Bruce held the door open for his daughter, and followed Cassandra into the foyer. As the preparations for Stephanie's surprise birthday party required Alfred's full attention, the duty of picking Cass up from the airport had fallen to Bruce.

"Damian," he called, spotting his son inching along the far wall. "Come greet Cassan—" Bruce trailed off at the frantic shake of his son's head, taking note of the way that Damian was pressed to the wall. He was still trying to process whatever game might call for such behaviour when Cass took immediate action.

Now unlike her brothers, Cassandra packed lightly and kept custody of her own bag throughout the trip with a secretive smile that made Bruce suspect that Stephanie was not the only one to soon be receiving a gift. No amount of genteel chivalry or calculated snooping had persuaded his daughter to part with the bag.

So Bruce was not quite prepared for it to suddenly impact with his stomach and barely grasped it in time as Cassandra moved swiftly across the room. "Dami," she murmured, kneeling beside the younger boy easily. "What is wrong?"

Something was clearly wrong; Damian was pale, sweaty, and had a hunted look about him. The ten year old glanced nervously to the left and right before wetting his lips, whispering: "I am under attack."

Bruce found himself looming over his children defensively as he inspected their surroundings for signs of intrusion. Finding nothing, he returned his attention to Damian just in time to hear his son confide:

"… or maybe I am being tested. I am uncertain as to the nature … I am sorry, Father. Am I being tested?"

Bruce grimaced. Really, Dick?

Last Week

It all started with Dick, Stephanie, and laughing gas. Not the toxic Joker-variety, but common enough nitrous oxide stolen from a local dentist by the new Punch and Judy while their boss languished in Arkham.

As Punch had decided upon using the ventilation system to distribute the gas throughout the entire building to cover an escape, Batman and Batgirl were taken out of the equation. Unfortunately for the remarkably bumbling pair of villains, Judy was not prepared for her partner's move either. Punch had to drag her to the exit.

Luckily enough, Robin was waiting outside having been demoted to look-out in mock-punishment for 'sucking the fun out of everything.'

The unsuspecting villain was easily knocked-out, tied-up alongside his partner, and left for the police while Damian took steps to rescue both Dick and Stephanie—who were both intelligent enough to recognize their predicament and obtain rebreathers from their respective belts before passing out.

By the time Damian found them, they had recovered consciousness and simply required a focused effort to herd them in the right direction. A frustrating task that might very well have ended with them tied up beside the pair of thieves if Bruce hadn't arrived in time to intervene.

Loading the giggly pair into the Batmobile against their wishes required both Father and Son working in tandem along with the judicious use of Stephanie's own gooperangs.

Upon successfully locking the pair within the Batmobile, Damian eyed them distastefully through the red tinted glass. "I am still capable of patrol, Batman. I should not be punished just because those two are incapacitated."

Bruce considered protesting for about thirty seconds and then Dick found the door locks. Putting his not inconsiderable weight to use holding the panel shut, Bruce nodded shortly at his youngest son. "Join Red Robin or Red Hood in the Alley. No pit-stops."

"Agreed."

"Curfew is still at twelve, Robin!" Bruce shouted after him as the boy swung away. "It's a school night!"

Judy let out a high-pitched giggle that Punch tried to match, and Batman left them to the tender mercies of Gotham PD in order to ferry his bemused birds home again.

About halfway there, Dick noticed the lack of Robin in the vehicle and Bruce spent five minutes trying to convince the younger Batman that no, he hadn't forgotten his son at the crime scene. Really, Dick?

Somehow that had segued into a discussion of genetics, hugs, and touch therapy. Dick and Stephanie were both still a little high at the time so Bruce just let them talk. Somewhere between the car and the medical bay, Dick had admitted to an attempt at reconditioning Damian to accept hugs, confiding somewhat miserably that it wasn't going well.

Stephanie promptly pledged her assistance in the mission, nearly knocking Dick to the ground with an overly enthusiastic embrace.

"It won't work," Bruce informed them as he righted the pair, and guided them to adjacent cots.

"Pfft," Stephanie waved dismissively. "We shall overcome your anti-social genetics with our sheer numbers, B. Just you wait and see."

Dick hummed agreeably, barely losing the cowl before curling into his pillow. "We should get Timmy in on it. And Jay."

Bruce rolled his eyes, and took himself off to the Bat-computer. He had faith that his middle children would be the voice of reason here.

That was his mistake.

Bruce had a Batman, Inc. mission with Timothy the following day, which is how he missed Jason's unusually enthusiastic support of the plan.

It was hard to miss the way Sasha is chasing Damian through the manor upon their return, but Bruce prefers to stay out of his children and associated parties' squabbles. It would not be out of character for Damian to engage in pulling the redhead's metaphorical pigtails.

Knowing what Bruce now knew, he realized that his youngest was already starting to look … hunted.

In Bruce's defense, there was something going on in London and Knight had called him in for a little assistance with a Leviathan base that had dropped off the grid. He dropped off Tim, and headed out again with only an automatic "Don't break your brother" called over his shoulder as Jason leapt the bannister to tackle a fleeing Damian to the ground.

It was a sage piece of advice—applicable to both Damian and Jason in the tussle that ensued. Violence between the pair is a frequent occurrence, and Alfred would be on hand shortly to investigate and preserve the structural integrity of the house. Bruce felt completely comfortable in leaving Gotham to Dick, the manor to Alfred, and Damian in the hands of his elder siblings … all of his elder siblings.

The week was a busy one. Bruce was in and out of Gotham between Batman, Inc. and the Justice League, taking a night off to chase Killer Croc through the sewers with a strangely compliant Damian at his side. He found himself pressed into Alfred's service, picking up party supplies and groceries while the butler detained Stephanie with various excuses.

Bruce only caught sight of the occasional hug and Damian's ensuing fits. Stephanie was particularly good at sneaking hugs in mid-conversation—reaching over and hauling Damian in close under one arm without so much as a pause in her bright chatter. Dick made a production out of Damian's loosely defined bedtime and abused every opportunity patrol provided to dote upon his younger brother, earning a sulky Robin in the process.

Jason had to employ extreme measures to get ahold of Damian, but Tim had some skill in sneaking up on the younger boy. Bruce had noted the last with something akin to surprise. He thought that Tim was smarter than this, and courting a confrontation that could end in grievous injury was Damian's preferred modus operandi. Not Tim's.

Except Tim continued to employ it throughout the week, always narrowly dodging the attempt Damian made upon his person immediately afterward.

Still, Bruce did not intervene on Damian's behalf. His youngest son could look after himself, and sooner or later the other children would lose interest or be discouraged by Damian's flailing limbs and acidic insults.

Unbeknownst to Bruce at the time … his children had been recruiting outside the family.

Damian had been unusually eager to assist the Titans over the weekend, but returned in a fouler mood than ever. Bruce attributed it to the general annoyance of Superboy, and moved on.

Tim will later admit reluctantly to organizing an effort amongst the Titans. Bart and Kon gleefully led the movement with absolutely no concept of subtlety, but save Raven, all of the teenagers were guilty parties. Cassie will insist that it was harmless teasing, but Waynes hold grudges … especially the little ones.

Even Damian's own friends had been drafted by Monday—which explained why Damian had outright refused to attend school on Tuesday.

Today was Wednesday, and Stephanie's birthday which brought a great number of their allies to the Manor. Bats, Birds, Titans, etc. have been streaming in over the last few hours while Stephanie and Dick are out of the house.

(Bruce was particularly proud of the 'mission' that he had arranged which would keep Batgirl occupied chasing Dick back and forth across the city while under the impression that the man was Clayface.)

Unfortunately for Damian, this meant that his closest allies—albeit the individuals responsible for his predicament—were out of touch. With Bruce dispatched to the airport and Alfred adding the final touches to the birthday cake, Damian had nowhere to turn as a good portion of the worldwide caped community decided to get in on the Robins' game.

Damian was a former assassin and had home-turf advantage.

The majority of the Justice League/Teen Titans had superpowers and worked in teams.

Bruce sighed and crouched next to his son. Damian had clearly had enough, so Bruce limited himself to a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're not being tested, Damian. It's not an attack." Bruce tried to come up with an appropriate label, and failed.

His children regularly defied explanation.

"Cassandra, have someone take over for Dick at the next checkpoint and send him to the study when he arrives." Bruce stood, and ushered Damian under the security of his arm. "Walk with me, Damian. I'll try to explain."

They nearly ran into Clark in the hall, and the x-ray vision of the Super-clan was most likely Damian's biggest obstacle over the last few hours. Bruce scowled at the reporter and pressed the ten year old against his side. Damian seemed quite content to hide in his father's shadow, and the Kryptonian bemusedly allowed them to pass unscathed.

With the plot laid out before him, Damian spent a good two minutes speechless. Bruce understood and appreciated the phenomenon.

Dick having arrived halfway through the explanation was not quite as blasé about the current Robin's apoplexy, and seemed only to relax when Damian began to sputter:

"I've been … been … hazed," Damian declared at last.

Dick cringed. "Inadvertently?"

"You set Drake on me!" Damian hissed. "Drake, who has somehow won over heroes and villains alike in a charming combination of Pavlovian training and Stockholm Syndrome …"

For a moment, Dick appeared to consider allowing Tim to take the fall for this, but Bruce fixed his eldest with a look that advised against such choices. Meanwhile, Damian was still going strong.

"… Drake, who despises me and would enjoy my torment … Drake, who can out-strategize my Grandfather and has the resources to take over the world …"

Bruce should probably look into that.

"… Drake, who only takes on projects in which he is certain of his triumph—"

"Actually, Tim said it wouldn't work," Dick pointed out. "When we asked him, I mean. He said the same thing Bruce said—It won't work."

Bruce shook his head wearily. "And the fact that Tim was willing to take on a project he believed to be fruitless didn't give you second thoughts, Dick?"

At least the man had the good sense to look abashed.

Damian fixed his mentor with a steely-eyed glare. "You are a cruel and vicious man, Grayson. Fortunately for you, I appreciate these character traits so long as they are not focused upon my person."

"Hugs are not cruel and vicious, Damian. They're …" Dick visibly deflated. "I'll just go call it off then."

Damian beat him to the study door, blocking it with his small frame. "No, you will not," the ten year old insisted. "I have spent a week in distress, and I want them to suffer first."

"Dami?" Dick tried cautiously.

"I am going to allow them to think their asinine, infantile, poorly thought-out plan worked," Damian announced with unholy glee.

"Damian," Bruce reproved mildly.

"For a week, Father," Damian corrected himself. "That will be Grayson's punishment. He cannot intervene on their behalf and must watch as I portray myself as an average child for the next week. It is their turn to crack under the pressure. I will cause them fear and discomfort that they are unable to combat, and I will remind them that I am … the Son … of … Batman."

The boy's drama lessons were coming along nicely, Bruce noted.

"Just don't ruin Stephanie's birthday," the Batman conditioned, double-checking his calendar to confirm that the upcoming week was currently clear and he could watch his son at work. "Alfred would be upset."

"Certainly," Damian agreed. "I shall remain close to Pennyworth or yourself for today." He sent one last look at his brother—something between malevolence and gloating. "Tomorrow, Grayson."

Dick made a choked noise as Damian spun, and haughtily removed himself from the room. "Bruce?" his eldest appealed desperately.

Approximately halfway down the hall, Damian's footsteps turned into a dead sprint. Unfortunately, Damian couldn't outrun the junior members of the Flash and Super families and a collision with the urn at the end of the hallway was unavoidable.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the ensuing crash. "Punishment stands, Dick."