Convincing Father to bring him along on his next trip to the Watchtower was easier than he'd expected. All Damian had to do was wait for the right moment — and the 'right moment' happened to be moments before Father was preparing to leave.

After a few insistent "Father, I demand that you take me with you to that ridiculous club house", and a few miserable, "I'm sure you've taken the others with you,", Father gave in relatively quickly. Damian was sure that it was a mixture of his desperation to leave, and the power of, what Grayson called, 'puppy-dog eyes' (it had seemed ridiculous when his brother had first mentioned it, but Damian was shocked at their influence). Father seemed to give in whenever he shot him one of those looks — Damian had scoffed at Grayson when his brother had claimed that these 'puppy-dog eyes' (what an absolutely ridiculous name) were powerful weapons, used for manipulation and brainwashing. But they worked on Batman, so that had to mean something.

The next steps in his plan had flowed smoothly. Father had left for the monitor womb, leaving Damian behind, with the strict instructions to, "look around if you like, but do not destroy anything!"

Damian had no intention of causing havoc. He was here on a mission, and one that Father would soon be thanking him for. After all, Father adored Grayson, and when he learnt of Santa Claus' malicious plan to kidnap him, the old man would be facing the wrath of the Batman if he ever chose to show his face in Gotham again.

Finding the meeting room hadn't been overly hard. Father had brought him to the Watchtower on other occasions, and he'd always been good with directions.

To his delight, a large portion of the League — including the Amazonian woman — were already inside. Damian hurried over to the group, aware that the next phase of his plan would have to be carried out swiftly. Father would arrive soon, and Damian didn't think that even the power of puppy-dog eyes (despite what Grayson thought) would be enough to keep him at bay.

He came to an abrupt stop in front of the Amazonian. She stared at him, her eyebrows raising in surprise (good — he wasn't sure how it would help him in this scenario, but the element of surprise was always a good thing).

"Marry my father," he told her bluntly.

The room fell silent.

"…What the fuck did he say," choked — Green Arrow? Damian squinted at him; green outfit; arrows and quiver; a horrible goatee. Yes, this was Green Arrow.

Damian silently dismissed him. He wasn't here to deal with imbeciles, after all.

"Marry my father," he repeated, glaring.

Wonder Woman coughed, her eyes wide. "Um…sweetie…"

Damian scowled. "Please do not speak to me in such a demeaning way," he snarled "It will only be temporary. You may divorce after Christmas — that is, if you aren't taken away to the North Pole dungeon."

"…I repeat, who the fuck is that kid?"

"Robin, obviously," replied — Green Lantern? Damian's brow furrowed; why did they all seem obsessed with the colour?

Green Arrow's brow furrowed. "That's not — "

"He's Batman's son." 'The Kryptonian,' Damian thought, scornfully.

"Batman's WHAT ?!"

Damian clenched his jaw, and tried to ignore the incredulous voices. He needed to remain in his element — this was an crucial mission, after all. He would not let that old bastard get his perverted hands on Grayson.

"Will you marry my father or not?!" he snarled, eyes flashing. He watched as the Amazonian woman stared at him in shock. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, unsure of what to say.

"Damian what are you doing?!"

"Dammit," Damian hissed. Father was here.

He tried to hide his grimace as his father stormed up to him. There went his chance; this would be a lot harder now.

"Father," he said, nodding in the man's direction. He tried to ignore the glare he was receiving; after all, as the future Batman, he needed to be equipped to deal with all sorts of terrors (including the wrath of the present-Batman).

"Damian," his father growled. "What are you doing in here?"

"You never said that I couldn't come here," Damian pointed out. "And I'm on an important mission, if you must know."

There were a series of choking sounds from behind him. Damian inwardly rolled his eyes; these imbeciles were the ones protecting them? No wonder Santa's crimes had gone unnoticed for so long.

"The Amazonian," he said, and pointed at her. "You'll be marrying her."

Silence. The choking had stopped, although Damian was sure he heard someone fall to the floor. And Father looked stunned, Damian noted, almost gleefully — it took a lot to shock the Dark Knight, after all.

"…Damian," Father finally choked. "I…I'm not marrying Wonder Woman."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Yes you will," he retorted. "You will marry her, before Christmas eve." His father opened his mouth, and Damian hurried on. "I know it may seem like a hasty decision, but really, it's the only option. And it's only for a day — you can divorce as soon as Christmas Eve has passed." 'And after that bastard old man has gone back to the North Pole WITHOUT Grayson in tow.'

Father sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this outside," he said firmly.

Damian's jaw clenched. "You have too!" he yelled. "We need a woman in the house for the old man to target!"

"What?!" Father spluttered.

"I'm sorry?!" Wonder Woman cried (having the gall to sound offended, Damian noted with scorn).

"You fool!" Damian snarled, staring at his father, rage in his eyes. "You'd sacrifice your own son for the sake of this woman?!"

"What the hell are you talking about Damian?!" If he wasn't so furious, Damian would have been pleased at how confused his father sounded. He'd well and truly caught the man off guard. However, his mind was preoccupied with more pressing matters — namely, the thought of Grayson rotting away in a cold, dank prison, far away from his family (and, more importantly, from Damian).

Grayson was his, goddammit, and he'd be damned if he allowed that bastard to take him away!

"Grayson!" he howled. "If we don't find you a wife, the old man will take Grayson instead! And then…then…" His fists shook dangerously at his sides. "YOU insisted on adopting an overly cheerful idiot, without any common sense when it comes to relationships. I refuse to suffer for your mistakes! Knowing Drake, I'll have that idiot clone as a brother-in-law soon enough — I will not be having this 'Santa Claus' too."

And with that he turned around, and stalked towards the doorway. He left the room, and the door slammed behind him, the only sound in the dead silence of the room.

"…That was Batman's kid?"

"We're starting the meeting," Bruce growled, glaring viciously.

Bruce prided himself on a lot of things. His detective skills were one of these, and it didn't take a genius to realise that there was something off about Damian.

He managed to hold his tongue until they returned home. Damian was silent, scowling at the floor. Bruce changed out of his suit, walked to the kitchen, and sat at the table. Alfred glanced at him, his eyebrows raising.

"I take it something happened, Master Bruce?" Alfred inquired.

"Damian!" he called out, choosing to ignore the question. "Come in here — I need to talk to you."

There was a brief pause, before the boy finally walked into the room. He was still scowling, Bruce noted.

"Sit down," he ordered. Damian twitched in annoyance, but complied.

Bruce watched him, wondering where the hell he had gone wrong. Well — the boy had been raised as an assassin for the first ten years of his life. He supposed he could blame the whole thing on Talia (except he didn't think Talia had asked the boy to march into the Watch Tower, and make plans for the wedding of Batman and Wonder Woman).

"Is everything alright?" he asked. He inwardly winced; obviously everything was not alright. You'd think, after four adopted children, and one biological child, he'd be better at this.

"Grayson is in danger," Damian growled.

"You said that," Bruce said carefully. He'd probably be more worried if Damian hadn't also been screaming about weddings and…Santa Claus?

"There's no point in talking to you about it." Damian glared at him. "You haven't apprehended him yet — no one has. It's been years."

What were they talking about?

"Damian," Bruce said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "who are you talking about?"

"No one." Damian stood up abruptly, glaring at him. "I'll be going to my room now."

"Sit down."

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he didn't move.

"Perhaps," Alfred interrupted, "you two should go out. Spend some time together - ice cream, perhaps?"

"Damian doesn't want ice-cream," Bruce sighed. He didn't know what Damian wanted (well, he'd read the boy's letter to Santa Claus, but there was no way in hell he was giving him that), but he knew what he wanted, and that was to get this whole situation sorted out.

"Why would I want a lump of frozen milk?!" Damian snapped. "What I want — "

"Actually, you know what, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea." After all, there were a lot of things he needed to speak to Damian about (and the fact that Damian's Christmas letter, requesting that Santa Claus murder Tim, wasn't even on the list, spoke volumes about how much help this family needed).

He needed to make sense of whatever Damian had been screaming about. Why on Earth did his son want him to marry Diana? And why did he think it would save Dick? And then, of course, there was that phone call he'd received from Damian's teacher — Ms. Fields? — about whether he'd, perhaps, book a few sessions for Damian with the school counselor…

"I don't want ice-cream," Damian snapped. "Clearly, you don't understand any of this Father. I'm disappointed." He turned around, and marched towards the doorway. "I'll be in my room."

Bruce opened his mouth to call him back, before realising that he had a lot to think about (namely, sorting through Damian's Watchtower rant, and working out what the hell it had been about). He'd deal with his son later.

He'd never thought his father was such a fool. Didn't he realise the gravity of the situation? Santa Claus was coming, and Grayson, along with this entire family, was in danger. Damian could understand if it was Drake, but this was Grayson didn't Father care?

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, throwing himself onto his bed. "I'll protect Grayson, and defeat Santa Claus. I'll show the old man that he should have chosen some other poor fool to kidnap…"

His phone buzzed and he glanced down. He immediately straightened — it was a new message from Todd (he'd delete the fool from his contact list after Christmas, but for now, as ridiculous as it was, Todd was his only ally).

'Santa's at the mall right now.'

Damian's eyes narrowed, and he set the phone down on the bedside table. He stood up, his entire form tense.

He wondered if there was some way he could sneak his sword out of the manor…

"So Master Damian wants you to get married," Alfred summarised, sounding far too amused. Bruce shot him a disgruntled look.

"Can't you try to sound a bit sympathetic?" he grumbled. "The entire League was present. And not only was it embarrassing, it was completely baffling. Why would he want me to marry Diana? And he kept saying that Dick was in trouble…"

"Is he?" Concern slipped into Alfred's voice.

"I don't think so," Bruce sighed. "I mean, Damian didn't really sound like he knew what he was talking about."

"Father!" Bruce turned around, surprised to see Damian standing in the doorway. He hadn't been expecting his son to leave his room anytime soon. "I've decided I want frozen milk after all. Let's go."

"Alright." Bruce stood up. "But you don't need your sword to get ice-cream, Damian."

He really should be more concerned, but it was Damian. And he'd have plenty of time to interrogate his son in the car.

"Fine," Damian grumbled, dropping the offending item on the floor.

...

AN:

Hey! Hope you liked the new chapter :) By the way, if you enjoy Damian's crazy antics in this fic, I posted a new story, "Curse of the Red-Heads" recently.

Thank you to everyone who has commented, and taken the time to read this :)