The littlest Robin gets caught spying on his older sister y/n in a club.
The music vibrated through the lacquered floor and up into your designer heels. You were a flash of sparkling gold, moving fluidly between Michael Jon Carter and your best friend Sammy Rios, the perfect Gotham heiress in your element.
Booster, ever the showman, leaned down, his voice barely audible over the intoxicating beat. “Million Dollar Baby, you are burning up this dance floor.”
You just laughed, and pulled him closer for a long kiss under the strobe bright lights. This was your element: chaos, noise, and being miles away from the suffocating control of the Manor.
Sammy, scanned the room for better cocktails, she nudged your arm. “Hey, princess. Not to kill the vibe, but there's a kid in the corner staring a hole through your head. You glanced over, half expecting to see some lost child. Then the smile froze on your face.
It wasn't a lost kid. He was small, rigid, and entirely too intense. Hidden in the darkness of the VIP section entrance, you knew, with cold certainty,colors of a, green red and black familiar uniform. It was Robin. It was Damian.
A ten year old, small for his age. His eyes, his piercing green, were fixed entirely on you, on the kiss, on the alcohol.
The music dissolved into a dull roar. The laughter died in you throat. You pull away from Booster, your mask cracking instantly.“I have to go,” you muttered, already moving. “Woah, Y / n! What’s up?” Booster asked, confused.
You didn't answer. You walked straight toward your little brother, your anger a hot, surge. When you reached him, you didn’t waste time with words. You grabbed his arm. hard, right. Above the wrist and started pulling.
“Let go of me, you spoiled degenerate!” Damian hissed, trying to wrench his arm free, but your years of secret, relentless training with your bat siblings meant you could match his unexpected strength.
“Not a chance, brat,” you snapped, your voice low,menacing. “You think you can follow me? In the Robin suit? What if someone saw you?”
You dragged him past the bewildered bouncers and out the back emergency exit, the sudden blast of cold Gotham air hitting them both. They went straight to the sleek, black car you had come in nearby. “Get in the car, Damian. Now.”
“You dare give me orders? You, who wastes Wayne resources and influence on this deplorable spectacle?” Damian bristled, his small body vibrating with fury. “Father entrusted me to ensure the family honor is maintained! You should be applying your time and intellect to useful pursuits, not wallowing in intoxication and physical affection with that buffoon!”
You shoved him into the passenger seat, not gently. “You mind your own damned business! This is my life, not a mission briefing! And that ‘buffoon’ is Michael Jon Carter, and he is infinitely less annoying than you are.”
You slammed the door shut and circled the car, your own rage fueling your movements. You got in, started the engine, and pulled out onto the street.
“Why are you really yours ?" you demanded, gripping the steering wheel.
Damian adjusted himself, crossing his arms and maintaining his defiant glare. “I am yours because it is necessary to watch you. Your behavior is reckless and reflects poorly on"
"No, you’re not,” you cut him off, your voice dropping to a dangerous level. “You’re you're because Dick is out of town, daddy is busy, and Alfred is tired. I’m driving you home.”
Damian tried to open the door, but you had hit the child locks. “Let me out, Y / n! I have a patrol route! This is insubordination!”
“I’m your sister, Damian, not your subordinate. So stay put.”
As you waited for the green light to change you pulled out your phone and quickly sent a text, your eyes darting between the road and the screen.
To: Sammy & Michael
From: Y / n
CODE RED. Family emergency. Gotta run. Damian found me. I am so sorry. Next weekend, all drinks are on me. Don't mention this to anyone.
You tucked the phone away. Silence filled the car, heavy with resentment. you had won the physical battle, but Damian had won the moral high ground, leaving you cold, sober, and on your way back to the manor.
“I will tell father I saw you kissing that idiot,” Damian mumbled finally, staring out the window. It was the closest he would ever come to asking for a compromise.
“You won’t,” you replied, a humor returning to your tone. “But you tell him you found me, and I’m showing Dick the video of you calling me your beautiful older sister that you love so much.” you teased with a smirk on your face
“That you blackmailed me to say” he muttered under his breath, They drove the rest of the way in hostile silence.
You kept her right hand clamped firmly around Damian’s left arm, your grip tight enough to prevent his escape but not enough to hurt him. He remained rigid in the passenger seat, his anger a palpable heat radiating from his small body.
“You realise you smell like ass?” you asked, flicking the air conditioning on high. “Seriously, that robin suit. You’ve been wearing it for literal weeks, Damian. You need to change it.”
Damian scoffed. “The suit is treated for rapid decontamination. I am meticulous about my hygiene, unlike some. I bathe between patrols. Do not attempt to change the subject. Father will not be pleased you manhandled me after being caught with some guy’s tongue down your throat.”
You glanced at him, your expression flat. “First of all, that’s what you do at a club. Second, he’s my boyfriend, Michael Jon Carter, not ‘some guy.’ Try to keep up with the family’s dating life, it’s not hard.” You gave his arm a squeeze. “And speaking of pleasing Father, I’m sure he’ll be absolutely thrilled to know his baby boy broke into a high-end club, likely fighting a poor bouncer or two, just to stalk his adult sister. That sounds like a wonderful use of vigilante time.”
Damian’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, defeated by your logic. “I did not fight anyone. I used tactical infiltration.”
When you parked the car in the underground garage, you killed the engine but kept your hand locked on Damian’s arm, knowing he’d bolt the second he was released.
Bruce stood at the garage door. He wasn't in a Batsuit, just in a black black shirt and cargo pants he looked up as the garage door rumbled shut. His face was drawn and shadowed from the long night, but when he saw you, exhausted relief washed over his face. “Y / n, are you?”
His greeting stopped short when he realized you weren't alone.you still in your sequined dress and six inch heels, was dragging a sullen, dirt stained Robin into the darkened room.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed instantly, his relief replaced by pure, cold parental annoyance. He wasn't mad about the club; he was mad that his ten-year old son was standing there in costume, smelling of outside when he should have been asleep.
“Damian,” Bruce’s voice was dangerously low, a deep rumble of displeasure. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
Damian tried to pull free again. “Father, release me! Your daughter has violated protocol and committed"
Your eyebrows raised “He was stalking me at a club downtown, daddy,” you interrupted, cutting Damian off and addressing your father directly. “He was in the Robin suit, in a public establishment, trying to surveil my ‘deplorable spectacle’ of a life. I intercepted him and brought him home before he got shot or arrested. You’re welcome.”
You finally let go of Damian’s arm, pushing him forward slightly toward Bruce. Damian stumbled, furious at the loss of control, and glared at You.
Bruce didn't even look at you. He focused entirely on Damian, standing up to his full, intimidating height.
“Go to your room, Damian,” Bruce commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument or debate. “Now. You will be grounded for two weeks, effective immediately. We will discuss the definition of appropriate vigilante conduct and respect for your family’s privacy at length tomorrow.”
Damian, recognising the tone of his father's absolute authority, muttered a low, Tch and walked out of the room, still stewing in his filthy uniform.
As the door closed, Bruce turned to you, the anger instantly cooling, replaced by a complex mix of frustration and quiet pride.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, gesturing toward the door.
you walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured yourself a two finger measure of scotch, and swallowed it quickly. “Yes, I did. I won’t let him ruin my life or yours just because he thinks he's the family morality police. And I certainly won’t let him get caught in that suit over my nightlife choices.” you looked at your father, suddenly tired, the makeup around your blue eyes smudged.
“He said he was watching me, daddy. Was that your idea, or Dicks?” Bruce's expression didn't change, but the exhaustion in his eyes deepened.
"It was neither," he replied, his voice flat and definitive. "That was purely on Damian. If I wanted you to watch, would I send a ten-year-old in a bright uniform? I have three security teams on a twenty-four hour rotation, not to mention a dozen trackers hidden in your accessories that you don't even know about." geeze thanks dad, you thought to yourself.
He took a slow step toward you. "That was him being overzealous. Him trying to prove he's more responsible and more worthy of the 'Bat Family mantle' than you are, because he sees you doing things he's explicitly forbidden from doing." Bruce sighed, running a hand over his tired face.
He let his gaze hold yours. "I don't need my children spying on each of your. I need them to be safe. And your choices tonight, though they were reckless, led to you bringing your brother home before he made a terrible mistake. You protected him."
Bruce's eyes softened slightly, a rare moment where he actually praises you. "You can call it a spectacle, but you still put family first. Now, get out of that dress. Alfred is waiting in the kitchen, and he is going to make you eat something solid."
The next day, you woke late, dragging yourself downstairs well after noon. You were now wearing a silk robe, your elaborate makeup from the night before smeared artistically around your eyes, ,you walked downstairs towards the dinner table, you clutched a mug of Alfred’s industrial strength coffee like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
After taking a sip you noticed Damian, who sat stiffly in his chair, already dressed in a turtleneck, reading a thick, archaic text on classical Roman warfare. He was eating a plain bowl of oatmeal. He didn't look up as You approached.
You slid into the seat opposite him, wincing as the scraping of the chair legs disturbing the quiet.
“Good afternoon, Damian,” you said, taking a loud, appreciative sip of your coffee.
Damian turned a page with a sharp flick of his wrist. “ Y / n,” he replied, his voice low. “I assume your headache is adequate punishment for your degeneracy.”
“It’s a magnificent, well deserved headache, thank you for asking,” You retorted. You reached for the bowl of fresh fruit, noticing he’d left only raspberry in the center of the plate you took a handful handful.
“You realise I am now grounded for two weeks?” Damian stated, finally lifting his head.
“I heard,” You replied easily. “Tough break, kid. That’s what happens when you skip patrol to stalk your older sister in a club.”
“I did not stalk you,” he snapped. “I was executing necessary surveillance on a non combat asset whose behavior frequently threatens the security of this enterprise. I was fulfilling my duty. And now, because of your manipulation of Father, I am confined.”
“Oh, my manipulation?” You leaned forward, setting your coffee down with a firm clink. “Let’s be clear, Damian. I was out with friends. I was sure I told everyone I would be. You, however, chose to sneak out, put on a mask, break into a private establishment, and create a security risk. Your grounding is not my fault. It is the direct consequence of your choices.”
He crossed his arms, his mouth a rigid line. “It is your fault for having such a frivolous, corrupting life that I was forced to intervene.”
“No,” You said, shaking your head. “It’s your fault because you are ten, and you let your massive ego override your training. If you had just called me, I would have answered. But you didn’t. You chose the dramatic, self righteous intervention. And Daddy grounded you for it.”
You paused, flashing him a sweet smile. “Enjoy your Roman warfare, Robin. Maybe next time, you’ll choose to be a brother instead of a tiny, judgmental security camera.”
You then picked up the last lonely raspberry, popped it into your mouth, and savored it until you left Damian with a look of pure fury on his face. You finished your coffee and stood up, leaving him seething in the quiet room. The battle was over, and for now, the Wayne Princess had won.
