Work Text:
Damian left in the middle of the night.
Now, it was well within the morning, and Damian was where he wanted to be. It would take him twenty-five minutes to wait for his flight, but Damian doubted that his father would find him within that time period. Damian had covered up all his tracks, erased the security tapes, and got rid of several tracking devices on his clothing. Now, with a few possessions crammed in his suitcase, Damian was enroute to leave the state. It would take his father some time to track him down to the airport, if he tracked him at all, but he’d hit a dead-end once Damian got out the city.
It was all going according to plan.
At least, that’s what Damian thought, but maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so content. In fact, maybe he shouldn’t have relaxed to begin with, because Damian’s cockiness was his downfall. He let his guard down, stuck his nose in a magazine, and paid little attention to his surroundings. It was unlike him to have tunnel vision, and yet, Damian subjected himself to narrow sights. It was why he didn’t notice someone sitting next to him in the terminal.
It was why he nearly flew out of his seat when his father cleared his throat.
Damian was at a loss for words as his magazine fell into his lap. His hands remained floating in the air, but his eyes darted up to his father’s.
His father's eyes were filled with mischief.
Bruce rests an ankle on one knee, snatches Damian’s magazine off his lap, and then dangles it up in the air for examination.
“So,” he begins, turning the magazine in the air, “where are we off to?”
Damian sinks in his chair.
Damian didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly didn’t involve getting caught.
It just – argh – Damian could barely stand his father’s home. It was too – too strange – and – ugh – weird. Damian had heard so many fantastical tales of his father but meeting the man did not play out as Damian had anticipated. For one, he thought his father was a mighty warrior, which might not be far off from the truth, but what kind of honorable fighter hoarded over-grown children? In addition, what kind of man, who was apparently mighty, acted like soft goo around his adult offspring? It was inconceivable.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
Bruce hums in a whimsical way, as if he did not believe Damian, and maybe that assumption was not far off. It was hard to get a read on him. Damian had never quite met anyone like his father, not in all his days of training, so how was he to know how to understand him? It seemed above his skill set. Usually, when such a challenge was placed in his way, Damian would do anything to overcome it.
This time, however, he wanted nothing to do with the challenge.
“It’s a good thing I already know where you’re going then,” Bruce says. He stands up from his seat, as if he hadn’t just sat down, and then plays the motion off with a stretch.
Damian gives his father a brief glance.
He demands, “Where?”
Bruce smiles as if he knew all the secrets in the world. Then, he shuffles until he’s settled at Damian’s front, effectively blocking him off from a quick exit.
“Home,” Bruce says. Without further ado, he bends down and scoops Damian up into his arms. Damian doesn’t give in without a fight even if it makes him look ridiculous. He can’t make it this easy. It’s not supposed to happen this way. It’s supposed to be harder to find him. It’s supposed to be difficult! Damian was a master assassin. His father might be a great detective, but Damian was good at hiding. It was baffling that his father managed to find him to begin with.
Bruce had a lot of ways he could handle Damian's outburst. One such way, which many parents would probably resort to, was exasperation. Yelling, or shouting, was an alternative. Quiet down, he could say. Stop making a scene, he could command.
Instead, he runs soothing circles over Damian’s back, just in time for Alfred to make himself known in the terminal. Damian barely notices the way Alfred encircles his fingers around his suitcase handle. He's far too occupied with his father, even as Alfred drags the suitcase off, probably towards the parking lot structure nearby.
Damian starts to calm down, contrary to his desires. Eventually, he ceases struggling entirely, and slumps against his father’s broad chest. Damian rests his cheek on his father’s shoulder – still quite grumpy – but also quite comfortable. It was stupid. It was also the reason why Damian had left in the first place. His father could make him do things – things that were unfit for an assassin – like act like a child. Damian was no child, he made sure to proclaim this often, but his father paid his declarations no mind. It always fell on deaf ears.
“I’m sure your brothers and sister will be happy to see you,” his father makes mention. While he does so, he begins to walk for the exit, undeterred by Damian’s upset grunt.
Damian was not a big fan of his siblings. It was probably because they, too, were just as insufferable as his father.
“I don’t want to go home,” Damian complains, but it comes out as a whine (which is highly unusual for his esteemed person).
It was all their fault. Damian didn’t act like – like – this – until they decided to treat him like a child.
“We’ll hang out in the airport some other time,” is Bruce’s humored reply. It was as if Damian had not been in the middle of escaping. According to the way Bruce spoke, it sounded like Damian had just been taking a fun trip, but they both knew that was not the case.
Damian frowns. While he frowns, his father runs his fingers through his hair, and then squeezes the back of his neck. Damian shifts until his chin is propped up on his father’s shoulder. Then, in a natural movement, he reaches his arms up to wrap around his father’s neck. It's not a discouraged motion. In fact, when he clings to his father's neck, his father shows his pleasure by patting his back.
It takes them some time to end up in the parking lot. Alfred is already in the car, waiting for them in the driver’s seat, and the suitcase is packed in the trunk. Bruce releases Damian only to help him climb into the backseat, an effort that Damian was fully capable of doing himself. Damian gets himself situated, but he refuses to buckle himself. He crosses his arms over his chest, scowls, and glares out the front window.
Bruce is ever-patient. He grabs the buckle, stretches it across Damian’s person with one hand, and then says, “I’m going to need you to move your arms, sweetheart.”
Damian feels his cheeks go red.
When he doesn’t make a move, Bruce gently grabs one of Damian’s arms, and guides it down towards his side.
Then, with great care, he buckles Damian’s seatbelt.
Bruce doesn’t stop there. He mortifies Damian further with a kiss to his crown, something completely embarrassing, and unnecessary.
Bruce smooths down Damian’s hair before withdrawing to the passenger’s seat.
The car shifts with weight once Bruce climbs into his seat, right next to Alfred’s. Alfred glances up into the rearview mirror, adjusts it, and then starts the car. It doesn’t start moving until Bruce is just as secured as the rest of them.
“Home, Master Bruce?” Alfred clarifies.
“Home, Alfred,” he says.