Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

thirteen

PRESENT DAY

Dick trailed through the halls of Wayne Manor before reaching his youngest brother's door. It was perfectly polished red oak— freshly re-stained after Jason smashed a bicycle into its frame a few years back— because the "blood son" had wanted the room closest to Bruce's, and wouldn't accept anything less than excellence. Dick wrapped his knuckles on the hard surface, impatiently tapping his foot as he crossed his arms. After a few moments, the door opened and Damian stood there in a black turtleneck and pants.

"What is it this time, Grayson?" The child sounded cold and bored, hands clasped behind his back, staring at Dick in a way that said he wanted to be anywhere else but talking to him. "Did Koriand'r hurt your feelings again?"

Dick scowled. "First, Kori and I work things out like adults— I don't get my feelings hurt."

"Right." He obviously didn't believe him.

"Second, I need your help."

"Don't you always?"

Dick took in a deep breath. "You just need to come with me."

"You want to find the photo albums I referenced the other night."

"Wha— no!" Curse Bruce for having a kid with the woman who ran the League of Assassins. Sometimes, dealing with a younger brother who could practically smell when you're lying got irritating.

Damian hummed in disinterest. "If you're only here to lie to my face, then stop wasting my time."

"What are you even doing? Wait, isn't it..." Dick looked down at the phone in his hand. "Monday? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"I don't require socialization with classless, ill-tempered simpletons."

"W— okay? Then what are you doing right now that makes you so busy?"

"I've almost completed my study on biochemical pharmacology. I started the book yesterday afternoon. I figured it was a better use of my time than 'physical education.'"

Dick stared at him for a long moment. After four kids, Bruce had really just given up, hadn't he? He'd woken Dick up every day Monday through Friday without fail. Did he even bother to check if Damian went to school or not?

"Just help me find the damn albums."

Damian smirked, striding past him and down the hall. "All you had to do was tell me I was right, Grayson. Was that so hard?"

Dick rolled his eyes. He had to get back to Bludhaven soon— he didn't need to deal with Damian's attitude.

"I looked through every shelf, but I couldn't find them," Dick explained as he watched the smaller boy walk down the stairs with an air of royalty, gliding over each one like it was choreographed. Knowing Damian, it most likely was. Dick had always preferred the banister when he was younger.

Damian let out a dignified humph. "It reassures me to know that I'm the only one who knows father around here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" They rounded the corner into another hallway.

"Obviously, after I brought my awareness of the photo albums to father's attention, he moved them. Not that I can blame him, of course, I would do the same if I had you as a child."

Dick choked out a disbelieving laugh. "Bruce did not come home and hide them from me like I'm some nosy third-grader."

"I believe the more appropriate term would be first-grader." Damian pushed the door open to the study. "And, evidently, he was rightfully so. You are looking for them now, are you not?"