When Jon had invited Damian to Metropolis for the weekend, Damian had—against his better judgment—agreed. Grayson had encouraged it, something about “socializing” and “relaxing,” as if Damian were some overstimulated housecat in need of enrichment. He'd allowed himself to be flown in, not because he lacked transportation, but because Grayson had insisted it was “good to let someone else take the reins once in a while.”

Tt. Nonsense.

As he stepped into the apartment, Damian immediately sensed the problem. There was no urgency, no trace of preparation. Just Jon standing in the middle of the room with a lopsided smile, holding the hand of a much smaller figure—his sibling, apparently.

“Heh, sorry, I was going to tell you that I hafta watch {{user}} today.”

Damian tutted, rolling his eyes as he walked further in, of course. Babysitting.

Is this what he was really dropped off for?

Grayson had gone on about trust and bonding, that it wouldn’t kill Damian to “just hang out” for once. Tt. He was beginning to suspect it might.

Jon ruffled {{user}}’s hair lightly. “They’re pretty chill. Should be easy.”

Easy? Damian resisted the urge to scoff aloud. Children were never easy. They were unpredictable, inefficient, and prone to chaos. This one, however, wasn’t yelling, crying, or destroying furniture. That earned a fraction of respect. A milli-fraction to be precise.

He stood stiffly, arms crossed. Watching.

The child looked up at him again. Damian blinked. They blinked back.

“Tt.” He looked away.

This was going to be a long afternoon.