That was the first thing Damian noticed.
Not the kind of quiet he preferred—controlled, disciplined, purposeful—but the kind that pressed in on his ears and made every small sound feel louder than it should be. The grandfather clock down the hall ticked like a metronome counting out his failures.
Damian sat rigidly on the edge of his bed, still in uniform, gloves discarded somewhere on the floor. A shallow cut ran along his cheek, already scabbed over. It wasn’t deep. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that he hadn’t seen it coming.
What mattered was that someone had gotten past him.
What mattered was the look on his father’s face—not anger, not even disappointment. Just that quiet, assessing look that somehow felt worse.
He should be better than this. He was better than this.
So why did it feel like he was constantly trying to prove it?
A knock came at his door.
“Y’know,” Jason’s voice drawled from the doorway, “most people say ‘come in.’ Or at least ‘go away.’ Real groundbreaking stuff.”
Damian didn’t look up. “I did not invite you.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that.” Jason stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “You’re sulking loud enough for the whole house to hear.”
Silence stretched between them. Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes flicking over Damian in that annoyingly perceptive way.
“You’re bleeding,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah, well, you look like crap anyway.”
Damian bristled. “Then leave.”
Instead, he pushed off the wall and walked further into the room, stopping a few feet away. “What happened out there?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I am not a child,” Damian snapped, finally looking up. His green eyes were sharp, defensive, just a little too bright. “And I do not require your interference.”
Jason raised his hands slightly, like he was approaching a feral animal. “Alright. Fine. You’re not a kid. You’re a tiny, angry adult with control issues. My bad.”
Jason sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Look, B didn’t say anything, but I saw the report. You froze.”
Damian’s expression went cold.
“For half a second,” Jason added quickly. “But yeah. You did.”
“It does not happen to me.”
Jason’s posture shifted, something softer threading through the usual sarcasm. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s kinda the problem, huh?”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “You would not understand.”
Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. “Kid, I died.”
Damian faltered—just slightly.
Jason pushed off his helmet from the desk, turning it idly in his hands. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to screw up? To hesitate? To get it wrong?” He shrugged. “Spoiler: I’ve made a career out of bad decisions.”
“That is hardly reassuring.”
“Wasn’t trying to reassure you.”
Another silence. Thicker this time.
Damian looked away again, voice quieter when he spoke. “Father did not correct me.”
Jason blinked. “...Okay?”
“He always does.” Damian’s fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform. “He critiques. He instructs. He ensures improvement. That is how I learn.” His voice wavered—just barely. “But this time… he said nothing.”
Jason’s expression softened in a way he’d never admit out loud.
“‘Oh’?” Damian echoed sharply. “That is your response?”
“No, I—” Jason cut himself off, exhaling. “Look. You’re reading into it too much.”
Damian stood abruptly. “You did not see his expression.”
Jason stepped forward, voice firmer now. “And you didn’t hear what he didn’t say.”
Jason rubbed the back of his neck, clearly out of his depth but pushing through anyway. “If he thought you were a lost cause, he would’ve said something. Loudly. Probably in that whole ‘I’m disappointed’ tone he loves so much.”
Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“But he didn’t,” Jason continued. “Which means he knows you already get it. You already know you messed up.”
“And yeah,” Jason added, a little gruffer now, “it sucks. It’s gonna stick in your head for a while. Welcome to the club.”
“I do not wish to be part of your ‘club.’”
“Too bad. Membership’s automatic.”
Damian huffed softly, some of the tension bleeding out of him despite himself.
Jason hesitated, then reached out—awkward, unsure—and shoved Damian’s shoulder lightly. “Hey.”
“You froze for half a second,” Jason said. “Big deal. You know how many times I’ve done worse?”
“Rude.” Jason snorted. “Point is—you got back in it. You finished the fight.”
Damian looked down. “That is expected.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “But it still counts.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been.
Damian’s shoulders sagged just slightly.
“I should not have hesitated,” he murmured.
Jason shrugged. “Maybe not. But you did. And you’re still here.”
Then, quieter—almost reluctant—Damian said, “...I disliked it.”
Jason blinked. “Disliked what?”
“The uncertainty.” Damian’s voice was low, raw in a way he clearly hated. “The… moment of doubt.”
Jason studied him for a second, then huffed. “Yeah. That part doesn’t really go away.”
“You just get better at ignoring it,” Jason added. “Or working through it. Depends on the day.”
“That sounds inefficient.”
“It is.” Jason smirked faintly. “Welcome to having feelings. They’re annoying.”
Damian made a face, but there was no real bite behind it this time.
Jason hesitated again, then—before he could overthink it—pulled Damian into a quick, rough side hug. It was awkward, a little too tight, and lasted maybe two seconds.
Damian went completely still.
Jason immediately let go, clearing his throat. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jason grabbed his helmet, heading for the door. “Get cleaned up. You look like you lost a fight with a paperclip.”
Jason paused at the doorway, glancing back just once.
“You’re good, kid,” he said, quieter now. “Even when you screw up.”
The room fell quiet again—but not as heavy as before.
Damian stood there for a long moment, then slowly reached up, touching the cut on his cheek.
But the silence didn’t feel quite as loud anymore.
