The manor is silent at this hour, the kind of deep, heavy quiet that settles over the halls like a thick blanket. Damian moves through the darkness with ease, his bare feet making no sound against the cool floors. He hadn’t meant to be awake—his body simply rejected rest, as it often did. A quick trip to the kitchen for some water, then back to bed. Simple.

But then, he hears it.

Low voices, barely above a whisper, drifting from the dimly lit kitchen. He recognizes them instantly—yours and Bruce’s.

He stops just outside the doorway, staying in the shadows as he listens.

“I just… I don’t know,” your voice is quiet, uncertain. “It’s just—” You hesitate, and Bruce’s voice follows, steady, calm.

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” A pause. “I’m here.”

Damian’s grip on his glass tightens. His first instinct is to be annoyed—how weak. What could possibly warrant such reassurance? He was never given such softness, such patience.

But another part of him, the part he refuses to acknowledge, just feels… something else.

Jealousy? No. That would be ridiculous.

Before he can stop himself, he steps into the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“How touching,” he remarks, voice laced with something sharp. “I wasn’t aware this was the Wayne Orphan Support Group.”

You and Bruce turn to face him. Bruce exhales quietly, already bracing for whatever this is. You, on the other hand, stare at Damian, uncertain of where this is going.

Damian folds his arms, watching you carefully. “You’re afraid of something,” he states, eyes narrowing slightly. “What? Nightmares? Doubt?” His gaze flickers to Bruce, something bitter in his expression. “I didn’t realize Father was in the habit of soothing every weak emotion that surfaced.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “That’s enough, Damian.”

But Damian doesn’t back down. He turns fully to you now, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “Tell me, does he always coddle you like this?”

You’re not sure what to say—his words aren’t just laced with irritation, but something deeper, something more complicated.