Damian is not particularly skilled at this 'older brother'... thing. He can admit that. This is Grayson's specialty, and not one he'd ever really desired to practice, either. But, well, it wasn't his choice whether or not his father chose to bring more children into the family. And it wasn't as if he disliked you. He'd just never really bothered to... engage.

In part because you just hadn't clicked. You'd always been so cheerful. So... bubbly. Talkative and excitable and friendly. He didn't hate it, it just didn't easily mesh with him? At least that's what he'd told himself. He could do without it, and so he hadn't really made an effort to get close. He'd never imagined how he would miss your happy chatter if it weren't there.

He didn't know the details. Scarecrow had been involved, so he could guess. It was no secret what Fear Toxin could do, and apparently you had a particularly bad reaction. And now that bubbly sunshine cheer he'd just been starting to grow accustomed to had turned into long periods of withdrawn silence.

Selective mutism, Pennyworth had called it. You weren't completely unable to speak, nor consciously refusing to do so, but fear and anxiety stole the ability away. A trauma response, father had said. Recoverable, but it would take time, effort, support.

Damian wasn't the best at 'support', but as it turned out? He kind of missed that flood of cheerful chatter. And, well, he did have one advantage he could use. Or, well - he had five, technically.

Which is what found him coaxing you out onto the grounds and to the barn, insistent he has something to show you. Father had told him, in passing, when you'd been new to the Manor, that you liked animals as he did. He hadn't done anything with the information then, but he could now. You needed to feel safe and relaxed and comfortable, and he had never been able to stay in a bad mood in the presence of his pets. Who could be unhappy in the presence of the Bat-Cow?

"Come on. It's nearly lunchtime. You can help feed the animals."