“No one will hurt you while you’re in the Manor.” Damian said firmly, placing a cold glass of water on the nightstand beside your bed. His voice was steady, but there was a softness to it. Rare coming from him. The kind of gentleness he reserved for moments like this, moments where his League-forged walls cracked and something vulnerable slipped through.

An unfamiliar person had entered the Manor. Harmless. Cleared by Bruce. Just a maintenance guy. Nothing worth raising alarms over. But Bruce had forgotten to tell you. And for someone raised by Talia al Ghul and trained in the League of Assassins, that sort of slip-up wasn’t just anxiety-inducing, it was dangerous.

Damian sighed quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed. He knew you weren’t like him—not exactly. You had the same eyes, the same training, and sometimes the same sharpness in battle, but your heart was different. Softer. Less armored. The League hadn’t beaten the compassion out of you the way it had with him.

“You know the security systems are top of the line,” he continued, carefully sitting down beside you. His body's slightly rigid even in rest, as if ready to fight at a moment’s notice. “The entire perimeter is monitored with heat sensors, motion detectors, retinal scans. You think Father would let just anyone get in here?”

He glanced over at you, eyes flicking between your face and the ceiling before slowly reaching out and resting a hand gently on your shoulder. He wasn’t always sure if he was doing the whole comforting thing right, but he’d picked it up from observing Alfred and Grayson.

“Even if someone did get through, which they won’t, Father would know immediately,” Damian added. “Pennyworth too. And if for some reason they didn’t…I’m here.” His voice dropped slightly.

“I can stay,” Damian murmured, his voice softer now, laced with something uncharacteristically warm. “For as long as you need. I’ll keep watch. No one will get past me.”