a/n: I have a final tomorrow and I haven't started studying yet! *hysterical laughter that turns to hysterical sobbing* Anyway, because of that, I have one fully written prompt that I haven't transferred from notebook to word doc yet, and one that I have vague ideas about, although I was supposed to have it written by tonight. Whoops. I'll try my best to keep posting on time this week, but I'm a little chaotic, so no promises.

Enjoy the bat fluff while I freak out about my future!

9. Movie

The car was uncomfortably quiet, and Damian's fingers itched to pull his headphones from his pocket. He restrained himself; Grayson had told him that he had to take this mission seriously, or Grayson would join him on the next one. No one wanted that chattering idiot along, and Damian wasn't willing to risk his interference for something as trivial as avoiding an awkward situation. Grayson would know.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damian could see Bruce shifting just slightly, looking tense and awkward even as he maneuvered the car with ease. That was also Grayson's idea; he felt that Alfred would provide a buffer that both Waynes would attempt to hide behind, so he eliminated that option altogether. Unfortunately, that did nothing but make Damian's father more unapproachable, and Damian was much too stubborn to offer an olive branch.

Grayson had called it bonding. Damian knew what it was, had participated in such activities with Grayson, and sometimes even Todd, but the idea of bonding with his father—the goddamn Batman—was ridiculous. Damian respected the man, worked with him, and expected to take his obligations after his father stepped down, but the idea of getting to know Bruce simply for the sake of knowing him had died the day Bruce had refused to name him Robin over Drake. There was a clear differentiation between Bruce and the Batman, and Damian was frankly much more comfortable with the masked vigilante.

"So," Bruce started, sounding far too monotone to be natural. "How is school going, Damian?"

"It is detestable and I do not see the point in surrounding myself with the intellectual equivalent of a pack of baboons." Damian had answered honestly, just as he did with Grayson, but the slight frown that graced his father's face clearly said that that had been the wrong answer. The car was overtaken by a tense silence again.

His father had attempted conversation, and now Damian felt obligated to do the same, no matter how frivolous the impulse seemed. The problem was, Damian could only think of the current cases his father was working on, and Grayson had strictly forbidden any talk about their nighttime activities. Damian assumed that daytime jobs were still applicable topics of conversation, but he also knew that Drake handled a large portion of WE business, and he had no desire to talk about anything pertaining to Drake. They could have discussed hobbies, but Damian had no idea what Bruce did for pleasure—did he even have spare time that didn't go to case files?—and he was intelligent enough to know that his father had no interest in what his son did when it didn't pertain to school or Robin.

Bruce sighed quietly, but before he could pursue another topic of conversation, they were gliding smoothly into the movie theater's parking lot. Father and son viewed the cheery yellow building with the same sense of bewilderment and skepticism. Damian had marathoned a few movies with his brothers in the den at the manor, but he had never gone out to a theater to see one. Bruce hadn't been near a movie theater since the death of his parents. Damian glanced at his father as subtly as possible; Grayson had mentioned to Damian that this trip might be a little stressful for him. Still, both Bruce and Damian had realized that dinner and a movie would require the least amount of communication between the two of them, so both had jumped at the low maintenance bonding time. Bruce did look a little tense as he exited the car, but the theater was not the same one that his parents had been gunned down outside, and that information seemed to make all the difference. He offered Damian a tight smile, then set off towards the ticket counter.

Neither of the Waynes were thrilled with the array of movies offered to them, but they agreed quickly on the sole action movie advertised outside. It was based on some sort of comic book franchise, and it had been heavily advertised over the last few months, so Damian could only hope that that meant the movie would be passable.

In hindsight, an action movie was possibly the worst choice the pair could have made. They settled into their cushy chairs, armed with snacks, and sat patiently through the previews. However, when the movie opened immediately with a heavily choreographed fight scene, both father and son let out a small snort of derision. They glanced at each other in surprise, then smirked in unison. They had found a common ground, and among the easily impressed civilians, were unified by their shared distaste for the pitiful excuse of a fight.

And suddenly, the floodgates were broken. Throughout the movie, Bruce and Damian nudged each other and smiled sardonically at each other. Once the movie let out, they went straight to dinner at some hole-in-the-wall café around the corner, chattering easily about all the inaccuracies in the choreography, which led to an analysis of the movie and the elementary definitions of good and evil that were utilized throughout it, which then led to a surprising discovery.

"You used to read comics?" Damian stared at his father incredulously. Bruce shrugged, his smile sheepish.

"My father actually used to collect them when he was younger. He passed some down to me, then gave me a small allowance to allow me to start buying my own. After they passed—"and here his face darkened slightly, then smoothed over again, "—I kind of lost the habit in pursuit of…other things. Still, I'm pretty sure Alfred just packed up all of the issues I had and put them in storage until I brought Dick home. Then I kind of passed them all down to him."

The realization was startling. Grayson had often pushed the thin issues onto Damian, declaring that it was essential that he read them, but Damian had always seen them as childish and had hid the interest they sparked within him. The fact that his father had started the habit made the man seem a little bit more human. The Damian of a few years ago would have hated the simplicity of the action, but the Damian that Grayson had softened during his time as Batman appreciated the relatability of the action.

"I always appreciated the art in those books," Bruce admitted, oblivious to how he had just blown his child's mind. "When I was six, I told my parents I would grow up to write some of the best comics of my time. Of course, that never really panned out; I'm absolutely horrible at drawing. Dick tells me that you're pretty good, though, Damian."

And finally, something that Damian could express pride in.

"I am passable." He knew that he was good, of course; he received praise from the teacher at school on a regular basis. Still, the idea of his father seeing his creations made him a bit shy. "I could show you sometime, Father."

Bruce smiled warmly, and Damian thought that that might have been the first time that an expression like that had ever been directed at him. It made him feel light and warm. "I'd love that, son."