"Odious Punishment"
Some would call it brooding, but to Damian Wayne, he referred to it as analyzing a situation from every possible angle to come up with a suitable and reasonable conclusion for himself.
He was berthing his options. Unfortunately, there weren't many to choose from. The others were all getting to go out on patrol, but he was stuck in the Batcave for watch duties and he hated it.
He knew that everyone had to take their turn, but for Damian, he wanted to be out in the thick of things and to kick some ass if trouble arose. And trouble always arose!
The only solace he kept was Titus, his great dane. Whom, at the moment, he considered his best and only friend.
Damian sat in one of the chairs at the Batcomputer. It was connected to surveillance devices in everyone's suits, so he could see and hear everything when they went out.
And that was the problem, he would be watching and listening, and not doing. That's what pissed him off! He was itching to get out and patrol with the likes of Grayson and even Drake. His father rarely took watch and was ninety-nine percent out on patrol.
Of course, Bruce Wayne, his father, had gracias—he was the head of the family, and Batman.
"Don't worry, Master Damian, I'll be here on watch with you, if you'd like," Alfred, the family butler had said. But that made things worse, Damian thought. He didn't need to be babysat and declined, politely, the offer. If he was to be on watch, he rather do it alone.
Damian grumbled under his breath as the others suited up.
He had dressed in his Robin costume just for the heck of it, but he was staying behind. He felt like he was being punished, and he brooded in the chair with closed fist to his cheek, as he pressed buttons lacklusterly, piping into Gotham City's CCTV surveillance net.
A slap came on his shoulder from Drake. Damian saw the other's reflection in a blanked monitor in front him. Tim Drake was smiling glibly. "Hey, Damian," he said. "This is part and parcel of the job. We've all had to do it. And I do it fifty-perfect of the time."
"If you like it so much, then why don't you stay and I'll go out with Grayson and father," Damian said, turning around. Drake was dressed in his Red Robin costume unmasked. From the attire he wore, Drake was going to wear his novel harlequin mask today instead of his hood. He also wore his wings, so he could glade through the air like a winged bird or bat.
Damian whacked Drake's hand off curtly. Drake narrowed his eyes.
Dick Grayson came over and immediately got between them before a fight broke out. He wore his usual black and blue Nightwing costume. He was masked with his typical face mask. "Enough, you two!" he said. "Damian, chill your jets. We've all done this. It's your turn today."
Damian sighed heavily. It always seemed Dick Grayson had a special power over him that Damian couldn't explain. Maybe it was just respect. When they teamed up as Batman and Robin, he did give the guy a lot of guff. But eventually, he came to understand how Grayson worked and why he did what he did. The fact that he didn't maim or kill was strange to Damian. Damian knew it must have difficult to play Batman, but Grayson seemed to have fun doing it—his way.
"With great power comes great responsibility," Drake then added.
"Don't quote me lines from a comic book, Drake! I'm not a kid!"
Bruce Wayne, his father, finally came over. "No, you're not, Damian," he said flatly. "But every member of the team must do their part, large or small, even if you think it's insignificant."
"But I want to be out there! This stuff is below me!"
"Pardon me?" Bruce Wayne eyed him with a father's angry glare.
Damian meet eyes with his father, but then looked down. He hated being treated like a child. He was once a prominent member of The League of Assassin's under his grandfather Ra's al Ghul, but there was also something to be said about being treated with an ounce of respect, for which, neither his grandfather or his mother did. They would hit him if he said or did anything untold. His father got angry at him sometimes, but that was to be expected. Damian had a temper. But his father never hit him.
"Fine father," Damian relented. "I'll babysit the cave."
His father didn't reply to Damian's flippant comment. Bruce Wayne/Batman just turned around, put on his cowl, and went to the Batmobile. The canopy slid open and Damian watched both his father and Drake get in. Drake was shotgun. Grayson took the Batcycle.
After a few start-up checks, the jet-booster ignited and the Batmobile blasted off down a causeway and out of the cave. Nightwing on the Batcycle followed behind.
Damian pouted in his sit. Titus sat with him and Damian momentarily smiled thinly as he pet his friend. There was something to be said about a dog, and how even in the darkest of times, they were always there to comfort you bringing out a masked smile.
Damian turned around in the chair and typed on the keyboard of the Batcomputer. Then he downloaded what he needed onto a tablet and left the main hub. If anything came up, he could respond on the tablet and act accordingly.
He took the elevator to the upper tier and with him he brought a drawing pad and pencil. If he was going to be stuck in the Batcave for hours on end, he might as well do something fun. And he enjoyed to draw. It was a hobby of his much like Barbara Gordon and her writing. Gordon would often write fiction for Grayson to enjoy, adult stuff. But Damian always managed to sneak a peak at it. She was a good writer, but it wouldn't sell unless to a very small audience.
He stood on the upper tier and extended his hand out with the pencil. The large T-Rex, a trophy from a long begotten crime, stood like a giant in the cave. He spent fifteen minutes sketching it and then moved on to the large Two-Face coin. Followed that, the colossal Joker playing card. But they were simple sketches, nothing exciting. They were just to get his mojo working.
For the next hour, he sketched and shaded in different parts of the cave. They were okay. Then he began to sketch each of the "Rogues" from memory—Joker, Two-Face, Riddler, Catwoman, and Penguin. But this just made him want to be out on patrol more. What if the others were battling a Rogue now and he was stuck here like some bored security guard?
He returned to the Batcomputer and sat down, bored again. None of the others had called in to him ask for anything and that made Damian feel unwanted. Titus hadn't been much company. He was with him, but he mostly just slept.
Damian piped in to each of the others' cameras and watched as his father, Drake and Grayson, surveyed the cities from their perspective outposts without anything exciting to show. There was some chatter on the lines, but nothing to Damian directly.
In a moment of teen fancy, Drake's gaze turned to a nightwalker, or prostitute, and he watched her for quite sometime. She met with her pimp in an alley across from where Drake was crouched down on a roof's edge, but that was all. Drake just watched her.
Drake said he wanted to kick the man's teeth in for making her engage in the profession, but prostitution wasn't illegal in the city. If the man had hit her, then it would be prudent to act.
"Disgusting pervert," Drake remarked, and Damian agreed.
"Focus, Tim," came Grayson's voice over the line. "I agree with you, but it's her choice."
"How do you know that? She could have been forced—"
"Tim," came Bruce's voice.
And Tim just sighed and put his discourse to rest.
"Any action, Drake?" Damian piped in. "Or are you just looking for a thrill?"
"Stuff it, little man. I just don't like any woman being treated horribly."
Damian agreed.
"Hold it," Tim then said. "I think I see something out of the ordinary."
"Define, out of the ordinary, Tim?" Batman said.
But little else had to be said when Tim's visual caught Red Hood within his line of sight. Jason punched the pimp in the face and the man went down like a sack of cement.
Tim grunted, but it sounded like a satisfied smirk to Damian's ears. "Why is that idiot out there?" Damian wondered over the line as he watched on the main screen of the Batcomputer.
Suddenly, a new voice piped into the Bat channel. "Hello all, and welcome to my world," came Jason's voice. "I really don't care what you think. I'm out here taking out the trash and this guy was pure garbage. He's a go-between for a nest of vipers within this prostitution region." Red Hood looked directly up at Tim. "Care to take him in for me, Red Robin? The police are looking for him, or does Batman and his cohorts not care about the small fry?"
Batman didn't respond. "He cares, Red Hood," Nightwing responded. "But, he has to give a go-getter street body vigilante something to do."
"I have too much on my plate already, Nightwing, and I don't need your sass," Red Hood replied. "This guy has a criminal record a mile long." Jason filled the others in on the particularities and then Tim agreed to pick him up.
Tim swung down and then used the Batcuffs on the guy and then called the GCPD to let them know the pimp needed to be picked up at an address Red Robin gave them. Tim handcuffed the pimp to a pipe, left him to sleep off Jason's punch, and then walked down an adjacent alley with Red Hood. Damian listened in on their conversion.
Jason told Tim about some issues this part of the town was experiencing with excess prostitution and how a lot of needy men were meeting up with call-girls in the area. It was the Entertainment District and it was always busy at night. It wasn't against the law to meet up with someone then go home with them, but it was against the law to pay for the privilege.
This is what Jason hated. He adamantly thought all women should be treated with respect. The rest of the family agreed. But that didn't mean Jason could just beat up on anyone who approached a woman. Then again, Jason never did follow the right side of the law. The police were after him for excessive violence against criminals.
Damian knew it was Todd's way of fighting back against those who thought the law didn't apply to them and it may have also been a way rebelling against Batman for failing to protect him from Joker. Joker had killed Jason Todd when he was Robin. Todd later learned Bruce never went after Joker for the murder. Pissed, Todd returned, as result of a cosmic anomaly, and became the Red Hood, and took out the bad guys the way he wanted without restraint.
As Jason rambled on, Tim seemed to be an ear for Todd's rant. Damian just listened, loosely, and went back to sketching. And after five minutes, he had drawn a pretty good rendition of Red Hood—as an angry looking cat hissing with his fangs out.
Damian chuckled at the drawing when it was done.
"Something funny, small fry?" came Jason's voice over the Bat channel. "You think what I think about Gotham City's night life is worth a chuckle?"
Damian cleared his throat. "I think you're whinnying like a little bitch is worth a chuckle, Todd."
"You son-of-a…If I was there right now, I'd ring your neck!"
"Damian!" Batman's voice sounded. "What was so funny?"
Damian cleared his throat again. "Nothing, father. It had nothing to do with Todd. Titus just did something…humourous. That's what I was chuckling about. Todd can go to hell."
"I rather enjoyed his tales of the darks side," Nightwing put in. "It helps to have a man on the ground to get intel for us to use later down the road, Damian. You never know what could be important. One small clue can lead us to bust up a major operation."
"Yeah, yeah, " Damian sloughed it off. "I knew you would take his side."
"We'll talk about this later," Batman said.
Damian didn't care. The only person he truly cared about right now was himself. For another hour, no one spoke to Damian and he amused himself with switching CCTV cameras, as an eye for the others to spring into action if any part of the city needed them. So far, all was quiet.
In school, Damian had few friends. Everyone thought he was stuck up. That's just because he was so smart that he didn't need anyone to hang out with to engage in "kids stuff". Well, except for one—Jon Kent. He was an idiot, but at least he has super powers.
They had teamed-up once again Victor Freeze, but the villain got the jump on them and made the rather unfaltering remark that he and Kent looked like Batman and Superman had kids. First, biologically, that was impossible, and second, he wouldn't be caught dead admitting he was in any way associated eugenically with that idiot.
Just then, the elevator to the cave dinged, and Alfred rolled out a trolley of assorted goodies and a pitcher of milk with a tall crystal glass. "Pennyworth, escargot and a bottle of chardonnay, you shouldn't have," Damian said with wink to the apt butler. He knew the others were not privy with what was happening in the Batcave at the moment without a camera to show them. It was a tease.
Alfred wished to say something, but Damian put a finger to his mouth.
"Alfie, you're giving a thirteen year old white wine?" Dick voiced.
"Save some of that for me, Al," Jason chimed in.
"Really?" Tim said. "He's not old enough to drink!"
"Alfred?" came Bruce's voice.
Damian snickered. He was having a lark at everyone's expense and liked it. "Not to fret, sir," Alfred then said. "It was a spoof. I brought, the young sir, a pitcher of white milk and two chocolate eclairs, and not the aforementioned. A growing boy needs energy to keep up his strength especially during these tiring times of stationary repose."
"Sounds good," Dick said. "Wait! Did you get those eclairs from the fridge, Alfie?"
"I did, sir. Why?"
Damian took one and immediately took a large bite.
Dick groaned openly. "I was saving those for when I got back! You better not eat them, Damian, or so help you…"
"Sorry," Damian said with his mouth full finishing off the first, and then took a bite of the second, followed by milk after Alfred poured him a glass. "I'm a growing boy. I need my energy."
"You little…I'm going to make you pay for that," Dick said.
"I'm sorry, sir," Alfred said. "If I knew they were yours—"
"Pennyworth still would have given them to me," Damian interrupted. "You don't need them anyway, they'll just add unnecessary flab. I have a high metabolism, so I'm good. Todd, on the other hand, they'd just go to his husky thighs."
"What did you just say?" Jason said irked. "That's it, someone's going to get murdered tonight!"
"Damian's right, I didn't need them," Dick said. "I need to drop a few pounds anyway. But I'll tell Barb you ate those chocolate eclairs she made for me. I was going to share them with everyone after dinner tonight."
Damian felt a pang of regret and he felt like a gluttonous pig. More so, if the chocolate eclairs were, indeed, made by Barbara Gordon, Grayson's significant other, then he knew he was probably going to get scolded. When Gordon got mad, she was like a female Grayson, and Damian, for whatever reason, was dismayed by it. Gordon was always bubbly and smiling, she was unlike herself when she wasn't. Damian immediately felt bad for what he did.
He put the last half eaten chocolate eclair down on the plate. "You might as well finish it now, Master Damian," Alfred said. "Or it will spoil."
The sudden sound of a pig—oink, oink—came over the Bat channel from Drake. Todd laughed. Nightwing went silent. His father went silent. And Damian knew that was bad. It was like a parent would do to give a child time to think about what he had done, to feel the guilt of it.
Damian didn't touch the eclair.
After a little while, Alfred picked up Damian's sketch book. "Did you draw this, Master Damian?"
Damian gave himself a shake to knock himself out of his guilt. "Yes, I enjoy sketching."
Alfred flipped through the series of sketches Damian had done over the last couple of hours.
Alfred looked around, as if to compare the drawings of the Batcave and its contains to the sketches. He smiled like a proud pedagogue. "Wonderful symmetry and shading, sir," Alfred said. "You truly have a talent for this sort of thing. Have you ever thought about submitting some of your sketches to the local newspaper for one of the art contests?"
Damian waved it off. "I wouldn't win, Pennyworth," he said. "Besides, it's just a hobby."
"Hobby or not, they're excellent, sir," Alfred said, giving back the sketch book.
Damian smiled. It gave him pride to know someone liked what he drew. Mostly his teachers wanted him to sketch nature or people in art class and that was boring.
"Your sketches of the Rogues are incredibly life like. What do you plan on doing with them?"
Damian shrugged. "I don't know, shred them. No one can see them anyhow."
"If you be so kind, I would like to have them," Alfred said with a smile.
"For what purpose? To hang them on the fridge?"
"Hardly sir, but they are very good. That's all I wish to pass on."
Damian thanked Pennyworth and then continued on with his watch duties in silence. Alfred left.
He felt bad for what he had done in eating those chocolate eclairs and he wondered what he could do to make it up to Grayson. Damian respected Grayson. In fact, the guy was Damian's unsung mentor. Normally a parent would undertake that role. But, unlike Bruce Wayne, Grayson was always there when Damian had a problem and listened to him, giving him sound advise.
An open and charismatic guy, Richard Grayson had been around, and he knew something about life. Grayson had been around Bruce Wayne longer than any of them, Todd, Drake, and himself, so he was the guy to go to if anyone had any personal issues.
Drake had confidence and mental issues and Grayson always had time to talk to him about anything he was dealing with. Todd had his own problems, Damian didn't care. Damian, well, he had growing pains, and an assortment of things he liked to keep private. But he could always talk to Grayson about them and they would stay in what Grayson called "the vault."
That's what caused him the most grief and Damian knew he had to make a certain call.
He muted the Batcomputer and then used his cell phone to call Barbara Gordon. She was at her computer and she answered the communication face-to-face on her webcam. She looked to be hard at work at something, wearing her glasses. Her red hair was a little dishevelled as if she had passed her hand threw it too many times in frustration.
"Damian?" she said surprised. "What's up?"
"A little problem, Gordon," Damian said subtly. "I messed up, and may have made Richard angry with me. I'm hoping you can smooth things over?"
She took off her glasses and rolled her eyes. "What did you do this time, Damian?"
Damian paused. "Richard said you made him two chocolate eclairs recently," he said, "and he said he was planning on sharing them with the rest of us. Well, I seemed to overstepped my bounds and eat them both. I made a pig of myself, I admit."
Gordon sputtered out a laugh. "Is that all, Damian? Dick is mad at you for that?"
"I may have also been a little cantankerous when I was confronted with the deed and I wish to make it up to him. I was hoping you would make some more and bring them to the Manor."
"I wish I could, Damian. But I'm incredibly busy. I'm in the middle of writing two fashion articles and they're overdue. Don't worry, Dick won't be mad for long. Just give him a cupcake and he'll be happy."
"But they were from you? They mean something."
"Aw, that's sweet, Damian," she said. "But I'm sure if you apologize, that will mean more to Dick than those eclairs. Anyway, I have to go. I'll check in on you later."
The signal abruptly ended and Damian was once again left alone with his own thoughts. He checked the clock and wondered if he could order some eclairs from a near-by bakery and have then delivered. Then he thought against it. The deed was done and he should own up to it.
A few hours later, when everyone returned, and the vehicles were stored away, even Todd returned with them, Grayson held a bag of goodies from Ma Parker's Bakery. Inside were five chocolate eclairs and he was told Damian couldn't have one. Grayson could be a child when he wanted to be, but Damian accepted it and let him have his fun. Damian deserved it.
"You know what, father," Damian said. "I'll take watch duty tomorrow night, too."
Everyone looked at him strangely. "Why the change of heart?" his father asked.
"It's what a responsible person does, part and parcel to the job," Damian said, looking at Grayson. Besides, he actually enjoyed himself and he got to partake in his hobby. "And a person must own up to their mistakes when they have engaged in poor behaviour. I'm sorry, Richard, for eating your chocolate eclairs."
Dick Grayson smiled and gave him a nod. "Apology accepted," he said.
"I think too much sugar went to his head," Todd said facetiously. "He's actually being nice?"
"Shut it! Or I'll have Titus bite your husky thighs," Damian spurned.
Jason Todd leapt at him, but Tim stepped up and tried to hold him back.
Tim accidentally tripped Jason and they then began to fall over—into Dick.
Dick was unprepared for the fall and fell, too, each like dominos.
The bag ejected out of Dick's hand and landed on and hung over Damian's head like a hood. Damian sneered as he lifted the bag off his hand, the fresh chocolate eclairs now a part of him, chocolate and icing smeared all over his face and hair.
Todd burst out laughing. Tim tried to hide his chuckle with a hand over his mouth. Dick didn't even stop from expressing how he felt and laughed. And his father merely smirked.
For being a pig, he accepted this odious punishment.
His time may have started out miserably in being a watch dog in the cave, but he was no more the brooding robin. Sometimes, being unhappy wasn't worth the hassle.
They were a team. Like one big rhapsody.
END
