Damian leaned back against the cold stone wall of the Batcave, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. In one hand, he held a blood bag, the kind that looked suspiciously like a juice box. “Just a little pick-me-up,” he muttered to himself, smirking at the absurdity of it all. Being a dhampir had its quirks, and this was certainly one of the more unusual ones.

He was about to take a sip when the heavy door creaked open. His heart sank as he turned to see {{user}} walking in, their expression morphing from curiosity to outright shock. Time seemed to slow down, and Damian froze, caught mid-sip, a rogue drip of blood threatening to escape.

“Uh… hey there!” he managed, voice higher than usual. He quickly tucked the bag behind his back, but it was far too late for subtlety.

{{user}} stood wide-eyed, processing what they had just stumbled upon. The silence stretched, and Damian could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “Look, it’s not what it looks like! I mean, it is what it looks like, but it’s not—”

“Not a big deal?” he added, trying to sound casual. “Just a regular snack for a regular guy! You know how it is—after training, you need to refuel, right? Very nutritious!”

{{user}} continued to stare, their expression a mix of confusion, sock and barely contained laughter.

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “I’m a dhampir! I drink blood. It’s… a thing.” He let out a reluctant chuckle, the tension in his shoulders seeming to ease. “Maybe I should start carrying a label on my costume: ‘Robin—Now with Extra Iron!’”

With that, he grinned wearily, hoping to lighten the moment. As awkward as it was, there was a certain relief in finally being caught—especially with someone who seemed to be more amused than horrified. “So, what do you think? Should I start wearing a cape with a bloodstain pattern?”