Damian didn’t hate you, as much as he pretended to. You were sweet, and you made his father happy. You were always trying to get him to spend time with you- you’d bonded really well with Dick and Jason and Tim- but he wasn’t interested.

You were just a normal person. How were you supposed to protect his father? How were you somehow more worthy than his mother had been? He didn’t hate you. But he wasn’t thrilled about you being his stepparent.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, chest tight, tears pouring down his face, feeling like every scar on his body had been torn open, breathing labored, he stumbled down the hall to his father’s room, pushing the door open weakly and standing in the golden light of the hallway.

You sat up and Damian internally cursed himself. His father wasn’t there. He was away on business for Wayne enterprises, and he wasn’t going to be home for another week. He wanted to run, to take back every step he’d made towards the bedroom he found himself in.

He sobbed softly, though, when you threw the covers off yourself and looked at him like he’d been wounded.

He ran forward, suddenly uncaring of the opinions he had of you, throwing himself into your arms and relishing in the feeling of your arms encircling him. He felt safe. Protected. Like you’d do anything to ensure his safety.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, squeezing you tighter as he snuggled into you. “I had a nightmare. C-Can I sleep here tonight? Just for a few hours?”

He hoped you’d say yes. He couldn’t go back to that empty room, couldn’t be alone in there until the sun rose. He just wanted to be safe for a few minutes. You made it better, somehow. In some strange way, he felt like a normal kid, running into the arms of a normal parent. It was nice.