The Weather Inside's Delightful
Damian woke up cold,...
...extremely too cold to be precise...
It was as if his whole body were one of Grayson's berry-luscious ice pop's that, he of course, did not like.
For testing he just had to try every flavor in the box. That's all.
Then two more strawberry ice pops were required the very next day. THAT doesn't count however. That's just him making sure he definitely didn't like them...
Shivering, he wondered why it was so cold. Sure, Gotham was always cold, especially in comparison to where he once lived. Nonetheless, it was winter. His first winter in Gotham to be in fact. Moreover, in observing Father's habits during the past increasingly cold winter weeks, Father had been quite keen for keeping it fairly warm in the Manor...
Why would the temperature be so low inside then? Maybe the temperature had plummeted outside, and the thermostat needed to be adjusted and hadn't been as of yet?
Shrugging, he personally didn't know how to use a thermostat. He had no idea how they functioned. Normally, Pennyworth was in charge of that. However, he was gone for the week.
With his teeth slightly chattering, he was embarrassed. There was no way he was waking Father for such a matter of being cold. That would be undignified. Father needed his rest, and so did Batman. The chill would simply have to be endured by bundling up the blanket even tighter.
He would be fine.
He was a Wayne. Furthermore, the Batman's son. What? Was a little bit chilliness going to bring his perseverance of strength down?
No, no it wasn't.
...
Ok, so maybe he had been underestimating his pure dislike for being cold. Most often than not, his body was accustomed to being warm. So therefore, even in Gotham's most often murky summer day's, he was comfortable in the warmth of the day compared to the rest of his brothers, Father, and even Pennyworth.
Finding it increasingly more uncomfortable after a time, he shoved his head beneath his pillow. Then, when that didn't seem to be warm enough, he burrowed his feet and hand's in a tiny ball, shoving them inside the space between the bed and the headboard. When waiting a couple of minutes to only find that he was again still cold, he folded the comforter in half and burrowed under it whilst still shivering.
Giving a gruff sound of annoyance, another chill tortured his already quivering body.
Waiting another good half-an-hour.
He gave up.
Batman used resources around him, right? Surely Batman would investigate his surroundings. So he should too.
Not being able to stand the cold, he got up to check the thermostat, and find another blanket.
In doing so quietly, he yawned while slipping off the bed.
Shuddering, he shrugged the comforter up and around his shoulder's.
Padding his feet to the door of his room, he dragged a train of white fluffy blanket behind him.
Passing the window, it was obviously dark outside, complete with a haze of thick frost on the reflective glass. They, -him and Father- had just made their way back from patrol a couple of hours ago. Since then, it had seemed to have gotten colder outside.
Yawning, he sluggishly opened his bedroom door making his way to the hallway outside.
It was cold, freezing to be exact...
With a chill crawling up his spine, he went to the thermostat attached to the wall next to the stairs.
"Huh,..."
...
It was blank. There was nothing.
Jumping to tap the LED screen, he was genuinely surprised to see that there was no response...
Maybe that explains as to why the Manor was so cold? Even though he didn't know how to use the instrument that provided such heat, he could tell, and feel that the heater had possibly died.
Father couldn't possibly wish for it to be this cold. Could he?
Maybe he should wake him up to handle the situation?
NO!
This might be a test. He was tested with such similar devices in the day's of training at the League...
If his father was perfectly content with the condition's that they were sleeping in, so would he be. There was no need to wake up somebody for something he could fix himself. He would get a blanket, or maybe two.
That would solve the immediate issue of the frigid air.
Fixing the blanket he had been balancing back upon his shoulder's from when he had jumped earlier. He led him, and his fluffy cape to one of the linen closet's down a little ways from his room. While doing so, he couldn't help but think of his ingenuity...
Reaching the linen closet was of no difficult task. However, when opening the doors that -to his dismay- the sheets were filed from top to bottom. Which meant that the extra top blankets were on the top shelf of the closet. Which also then meant, the urgently needed prize laid a good eight feet above him.
Sighing, he was about to give up on his retrieval of an extra blanket. That was until, another quiver of coolness wracked at his frame.
He was really, really, reeeeally cold.
As much as he loathed to admit it, it sure would be nice to have a cup of Pennyworth's hot chocolate right about now...
Ok, back to the task at hand, he did this all the time in patrol, or something similar anyway...
Grasping onto the first shelf of many to climb, his ascent to the top began.
In the next several minutes, he strategically planned his moves on the skyscraper that was being climbed. Throughout all his movements, it had gone perfect.
No mistakes.
Until...
The comforter that had hung around his shoulder's, -perfectly up till this point might he add- slid right off with a slight thud onto the floor.
This therefore, -in his sleep idled daze- startled him. How childish...
Consequently, this surprise caused him to lose the fixated balance upon the shelf he stood upon. Then this quickly caused him to regain his grasp on the shelf in front of him, whilst also pulling it away from the wall. At this point, it was him and the shelf plummeting to an estimated near seven meter drop on the floor.
He knew what, or who was going to win.
This was going to hurt.
At least he would be too tired to feel the impact. Nonetheless...
...Mission failed...
Preparing himself before impact, a tear crawled down his face as he gasped in a breath of air. Waiting, the impact never came. Instead, his back impacted on something else that couldn't have possibly been the floor. He was still to high up.
Taking in a quivering breath of cold air, he paused...
...
...He didn't fall. Nor did the shelf.
...
"Need help, Dam-?"
Jumping in surprise, or falling but again and being stopped but again in his momentum towards the accursed ground.
Trying his best to hold it in, but losing the battle when another two tears fell down his face, he blamed the oppressive chill in the Manor for his sluggishness, and his lack of self-control. Thus, wiping at his eye's where they stung, he gasped. Swiftly, his feet were being yanked at the position's they were sprawled about in on the shelf they had caught onto and he was then quickly shifted into the encircling wrap's of someone's arms as he, unsettling as it may be, let another tear fall down his face. This was now wetting the cloth of someone's shirt.
Someone was very comfortably holding him, and they were also very warm. So very warm...
Tired, he was concerned at the obviously comforting arms that were holding him. He didn't even know who that was. He didn't recognize that voice.
Having the blanket that had been tugged on the floor, and another one from the shelf that had fallen along with it, wrapped about his shoulder's he looked up...
...
It couldn't be... Logically he and him were the only one's in the house, but this? This was too much unlike him to be him.
...
"Father?", he all but choked in a whisper.
It was unbelievable, it was Father. It hardly look like him. Nor acted.
Father had messy frazzled cluster's of bed-hair all over his head. Plus, Father's attitude towards what had just occurred. The man wasn't angry at him. Mother would have been. Technically, he cheated at the test for going to retrieve another blanket. Nonetheless he wasn't sure if it was a test of sheer will, strength or adaptability to make the best of a situation. All he knows is that Mother would have been furious with him for the way he was acting now.
Nonetheless, this man didn't look, nor act like Father...
This was odd, and to be honest, confusing. In his half-asleep state, he was finding it very difficult to wake up when you have been on patrol for five hours, and have only accomplished a little bit of sleep, only being asked to be woken up again.
He should be better than this.
The demeanor of Father...
... and the bedhead. He didn't think Batman could even get bed head...
...maybe cowl-hair,... but definitely not bed-hea-...
"hm,... oh,... I'm guessing you were cold... "
With a weary sigh, Father brushed his broad shoulder to wipe an isolated hair away from his mouth. Father looked tired.
Suddenly, even in his own fatigued state, he realized something...
He was in Father's arm's!
HE WAS IN FATHER'S ARM'S!
Also, as of no doubt, the residual track's of tear's that had been running down his face from earlier were still visible on his cheeks.
Trivial,... stupid,... cold weather.
Blushing, he tried to slide down from Father's arms onto the floor. Since he was safe from falling, he should be returned to the floor. He wasn't some child that needed to be held after being scared...alarmed.
Instead, against all odds, he was held more firmly and received no scolding on his adventurous trip of failure. Having his face squished against the chest of his father with blankets being but again tucked around his humiliatingly quivering frame, he let another tear fall...
So warm, so blessedly warm. Father was as a furnace, and from him emanated heat that was wondrous and seemed to bring forth even more tear's to the eyes.
It was from the cold,... that's all.
When had he started shivering so violently?
This was, to think in the very least, mortifying. Him crying like a baby, and being tossed about like some doll by no other than his father...
With Father going on as if nothing had happened, a warm hand began to rub up and down the arch of his shaking spine. Then, Father moving down the hall...
Relishing in the warmth that seemed to be lulling him to sleep, he yawned through the now dwindling tear's...
"The heater has been out for about an hour, and currently I have been trying to find the space heater's." Father whispered in his ear...
Then more softly, -as if Father was trying to hush him asleep-, "If I could only find them of course ... I'm Sorry, I should've realized you would have been freezing to death in that room of yours. A repairman's coming in the morning..."
"So, son,...we'll just have to make due... especially without Alfred's hot chocolate..."
Wanting to be put down, and to tell Father that there was no such need to apologize, he opened his mouth. However, all that came out was another yawn. Trying many times to convey such word's to Father, he was unable to. He tried to speak, but through the indulging warmness, he found himself powerless against the becalming summon for sleep. For sleep to hide from the infringing cold.
Knowing at this point, that if were to be carried like some infantile any further, he could, and possibly would, fall asleep. Already finding the situation of being held quite humiliating enough, he had to get out of Father's grasp and now. This whole circumstance had been demeaning as of this point. Blinking rapidly and inhaling a deep breath to wake up a bit, he was about to protest when then in surprise, Father passed his bedroom...
...
Surely Father was taking him straight back to his own bed...
"Father..."
"Hmmm..."
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Again, he was not some child.
Nonetheless, with no response to his question, he suspected that was due to his voice sounding as slurred and as sleepy as he unfortunately felt. Father probably didn't understand his question through his garbed speech. Tt, how much more of a shame can he bring upon the household of the Wayne's.
Or maybe it was him overthinking it. Is this something that parent's do all the time? Maybe? He wouldn't know. Mother, well, she wasn't exactly the 'mothering' type. Nor did he think Father to be the Fatherly type. Nonetheless, the longer he was embraced in Father's arms, the more and more tired he was becoming.
So very tired.
Still cocooned in the bushel of blanket's, the ride of transport had come to a stop.
Looking around, he could see that from the blurry job that his eyes were doing, that they were in Father's bedroom.
What were they in here for?
Before an question could be inquired outloud, he was brought over to the side of the bed in three slow strides. There, he was laid down upon Father's blue blanketed bed in the most gentlest movement he had ever seen acted from Father. With a tumble of blanket's furthermore encased about him, he was tucked in with extreme carefulness.
Berating himself for the slight sorrow of being brought away from Father's warm embrace. He was confused and ashamed at such, coddling.
Again, about to protest that he be allowed to retreat to his own room to hide from the frigid cold, Father ran a hand through his hair before leaving the room with a quick murmur reassuring him that he'd be right back...
...
He failed. That is why he has been alone for the past forty minutes. It was almost four in the morning, and Father had specifically stated that he would be right back.
He should have been better prepared. It had been believed that the test's -like Mother had provided- had all come to an end since he had come to live in Gotham. Nonetheless, maybe that was the test in itself. He had been caught unaware. He had failed, and he failed miserably so. To the point in which that even now, in his reaction to his loss, he couldn't stop the tear's from pouring down his face.
What if Father decided to take Robin away?
...
What if Father decided to send him back to Mother?
Wiping his bare arm across his face to move aside the tracks of prior tears, he made room for some new ones. Any of the warmth that had been provided by Father before he had left, had already dissipated. Now, the residual warmness he was receiving was from the extra blankets swaddled about him.
Shivering, he didn't care about his defeat in such a trial that he didn't know how to win. He didn't care about anything else besides, he was cold, and Father.
Wanting Father back so much, however, not wanting to look back on his face, he buried his head into the sheets. He would only see Father's radiating disappointment to know that he just not only failed, but was, crying.
Maybe this was the cold weather, or the late hour affecting his mind, but he was at a lost...
At Mother's, his place was known. Here in Gotham, he doesn't know where he stand's at all. Except, maybe as Robin. Nevertheless, he was frightened.
Where did he stand? His one goal in life was trampled from the messy break away from Mother. Was he meant to just be Robin now?
What was his place with Father?
Was Father really so willing to be his father?
So many questions were filling his mind. So many wandering thoughts were invading his space.
This was embarrassing, but in this alone time, he indulged in crying. It wasn't reckless fit's of hysteria that some children you might see out in public go through, rather it was just the slight shaking of his frame and the stuttering whispers to himself. Word's of his failure, and his apologizes. Even if no one was here to hear the remorse's he gave, at least he could say he said them.
In his own world of extreme upset, he had the notion that Father might never come back. What if he took off, and left him here all alone?
The tear's that were still running down his face, began to flow even faster, he couldn't stop crying.
He wanted his warm spot back, as selfish as that may be. He just wanted to feel what he felt when Father held him.
Falling into a reprieve of solitude, mingled with tear's, it surprised him when someone sat next to him slowly reaching over.
Sitting up in bed, or rather jumping up in bed as fast as he could, tear's and all, he gasped.
"Fath-"
He was surprised.
Before he could even finish, the blankets still shrouding him were moved all but aside with tenderness, and he was lifted into the air and placed somewhere his character couldn't give a care at the moment to fret about, Father's lap.
"Father..." he this time whispered.
"Shh,..."
"I'm sorry,..."
Feeling the arm's about him tighten with a chin resting on the top of his head.
"For what,...? Damian. You didn't do anything wrong... "
...
"Unless you did something I don't know about... And anyway, your forgiven."
Choking back a sob, he took a deep breath in.
"So,... this wasn't a test?" he asked staring right up to Father.
"Good heavens. I should think not."
With a wipe at the tear's still streaming down his face from Father's thumb, he buried his face into Father's chest.
Everything, everything was, ok?
How come his mind was still racing? Racing like it would never end.
After a few minutes, he was slowly falling asleep as he was slowly rocked back and forth with slight shushes to his humiliating whimpers. Slowly, when his tear's had finally died down, and his racing thoughts curbed it's speed to cruise, Fathers arms slowly extracted themselves away from his frame and slowly shuffled his arm's above his head.
"Put your arm's through here."
Opening his eyes, Father was trying to maneuver one of his thick black sweater's over his head...
"Father,... I can do it"
"I know,... but you'll be warmer quicker if you let me help, ok...?"
Groggily agreeing, he knew that the indignity of his shameful error's couldn't get any worse tonight. Going through the motion's Father wanted him to wear a layer of everything, that included another pair of sweatpants. Through the crashing state of his exhausted mind, Father was telling him that it was only going to get colder in the Manor as the night grew on. Also, only one of the space heaters could be found in Father's long search. He also said that he wished he could have come back sooner, and not have kept him waiting so long.
As Father and him had finally finished getting the second layer of clothing on him, he yawned. Then he was tenderly pulled off his father's lap and gently laid back upon the bed. Through his bleary vision he watched as into the corner of the room, Father went off to do something or the other.
Sitting up dizzy-like, he sluggishly slid himself off the bed to head to his own room. Enough horrific damage had been done tonight by him...
Before he could even make it one step away from the bed, he was quickly picked up and again and crushed against Father's chest, but this time more heavily. Vaguely hearing Father telling him about some sort of space heater, and conservation of heat, he cuddled closer to Father's chest.
With Father walking then again, he was surprised to find that it was just to turn the light off and shut the door. Then Father positioned him and himself on the bed.
With blanket's being pulled more around him and Father, he was relieved. He was becoming more and more warm. With his face being comfortably pressed into the lulling throb's of his father's heart beat, his hair was carded through in a rhythmic motion. As his eye's were closing with no worries, he yawned. Then eventually darkness was then welcomed that shrouded him in the best night sleep he had officially ever gotten.
And in dreams, the blazing sun of the Arabian desert could be felt warming his face, comforting him, in his sleep.
No worries, If you have seen this story before, yes it is on Archive of Our Own, and I am indeed the Author of it! So no copy-write strike….
Pls.. >_<
Heres the Link:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674137
