A/N: So this one is a bit dark. Not too dark, and maybe even a little fluffy. Okay, let's just say it's a hurt/comfort one.

Summary: Bruce finds out a secret Damian has been keeping.

It's been a long, hard night.

Just like every other night in Gotham, but this night is even worse than usual somehow. Bruce is exhausted, and he can see that Damian is too. His young son is leaned up against the car seat, his eyes half closed in exhaustion and just a little bit of pain. He can see it in Damian's features; the way his teeth are clenched just a bit, the way his face is tense and the corners of his mouth a stretched, the way his eyes are getting heavier.

Damian was injured during patrol tonight.

He knows the stubborn boy will probably insist upon patching himself up, but Bruce wants to look over his injuries first just to make sure it's nothing too serious. Usually he just asks Damian where he's injured and helps him accordingly – well, when Damian lets him help, that is – but tonight, he's not too sure Damian will even tell him that he's injured. He's trying too hard to conceal the pain on his face and act like he's perfectly okay. Bruce can see through the façade. He usually can when it comes to Damian. For all his stubborn tendencies, the boy is only 10 years old.

The two get out of the car and enter the cave, taking off their mask and cowl, respectively. Bruce notices Damian walking stiffly to the med bench, grabbing some antiseptic on his way. Bruce frowns. Does Damian really not him trust him enough to come to him for help dressing his wound? It stings just a bit, and causes even more frustration. The boy never seems to accept his help.

"Damian, can I help you with that?" Bruce asks from across from him. He's in the process of getting out of his uniform, the top half already off and his white undershirt revealed, while his son is doing the same.

Damian shakes his head stubbornly, just as Bruce predicted.

"No, I can do it myself."

Bruce isn't convinced at all. His son still has that tense, pained look on his face, like he's trying to keep from crying out. Ignoring Damian's protest, he walks towards him and begins to help him in removing his Robin gear. Damian responds by scooting away from his father defensively, a scowl indented on his young features.

"I can take care of myself," he growls lowly. "I'm not a baby."

Bruce gives a grunt of frustration at his difficult son. Can't the boy ever take a little break from being bull-headed and let Bruce just act the part of the concerned father for once? He always has to be hard to handle. It's frustrating.

Bruce gives Damian the 'look'. It's not exactly a glare, but it's a face that makes it clear that Damian is not getting his way. Not tonight. Bruce is going to give him a look over whether he likes it or not. Luckily, Damian seems to get the message, grumbling while handing Bruce the antiseptic.

"I have a cut on my side," he grumbles. Bruce feels like he's won a small victory. At least Damian isn't refusing him like he expected him to. It's small, but it's something. Maybe he's finally getting through to him…

He doubts it.

"Okay, take off your uniform," Bruce orders. He notices something flash in Damian's eyes briefly. He doesn't quite know what it is, but it's gone as quickly as it came and he obediently strips down to his undershirt. Bruce waits patiently, but Damian makes no other move.

"You're going to have to take off your shirt, son," Bruce informs the boy. This earns him a glare from his son. What did he do wrong? All he's trying to do is tend to his son's wound.

He figures he should just give up on trying to figure Damian out.

Hesitantly, Damian raises the side of his undershirt, revealing the tanned skin of his stomach and left side. Bruce doesn't know why Damian didn't just take off his shirt. It's easier for him to attend to the wound that way. But, he doesn't bother questioning his son's eccentricities and just looks for the wound.

He expected to see a longer scratch. Maybe a short scratch, but deeper. Something that would definitely cause Damian the amount of pain he seems to be suffering.

But, instead, Bruce finds a minor scrape on his lower torso, one barely worth any recognition. That couldn't have been what Damian was so agonized over. It's too minor. There has to be something else.

Bruce quickly swipes the wound with some antiseptic and slaps a bandage over it, calling it good. He's not quite done yet, though.

"Damian, take off your shirt. I need to look you over to see if everything is okay."

Damian stiffens, looking up into his father's eyes. Bruce is shocked to see what looks like fear reflected back in them. Why would Damian be afraid? Is it him he's afraid of?

No, Bruce thinks. My own son can't be afraid of me.

"Son, please take off your shirt," Bruce asks again, gentler this time. Much to his disappointment, Damian shakes his head vehemently, scooting away from his father's hand.

"No," he insists weakly.

Bruce frowns and reaches forward, grabbing onto the end of Damian's under-shirt. He's done dancing around. He's going to find out what it is that Damian is hiding. Quickly and swiftly, he begins pulling up Damian's shirt.

He stops short when Damian whimpers like a kicked puppy, trying to remove Bruce's hand.

"Father, no," he pleads weakly. "Please stop. Father, please –,"

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, son," Bruce reassures Damian, gathering the shaking boy up in his arms. "It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

All of Bruce's frustration and agitation quickly goes out the window, replaced with shock and concern. Damian seems to be on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Bruce is lost on what to do. Does he comfort him? Does he continue to try and see his injury? Does he leave it alone?

Although seeing Damian so terrified makes his heart ache, he comes to the decision that giving him the proper medical attention is the best thing for him. Gently, he pushes Damian's shirt up, taking it off him and putting it to the side. Damian immediately tries to curl up, like he's feeling exposed. Bruce gently brings him closer, turning him over to inspect his back.

He's not prepared for the sight he faces.

Old scars cover the tanned skin on Damian's back, marring it with faded pink lines. It looks like a battlefield, like the mountains on a raised map. They intersect each other, some long and some short. But he can't seem to find a place on his skin that doesn't have a scar running through it. Finally, he sees the source of the discomfort. One of the scars has opened up somehow, oozing with blood that drips down his backside.

Bruce is horrified. How did he not notice this before? How did he not know his son suffered through something so… so horrific and unspeakable? Of course, he knew about Damian's background and training, but he didn't know about this. Why would he be abused in this way? His training wasn't designed to be torture.

It makes sense now. Why Damian never seems to be without some sort of undershirt. Why he insists on tending to certain wounds himself. Why it seems like the only wounds he ever suffers are below his waist. He went to extra lengths to hide this.

And it breaks Bruce's heart.

"Damian," Bruce begins, his voice strained with barely concealed anger and mental anguish. "Who did this to you?"

Damian hunches over, his head down and his eyes glued to the floor that he's taken a sudden interest in.

"This was how I was punished," he whispers. "When I was bad, I got another one."

Bruce feels instantly sick. His stomach lurches and he feels as though he's going to vomit. He doesn't even want to begin to imagine how Damian got those, though he can think of a few ways. It looks like it was most likely done by a whip.

A whip.

Of all the barbaric, inhumane ways to punish someone, Talia and the League of Assassins chose a whip. Of freaking course. Bruce's blood boils at the thought. He wants nothing more than to take a whip to everyone responsible for this and see how they like being tortured and humiliated.

Feeling Damian's arm shake underneath his hand brings Bruce back to reality. He has an emotionally damaged boy on his hands. He can store the anger for later, right now he's going to let his concern and sadness take over.

Gently pulling Damian close to him, he begins cleaning the wound, cringing when he hears Damian hiss through his teeth at the pain. He hates doing this. He hates seeing Damian in pain. But he knows that Damian will just be in even more pain and risk infection. So he just gives his son a comforting back rub while attending to his open wound.

Afterwards, Damian lays his head on Bruce's lap as Bruce rubs his side soothingly, brushing the hair out of his face with his other hand. Damian has settled down, no longer shaking or panicking. But his face is still red from embarrassment.

"Do you think less of me?" he asks quietly, sounding scared of the answer. Bruce looks down at his tiny son, stroking his side reassuringly and shaking his head. That's the last thing Bruce wants him to think. If anything, he thinks Damian is brave for having withstood this for 10 years. He wants to beat himself up over not knowing about Damian for so long. He's hated himself for it before, but now that feeling is even stronger. Now he knows what Damian faced because Bruce wasn't around to save him.

He's his father. He should always be around to save him. Isn't that how it works? Aren't fathers supposed to be heroes in their children's eyes?

"I could never think less of you," Bruce whispers fiercely, collecting Damian closer. "You're my boy. My strong, brave little boy. And no amount of scars are going to change that."

Damian relaxes, practically melting into his father's embrace, his eyelids fluttering closed. Tonight was exhausting and he's even more tired from the blood he's lost. Bruce picks him up and places him on his lap. A sad smile stretches across his lips as he stands up with his boy in his arms, carrying him off to bed.

It's been a long, hard night.

A/N: Most incarnations of Talia would never do this.

But it would be hard to convince me that Grant Morrison's Talia didn't do this at some point.

I like Talia when she's not written by Grant Morrison. Damn you, Morrison.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and please tell me what you thought.