#jaytim obviously

His Father was sitting with his back to the Batcomputer, fingers steepled together, and watching Damian with that sort of constipated look he got when something in a case he was working on didn't quite add-up.           Damian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It wasn't entirely possible to talk while gripping with his teeth the make-up pochette Stephanie had left behind one Halloween a lifetime before. (more like two years prior. which might not seem long to a common mortal, but to a growing teen such as Damian, it meant a different world altogether, one in which his voice didn't break when he tried to Bat-voice Harely Queen into submission, and got his cheeks pinched for his efforts).           He carefully shifted the pochette from his mouth to the top of the bundle he was carrying, careful not to disturb the coils of rope. The thick chains underneath gave a warning click-click! noise, but luckily refrained from cascading off his arms and onto the floor. A quick look to check that the mouthgag was still were he ought to be, right next to the cuffs and over the box of bolts, and then he was straightening his back in the best soldier-at-attention pose he could produce at the moment.           "...greetings," he said slowly.           Bruce's pinched look became even more prominent. For the whole of a minute (well, 43 seconds), he continued to stare at his son with that same this-gotta-make-sense-if-I-stare-at-it-hard-enough look, all the while keeping a stony, not-quite-scandalised silence.           "I can explain," Damian offered, only barely managing to keep from attaching the question mark at the end. Son of the Bat he may be, but it seemed that not even his enhanced genes made him immune to the Batglare.            Bruce made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat that was equal parts "please do" and "I don't know if I want to know."           Damian took is as a command to explain, and blurted:            "The equipment you see me carrying is the key for a project that will ultimately benefit the whole family, and in the long run, also assure a better grade of protection to Gotham as a whole. I am 99.8% sure of the positive outcome of this. I. Ran projections. They're filed under "Redrum Idiots"."           Bruce stared.           And stared.           And stared.           Damian unflinchingly stared back, for a span of time that felt insanely longer than the 2.05 minutes his wristwatch later informed him to have passed. In the end, Bruce nodded his head one fraction of a second before Damian rushed back to the store room with an angry-sounding apology.           "Understood," said The Bat - because that voice was pure Bat, no ounce of Bruce was in attendance in that moment - and the air in the cave felt fractionally less frigid all of a sudden.           Damian drew a long breath and inclined his chin towards his father, silently thanking him for the permission to proceed unencumbered with his plan.           But, "Do I need to be let in into the details," The Bat continued, now with a hint of amusement making his eyes crinkle handsomely.           Damian scoffed.            "I am perfectly capable to conduct my own projects unaided, Father."           "That I do not doubt," Bruce conceded, amusement deepening at the corner of his eye. "Still, I have to insist - is there something in this project of your that you think I should be notified beforehand?"           Damian pursed his lips, mulling on the question for a while.           "You may aid me," was the final decree.           "How so?"            "Have Red Hood and Red Robin stay on hold in cave alone. But pay attention not to make them suspicious. Since you'll have to replace both of them and me as well, enlist help from some of the other costumed fools who insist on considering themselves useful in protecting the City. Ignore it when the Batcomputer will warn you of a 568 code-" which was Batspeech for "Robin hostage situation" - "And do not answer any distress call from me or either one of the Red idiots tonight."           Now Bruce looked definitely amused.           "Anything else?" he shot back with a low croon. "Should I perhaps sabotage their comlinks so that no one will be answer their call of help?"           If there was any sarcasm to be found in Bruce's voice, Damian didn't notice. He actually considered the proposition for a moment, then nodded slowly.            "That would be useful." He conceded.           He turned with a flourish towards his lab, and began to move towards it, chains rattling and boxes shifting with each step he took. He lingered a moment on the door, and without turning he clarified: "Feel free to monitor our channels tonight. I shall certainly need no help," stress on the 'I' and 'need' and 'no' and 'help', "but it might be useful to have a proper link to you should those two buffoons get into real trouble while on my watch."           The corners of Bruce's lips quirked up briefly before it was forcibly pulled back into a thin - but still decidedly amused - line.           "Of course."           Damian took another step.           "But I shall need no help."           "I'm sure."           Another.           "At all."           "Of course."           The door was nudged open, Damian slipped inside, and then his head poked back out, adorned with a degree-9 glare.            "I can make this work. I'm always right after all." A beat. "And. I'm not doing it out of any form of fondness for the idiots, let alone I'm trying to meddle. This is just. An effort on my part to make the team more efficient. And. To help Gotham."           "Son," Bruce said with an air of extreme gravity about him. "Everything we do is for Gotham."           Damian looked oddly relieved at that, then schooled his features back into a scowl.           "Precisely. I'm. Being a good protector. Not. Acting as a meddlesome, attached little sibling. Or. Anything of the sort. I'm not."           Bruce held up his palms.           "I never thought otherwise."           With a final nod, Damian slipped into his lab.           If some say that, once alone, Batman began to laugh, they are obviously liars and gamblers and cheaters and I dunno what else, because the Batman. Never. Laughs.