etrayalogs | ( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

( only sometimes. not all of his children are fond of leaping up onto others, but damian finds forcing others to hold up his weight while he antagonizes him tends to work well for him. which is why he's laughing, heels of his boots digging into bruce's chest plate to make sure he doesn't fall, not that he suspects bruce would let him, but. the goal had been for bruce to scramble for him, which he is. it frees up damian's hands from needing to choke him out. )

There are numerous pressure points on one's head. I'm sure you're plenty aware - one day, you may even try to inform me of them. I had already learned them years prior, all except for one technique Father hadn't even wanted to teach me. I won't use it on you. But I could.

( a spot on his forehead, where if he presses perfectly it would paralyze bruce temporarily. damian isn't going that hard, because this is playing.

he's not even going for the pressure points he's discussing. no, instead, damian is suddenly releasing bruce's neck, and slamming both palms directly against bruce's ears as he leans back to avoid the hand going for his face. )

Edited 2024-04-05 21:48 (UTC)

( he could flip them. land on his back and shoulders, hitting the ground, but. he worries about his weight crushing damian. or some part of him because, again. he doesn't want to harm him. regardless of his capabilities, he's still just a kid.

he throws another quick glance down. gives himself no more than three seconds to consider it. then damian's palms are slamming against his ears and he's grunting. loud. screw it. he's going for it.

one hand still holds to damian's thigh as he spins down onto his knee, grabs the end of his cape with his other hand, and throws it over damian — pulls it around him — as a means to obscure his vision. there's another spin, rotating around on his knees before he plucks a glove off the ground and pulls it on. )

( he doesn't need to see. but he's still laughing. it's bright, amused; if bruce is struggling with the fight, damian doesn't seem to mind at all, he's clearly having fun. even when bruce's weight shifts down, damian seems rather confident and comfortable where he's at. he could cut the cape, could release himself from it, but he knows how difficult it'd be to get another cape of that quality here, and this is a game.

instead, there's the sharp press of blades against bruce's cheek when damian curls his fingers in: they're coming out of his own gauntlet over his knuckles. )

You're dead. Thrice. Once when I could have slashed out your throat, once when I could have severely injured your eardrums. Once now, when I could pluck out your eyes.

( and he has to be hurting bruce's neck, given damian's now leaning forward, abdomen pressing against the back of bruce's head as he leans over it, taking away bruce's vision just as he had done to damian's own.

the leg that bruce isn't holding onto shifts, moving to dig his heel in under bruce's arm. he could flip them. he could drop damian down to the floor, but damian's now attempting to trap his arm with his leg and really - bruce can't drop all his weight onto damian, not with how they're positioned. he'd win regardless. )

( he's willing to risk getting his cheeks accidentally nicked by those blades that unexpectedly come out of damian's gauntlets. he's had worse. a lot worse than a couple cuts to the cheeks. so it's fine if it happens because he can't very well keep up these shenanigans of having a kid on his shoulders, attempting to wear him down with his weight on him from behind like it is. he's not heavy by any means, it's just... he's not exactly used to having someone on his shoulders like this. alfred would never.

another low grunt, he glances down to his hand, glances to the one glove he's managed to pull on since his other is still on the ground with his cowl somewhere, but. it's enough. it'll do. he just needs the one.

straining his neck some in an attempt to free some of the pressure off it, he huffs. )

I died a long time ago and you're grounded.

( that's when he reaches up with his other arm — the one that isn't trapped — grabs to damian's exposed neck, and presses the button on the inside of his glove, activating the taser within the fingers to shock damian. )

Edited 2024-04-05 22:17 (UTC)

( it's a good move. because as damian had said, he doesn't know this suit. he was unaware of the taser's existence within the glove, and with his head covered by the cape, he's incapable of seeing what bruce is reaching for.

fingers wrap around his neck and it's fine because this is nothing, he knows how to force a hand to release him, he had come up here prepared for bruce to swat at him. the hand he has against bruce's cheek raises to do just that, removes the pressure of blades against skin--only for the taser in the glove to go off.

but, see, being tased causes muscles to seize up, which means the leg he has around bruce's arm only tightens, the hand with the exposed blades quickly curls in, causing a few nicks against the side of bruce's face even if damian hadn't meant to.

he doesn't drop off. instead, damian curls in tighter. most would drop after the shock. damian remains immobile for a few moments longer than anticipated, but it's because he's intentionally keeping himself tense. )

( it's enough of a reaction for him and even with the way damian curls in tighter against him, he still throws himself forward, taking damian with him. it's a one-handed flip of a move he makes, twisting his body in a way that allows his other arm to free itself and grab onto damian's back. he doesn't look to try and pry him off — to throw him to the ground or even drop down onto him. maybe later, he would. but he's still not looking to hurt him — not looking to let his anger out on him as he would faceless thugs on the streets of gotham. it's different when he... not knows him, but. blood is involved here and again. he's still much younger than him.

a quick spin on his knees, he reaches up. again. presses the heel of his palm against damian's chin and pushes his head back. a means to try and pry him off. )

( goliath shuffles with a soft noise, because he's a poor listener at the best of times - but as soon as damian has gotten enough control to turn his head up, to look towards his friend, the beast gets the message: he's fine, there's still no need to come between them. it's what gives bruce the opening to shove his hand against his chin, forcing damian's head back.

fingers loosen, and he's lost the advantage of having bruce's arm trapped, too. but that's alright. damian doesn't need it. a breath in, and damian drops his upper half down easily, but shifts his legs (or, one leg, bruce still has his grip on the other so damian only moves that one as much as he's able) to wrap around bruce's neck. it puts him upside down, but he's just as comfortable like this as he is right side up.

his head twists to the side to spit out the blood from biting on the inside of his cheek, and damian drops down the hand with the extended claws. )

You haven't earned the right to ground me.

( his back arches, and damian drops his claws down to where he can see a break in bruce's armor. he's not going for a significant amount of damage, just enough to hurt. )

( when the claws pierce through the break in his suit, he bites down on the angry noise best he can that spills from his lips. he doesn't want to let that anger take control of him — doesn't want to treat damian as if he's some thug on the streets of gotham. he knows he loses control sometimes — knows he can't always hold back. so it takes everything within him from reacting out of anger.

frustration, on the other hand, well.

movements swift, he gets to his feet. twists hard. unsheathes his grapple gun and fires it off to attach to a crate there in the cave. he pulls at it. hard. ducks himself down to let damian take the brunt of the crate coming in. unless he doesn't want to. he could always let go so he doesn't. )

( he sees it for what it is: an attempt at getting damian off of him. the crate won't hurt bruce much, given the body armor he's wearing. it also won't harm damian too much, given the armor he's also wearing - but the impact would be worse on him than it would bruce. damian's armor is made for movement, bruce's is made to take damage.

the gauntlet yanks out of batman's side, hard, and damian drops down to his hands on the ground, flipping backwards and out of the way of the crate before it can drop down onto bruce.

pulls himself upright, cloak settling back around his shoulders. )

Most children my size would not have been able to handle a shock of that strength. ( just a statement, as his hand raises to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. ) The crate could have easily fractured a couple of my ribs.

( as an fyi. damian doesn't sound bothered. )

You are only human. You can't tend to that wound by yourself, ( the one that damian had just given him, you know, on his back. ) nor do you seem to have learned to control yourself.

( maybe it says something that damian chose not to take the brunt of the crate. it's true that his own suit is built to withstand a lot — takes numerous rounds of fire to it without even having him flinch. the impact would have smart a bit, but. ultimately, he would have been fine.

with damian finally off him, he lets out a breath. drops hands down to bent knees. hangs his head with blue eyes squeezed shut. he takes a moment for himself — tries to reel himself in while ignoring the blood there on his cheek and that he can feel beneath his suit where he'd been stabbed. he normally doesn't have this sort of ordeal with gotham street thugs. he's typically fired at— maybe attempted to be stabbed, but. it's never been anything like this. because they're just punks that he can take his anger out on. knows they're not really a threat. this with damian was different and it has him feeling a mix of things.

mostly frustration.

slowly, his head turns and he stares to damian with narrowed blue eyes before he straightens himself up. for a moment, it looks as if he might say something, but. he doesn't. instead, he slowly makes his way over to where his other glove and the cowl had been dropped and reaches down to pick them up with the tips of his fingers and just... leaves it at that. making his way towards the exit of the cave. )

( he hadn't intended on hurting bruce. not entirely. it'd been a lesson: a point to prove, that damian is capable, that he can be the anchor that keeps bruce from going too far, that he knows how to work off of him, that he's strong, smart, talented. that he is the son of the bat.

realizes, belatedly, that mostly what he's proven is that damian is the grandson of the demon. his expression falls from neutral to something more - hurt. not from the fight with bruce; his body is going to be sore later from taking the brunt of the taser, but it's nothing damian isn't used to. )

Wait, I --

( a step forward, but he doesn't move to follow bruce. stays right where he is after that first move. he's irritated batman once again, but no one is surprised at that. damian's good at it. )

I'm sorry. Let me fix it.

( damian says wait and, unlike the last time, he doesn't. instead, steps are slow and heavy as he continues his way towards the exit of the cave. he doesn't trust going back to the apartments — hasn't exactly bothered to stay there much since his arrival here. but he figures there's first-aid supplies around the manor somewhere and, if not, he'll find some elsewhere. he's had worse, he knows, it's just... different. )

You've done enough.

( is all he says as he slowly leaves in search of something to patch himself up with. )

( it's well-deserved. damian had hurt him even if it hadn't been his intention. he dug the blades of his gauntlet into this younger version of his father, just to prove a point. he's done worse plenty of times before, but he's also done better and he should have known better.

damian doesn't follow.

just waits until bruce is out of sight to drop his face into his hands. he was given a chance to redo things, and yet here he is, still making a mess of it. )

( he doesn't trust the hospital even if it would be the logical place to acquire medical supplies from. but with his being wayne manor — regardless of version — he knows there has to be a few medical kits or one relatively large one laying around the place. at least, that's what he would do.

it's one of the bathrooms he finds himself in, seated on the edge of the tub with the medical supplies he'd been able to find laid out on the toilet cover. the armored part of his suit has been removed, the suit underneath pulled down which leaves his chest bare and exposed, scars and bruises that are both fresh and still in the process of healing littered across his chest and arms, as well as his back.

he ignores the nick on his cheek — opts to address the actual stab wound near his collar bone and grabs an antiseptic wipe from the kit, hissing through his teeth as he presses it to the fresh wound. from the looks of it, he won't need any stitches — it's not deep enough, but. still needs to be cleaned and dressed. alfred would surely have words with him if he didn't, after all. so he does that. keeps the wipe pressed there to the wound and, when he pulls it away, he stares at it. stares at the blood. the very same one which is so similar to damian's and just... sighs. )

Edited 2024-04-06 00:15 (UTC)

( a few moments of silence, before damian calls goliath back down and wraps his arms as far around the massive dragon bat's neck as he can. calls him a stupid bat while burying his face into him, because goliath understands. always has. he feels awful, which - he figures is only right. damian did prove his point, but at the same time, he did push it a little too far. this isn't his father. this is a batman who has never had a robin. who doesn't understand.

with a squeeze around goliath, he releases his friend. removes the tunic, then the rest of his uniform. partially so he can wash it, partially because he doesn't want to be robin for a moment. damian has spare clothes; a large dark hoodie and a pair of dark slacks. comfortable enough, especially considering he's not planning on leaving the manor. but he does go looking for bruce.

stops in front of the bathroom doorway when he sees him, but doesn't pass the threshold. )

I'm sorry. ( he repeats himself, voice quiet. ) I hadn't meant to hurt you. ( there's no room for bruce to respond. damian is making sure to speak quickly enough to avoid giving him gaps to interrupt. ) My upbringing was not traditional. Which I am not using as an excuse, because it does not excuse my actions, but more as an explanation.

( and now there's--a brief pause. eyes lowering before they raise to meet bruce's. )

Would you please let me assist you?

( he notices the change of clothes damian's made. glances back down as he fishes through the first-aid kit, bloodied wipe left there on the toilet cover. listens to what he has to say in silence, strands of dark hair falling in front of his face. pulling out a few band-aids and another antiseptic wipe, he looks up to damian then. just for a moment. glancing back with a slight tilt of his head.

i'm fine, he wants to say — like he would to alfred, but. alfred's a grown man. not a kid— not his kid like damian here apparently is. )

Run a cloth under some water.

( he says that with a flick of his gaze up to him. a nod of his head to the washcloths there by the sink before he goes looking back to the contents of the first-aid kit. not necessarily to see if it has what he needs. but more to see what it all has and what else might be needed in the future. )

( his initial response is don't tell me what to do except he realizes that bruce is letting him help, and even if damian could find much better things to do than wet cloth, he's. listening.

walks into the bathroom finally, and makes his way over to the washcloths. he turns on the sink, letting the water run cool before putting it under the faucet and drenching the washcloth through. squeezes it out, then turns back towards bruce. )

Can I check the wound on your back?

( asking, not telling.

this isn't his father. he isn't used to having a child, let alone a robin. )

( he makes a mental note of a few things needing to be stocked in the kit while damian wets a cloth. when he goes and asks to check the wound, he lifts his gaze up to him. it's on the tip of his tongue there asking if he even knows what to look for, but. he refrains. having seen what he was capable of earlier, he'd like to think he knows a thing or two. especially if... some version of him had been the one to teach him.

since, you know. damian isn't talking about his mother or anything. )

Yeah.

( the word is soft and he looks back down to the first-aid kit, looking for the right size band-aid for the larger wound what with his cheek not really needing much. )

( the washcloth gets set down beside bruce's hands, as damian circles around him to get to where his claws had dug into flesh. he hadn't put much pressure behind it, it's a flesh wound at best, but one of the blades had dragged enough to leave a cut long and deep enough to warrant a couple butterfly bandages. )

My blades were clean, so I doubt it'll get infected unless you're rolling around in grime. ( which bruce is also apt to do. ) I'll need a couple butterfly bandages, as well as a larger bandage to cover them. Antiseptic if the kit has any in it, or I'll rinse it with water.

( an exact description of what he's doing, so bruce isn't left surprised. )

( well. hm. he appreciates the rundown of what he's planning to do, but. certainly lines up with his having figured damian has at least some sort of idea of what he's doing.

he glances back to him. blue eyes peering through the smeared greasepaint that now runs down his cheeks some. he really does look like a raccoon like this. that's what happens when he ends up in a scuffle with a version of a kid he didn't even know he was to have.

poking through the first-aid kit, he pulls out the things damian mentioned. sets them down within reach. )

Those tasers have dropped guys bigger than you.

( just. you know. trying to make conversation and all since he has to there. )

( bruce sets items down within reach, and damian gets to work. sprays the antiseptic onto the cuts after lightly pressing gauze to the wounds to pick up any excess blood, then presses gauze around the wound once more to ensure his skin's dry - it'd be a waste to apply the butterfly bandaids while it's still wet.

the large bandaid goes over it last. for most people, he'd have left the cuts to breathe. his father isn't most people. )

I was raised to tolerate worse, but it'll still be sore for a while.

( that's... mildly concerning to hear. gaze dropping, he wonders too many things all at once before he lets himself look over to damian there. quiet. contemplative. blue eyes growing soft despite the weariness they hold within them. )

You did pretty good. For what it's worth.

( he looks down then, dark strands of hair falling in front of his face again. taking the wet washcloth in hand, he presses it to his face then. slowly begins to work on rubbing away the greasepaint he has all over him. )

I know. As I said, you were dead thrice over. ( at minimum, with damian going easy on him. bruce may not want to harm someone of damian's stature, but not everyone damian's size agrees. granted, he also knows many of his father's weaknesses and how to press them. such as - bruce wouldn't let damian ruin his ankle merely to keep a good grip on him. once the wound is cleaned and bandaged, damian pulls himself back up to his feet and moves to the bathroom counter. presses a palm down against it so he can push himself up to sit on the edge.

lets bruce clean himself up. )

My father had nothing to do with my upbringing, as stated before. You don't need to concern yourself with what I've learned to handle. We were introduced roughly three years ago, and in those years, he and the rest of our family showed me I could be more.

( right. humble is not a thing he is, looks like.

bruce takes the time to wash the black off his face with the damp cloth. slow. listens to what damian as to say as he goes about making himself comfortable there on the edge of the counter. when he pulls the cloth away to look at it, it's covered in black. touches of red from the mark on his cheek, but. it's the black he really looks to. the colour holding such a significance — such a meaning for him in so many intimate ways. most of them painful.

a slow glance up, he stares to damian. quiet. then eases himself up. winces, but shrugs it off like always. three steps or so to the counter where damian sits, he washes out the black from the cloth in the sink there. still quiet. still mulling over everything that he's told. )

I'm sure Alfred must be happy.

( it's said softly, more to himself. )

Pennyworth enjoys a full house.

( an agreeance, because it's not wrong: alfred and damian may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but as damian learned how to communicate and interact with those in bruce's inner circle, they had grown significantly more--comfortable with each other. even if he does earn the occasional "this is why i chose not to have children" comment. he knows it's not given with any ire, that they have an understanding.

damian raises a hand, the one closest to bruce. but he's coordinating the movement, careful to keep from surprising him any. the intention is to press his palm against bruce's cheek, gently. his words are solemn, dejected. )

You're not him.

( he dislikes it, not necessarily because this means this man isn't quite his father. but because it makes them enemies. rivals. they were both brought here for a purpose, and that purpose might lead to destroying one another. this bruce is young, too young to face damian and win. )

( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

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