feeling it's him. his mouth pinches together tight, considering it for a moment before he asks, )

Are you certain?

I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.

( It's said gently as he stands there — waits to see what Damian decides. Ultimately, it's up to him and he's not about to push the other into staying if he feels more comfortable back at the cave or elsewhere. He's just... trying. To offer something. )

( of course he wouldn't.

damian shoves the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth, using that bit of time to mull it over. does he trust this bruce that much, after how quickly he'd turned damian away when they had first met? does he trust anyone here to that extent, outside of goliath? )

Okay.

( Well. Hopefully this goes well for the both of them. It's still... new. For both of them and for their own reasons, but. It's difficult for him to turn away the boy, even if he had the first time, but. It had been done out of shock and heartbreak and... well. Bruce Wayne, no matter the version, never takes a loss of any kind well. )

Do you want to bring the laptop with you?

( For... something to do. Though he has various books and things in his room as well. )

Obviously. I wasn't going to leave it here.

( it sounds rough, but it's - damian. all sharp edges without any tact, because what's the use in that? he wipes his hands off against his hoodie, leaving the mess behind because that's someone else's problem now, and goes to grab onto the laptop so he can trail after bruce. )

( As long as he's coming along.

Bruce makes his way up the stairs — ignores the padlocked doors of his parents room as he makes his way for his own. Opening it up, he makes sure to turn on a lamp for some warmth and light, the bed disheveled, the curtains drawn closed. His bed is big enough for the both of them, what with it being king sized and all. He takes a moment to take his jacket off — drops it down over a chair and then pinches the bridge of his nose again. There's books that line some of the shelves there, things Damian can read if he wants and there's photographs of his parents there on one of the shelves. One even of a young Bruce Wayne at the age of ten there with them.

a glance over his shoulder, he looks to Damian. )

Do you need anything in here?

( he's watching bruce carefully still. watches how he moves, observing every physical tick along with every verbal one he can catch onto. damian could identify his father at a large party among countless rich fools before he had ever met the man based off of his facial structure and the way he held himself: memorizing every detail of this man is less hobby and more an ingrained need to understand. he pinches his nose, and damian considers whether that's a sign of irritation (it's likely), stress, exhaustion, or a subconscious motion he goes through when he's processing information. is it something damian does, too? he's mastered the art of being unreadable when necessary, of hiding tone, intent, removing the ability for others to read his next action before he takes it, but it's a conscious effort on his part to upkeep that kind of control.

yet he's quiet as he observes bruce go through the motions. he remembers all the questions he'd wanted to ask his father, long before they had met. when he had been a figure to look up to, an image to strive toward. yet everything is different now.

just like this is.

bruce looks back to him, and damian looks to the bookshelf. not necessarily to hide that he'd been staring intently, just - )

No.

( but he's tucking the laptop under an arm regardless, to free up a hand so he can reach for the picture of thomas and martha wayne. takes it in hand so he can cart it along with him as he moves to find a space of wall that is unoccupied by furniture so he can press his back to it and lower himself to the floor there.

because the floor is plenty comfortable enough for a catnap. )

( Damian goes to take his spot in the room — does so with the picture he takes down from the bookshelf and he stands there, watching him, quiet as he does. Jacket already removed, he takes his shirt off then, body covered in scars. Some fading, some still needing the time to. Skin pale yet muscles toned as he pulls a black shirt on after dropping the other to the floor. He doesn’t bother with the pants — opts to just slowly sit himself down on the bed there and he looks over his shoulder to Damian against the wall. After a moment, he thinks to speak. )

You can sleep in the bed. There’s enough room.

( More than enough really. Easy enough for him to disappear into and sometimes wonder if he ever wants to come out of it. At least, that’s how it’s been as of late. Though he’s… been trying. Slowly. A work heavily still in progress some days. )

( for a moment, he considers telling bruce that he's just as comfortable here as he would be on a mattress. maybe even more so, given he's much more accustomed to sleeping on firm mats than mattresses. his nose scrunches, half irritation half contemplative, before damian's rolling his eyes and pushing up onto his knees then his feet.

shoes get kicked off, left in the middle of the walkway because clearly that's where they go, and damian sits himself down on the bed before scooting himself across the mattress enough to press his back against the headboard. )

I am more accustomed to mats over mattresses, but I will make due.

( At least an effort was made.

Bruce remains sitting there on the edge of the bed for a little longer before he finally goes about shifting around and getting himself more centred in the bed. The sheets are pulled back, legs dipping beneath them, and his head gently presses back against the pillows behind him as he finally lets himself just lay there. In a way, it’s too familiar, what with having found himself here more often than not, but. The difference is that Damian is with him now. He’s not alone.

He lays there in silence for a good while — doesn’t think to close his eyes and yet, he finds them falling shut every now and then, but only for a couple seconds if that. )

Why’d you take the photo?

( Of his parents from the bookshelf, he means. )

( he's sitting on the bed, at least. even if he's opening the laptop and tucking the picture into the crease between the screen and the plastic around it, leaving it there while he toggles through documents. less because he's interested in what's in them, more because he's waiting for bruce to go to sleep before damian tries to take a nap.

though the question has him pausing, for a moment. eyes look to the picture, squinting at it for a moment while he tries to think of an answer that doesn't sound entirely pathetic. )

You look happy in it, as do your parents. ( it's quiet, contemplative. ) I wanted to memorize it so I can replicate it later.

Edited (finds typos over 12 hours later) 2025-07-25 18:57 (UTC)

( It's a slightly odd thing to say, but. Then again, Damian can be just that at times... not like he himself isn't capable of it either, especially with his still being a little on the socially inept side of things. Still, he blinks in confusion — gently looks over to Damian then. )

Replicate what? ( A beat. ) Being happy?

( there's a scowl on his face, but it isn't as if the expression is all that abnormal on damian's face. because bruce's proposed answer is irrational, one cannot replicate happiness, even if damian likely would try if he thought it was possible. happiness is a complex emotion, and not one damian would claim to know all that well. it's the sensation of flying through gotham's skyline, the freeing sensation of having his feet off the ground, grayson's hand against his shoulder, it's - this. the trust displayed between them. but he wouldn't say it's something that he could attempt to replicate based off of an image in front of him, even if he does understand where the confusion could have come from.

he also understands how his phrasing could throw one off. he isn't a normal person by any means, something that has caused strife between him and the rest of his father's menagerie. )

I wanted to make a copy of it.

( It's... still a little unexpected with what he wants, but. That's Damian for you. He stares to the boy after he clarifies — lets his gaze drop down to the photograph in question before he's looking back ahead. Silent. Until— )

Why?

( why is bruce asking him so many questions about his intentions. damian looks to the photo, then back to bruce, then - untucks it from the laptop's frame and tosses it over toward him. closes the laptop after, and sets it down beside him before rolling over onto his side, facing away from the man. )

Nevermind.

( The framed photograph gently hits him in the chest and he blinks slowly as he watches the way Damian moves about. Quiet again, he stares off across the room — mulls over what to say before he finally mutters a gentle: )

I’m sorry.

( it's an apology that bruce doesn't need to provide but does regardless. it's that which gets an answer from damian, rather than the rest of it. bruce is trying, damian is - making an attempt at improving himself, it's only right that he does so in return. )

I don't know what you want me to say.

You don't have to say anything.

( Because he, himself, doesn't even know what to say. )

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