Work Text:
Of Culturally Mandated Pretenses or Not
When his Father announced that they would attend a gathering at Jon’s family home, Damian was at first somewhat annoyed, they do talk to each other often enough, he really didn’t see the need to visit. After careful thought (he had in fact promised Father not to make “rash” judgments and to take into consideration established societal norms or what was deemed polite), he concluded that this was one of those culturally mandated practices for the holiday season. After some research and a few discreet inquiries to Pennyworth-- he determined it was proper to bring a gift. Of course from then on the choice of the gift was simple enough.
There was a part of Damian that did not want to get that gift for Jon. Then there was a part of him that wanted to, because Jon wanted it. After that unfortunate incident where he detained the alien’s spawn, they had to go through Boot Camp; a series of tests devised by Batman and Superman, Damian had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the kid was not all that bad, he would go so far to say he was trainable and his presence have become somewhat tolerable.
With Christmas fast approaching, the poor kid had only mentioned Monk-E-Monsters Interactive Systems a total of 352 times during the past two weeks.
“So, Damian, the Death Squad Mode for Monk-E…,” came Jon’s excited voice over his earpiece.
He had just stopped two of Gotham’s miscreants. “Death Squad Mode…Ok.” Damian aimed a quick kick at the leg while he listened to Jon’s description of what it entailed to succeed at that mode.
CRUNCH! The satisfying sound of a broken tibia.
Jon must have heard, he could practically picture him wincing when he spoke,” Did you just break that guy’s arm?”
“No, it was a leg.” Damian said nonchalantly. And with another effortless twist, he blocked a poor attempt from the miscreant’s partner to hit him. CRUNCH! “That. Was the arm, the humerus to be exact. One day you’ll learn that not all bones break the same way, therefore there is a subtle difference as to how each bone sound as they break…”
“Uh-hu …ookaaaay … So, to even get to that mode, you can’t be outflanked by the Blood Brigade...”
“The Blood Brigade…right.” He was now tying up the thugs. He could hear sirens coming closer. The police will be here in two minutes. He aimed a grapple above him.
“Hey, don’t you ever wish you could be just a normal kid and I don’t know …play.”
“Not really.” Under the cover of Gotham’s shadows, he pulled on his line and landed silently on one of the many gargoyles that guarded the city. He continued to watch the scene below.
Damian could hear Jon’s sigh of exasperation, then, “You’re still coming to my house, right?”
Jon sounded somewhat anxious, he wasn’t really sure why. Wasn’t it obvious, he was coming with Father. “Of course, Jon I will be there as promised.”
“Great! See ya.”
The relief in his voice made something warm bloom inside Damian’s chest.
The back and forth that went on inside his head, the indecision was somewhat strange for him. His Grandfather, the great Rha’s Al Ghul and his mother Talia, provided him with the tools and skills to hone his reflexes. The thousands of hours of mental conditioning and study also assured that his mind was quick and sharp. He was certain that all of his training was not meant for making mundane decisions whether or not he should buy this toy for Jon. One could simply argue that he could just purchase this much desired interactive game system and be done with it, Damian thought it certainly wasn’t a big deal...or was it?
So now he has found himself in the middle of this hellish capitalist monstrosity--- the mall. He could have just told Pennyworth what he needed, the man with his unlimited resourcefulness could have gotten the said item for him and he need not step inside this place, but then that wouldn’t be the same as actually getting the present by himself sans help. In Damian’s mind getting the gift himself, mattered.
He was trained by the League of Assassins after all. Getting through a mall should be simple enough. He was mistaken, he’d rather face a squad of his Grandfather’s soldiers. It was a test of his will; to wade through the crowds without hurting those that bumped into him or at least threaten them with bodily harm, to endure “mall music” and the inane chatter of people with lists plus the mind searing cries and whining of infants.
.
But then he managed to swipe this precious game away from the alien Superman himself, who just rushed in as he got the last box. He was extremely pleased for it made its personal procurement all the more …. satisfying. Surely, Jon would see how he bested even him.
He had dressed carefully for this gathering; he knew Jon had said he never does anything for fun—for Damian even the act of dressing was significant. Even little things such as the right tie for a suit was covered under his Grandfather’s tutelage. Clothes make the man. The long winded words of Polonius actually had a point. His Father had suggested perhaps he should dress in a fashion similar to those of his age group. He had firmly told his Father, that was never going to happen.
Finally, they arrived at Jon’s home. Jon’s entire family was dressed in matching gaudy holiday sweaters, they said it was for fun, that wearing ugly Christmas sweaters was a tradition. Well…it was fairly amusing. The meal itself wasn't as tortuous as he thought it would be. The food was not as good as Pennyworth’s, but it was hearty and satisfying enough, he made sure to compliment Jon’s mother and his alien Father. But then he had to suffer through small talk around the dining room table.
Finally, he found an opportune moment. “It’s time to be done with all this culturally mandated pretense. It’s time for presents.”
He could see his Father’s jaw twitch at the slight right before he threw THE glare. Damian figured he was going to hear about his faux pas later. The alien just shrugged and smiled at his Father.
Mrs. Kent gave a knowing smile, “It’s Christmas Eve! One present each!” She called after Damian and Jon. Mostly, Jon, who was making beeline for the tree, while Damian followed leisurely.
“And no super leaping inside the house!”
“Jon, I just wanted you to know, I tried. I really did---,” Mr. Kent started saying.
Damian was very pleased, Jon opened his box first, “Monk-E- Monsters! YEAH!!”
He was quite unprepared with what followed next. Jon lunged at him with the exuberance of a hyper excited puppy and hugged him tight. Really tight.
The kid was too sentimental. It did feel…nice.
“Thank you, Damian.”
With that Thank You Damian’s heart swelled. And he felt that warm feeling again in his chest.
“You’re welcome,” he said gently, once Jon released him. He could feel his Father and the alien’s eyes on him. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, I figured you could benefit from some strategic training.” In a rare moment, Damian suddenly felt self- conscious, he felt the urge to straighten his tie.
“Did you know about this, Bruce?” The alien asked.
“No, I did not.” His tone indicated how genuinely surprised he was with all this and only very few things surprised Bruce.
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“C’mon, let’s hook it up!”
It didn’t take long both boys were sitting on the couch trying to kill armies of intelligent flesh eating ghouls.
“Jon, you’re going to get ambushed, get out of that gorge!”
“Not until I get the infinite ammo power pack!”
On the screen a burst of gunfire from Damian killed a ghoul who materialized behind a boulder.
“Move it! Ghouls all around!”
“Almost there! Cover me!”
"You should bring Titus and Alfred next time.”Jon said, eyes not leaving the screen while he winced at the close call.
“Oh yeah? Then Bat cow will be lonely.”
“I still can't believe you have a cow, in that cave..” Jon was standing now, face scrunched concentrating on fighting his way through castle ruins with blasters.
“Watch your six! Kent!” Damian shouted. His fingers flew over the controls.”Kill that bastard!”
Outside the snowflakes were bigger and falling faster, determined to add another thick layer on the ground. The wind picked up, the snow eddied across the field. Inside, the logs crackled as they smoldered in the fireplace, the Christmas tree lights twinkled; Bruce and Clark watched them slaughter make believe beasts, letting their sons be kids.
Damian enjoyed the game far more than he would admit it. It was different being with Jon and just playing. Most of his life was spent around adults, adults that only saw him for his bloodline and what he could do.
Perhaps, culturally mandated pretenses weren't all that bad. Perhaps they were just a place to start. A place to start for genuine laughter, hugs and friendships.