Baby Damian one-shots

**Damian Wayne and the Missing Toy**

It was a calm, peaceful afternoon at Wayne Manor. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting a soft, golden light across the grand living room. Bruce sat in his favorite chair, an old, worn leather armchair by the window, sipping his coffee while reviewing Gotham's latest news. Alfred was in the kitchen, preparing dinner with his usual precision, humming softly to himself.

In the corner of the room, Damian was sitting on the floor, surrounded by an array of stuffed animals and action figures. His green eyes were narrowed in concentration as he meticulously arranged them into an imaginary battle scene, his little hands moving quickly as he placed each figure in position.

But something wasn't right. Damian's brow furrowed further, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached around, scanning the area in front of him, and his eyes grew wider in sudden panic.

"Papa!" he called, his voice a little more frantic than usual. "Where's Batty?"

Bruce glanced up from his papers, startled by the urgency in Damian's tone. "What's wrong, Dami?"

Damian scrambled to his feet, his tiny fists clenched in frustration. "Batty's gone! I can't find him!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with each word. "I need him!"

Bruce's heart softened at the sound of his son's distress. Batty was Damian's most treasured possession—a small, well-worn Batman stuffed doll that Damian had carried around with him since he was just a baby. It was his constant companion, his comfort in moments of unease, and he simply couldn't be without it.

"Okay, okay," Bruce said gently, setting aside the papers. "Let's go find him."

Damian immediately darted around the room, his little feet thumping against the floor as he searched with single-minded focus. He threw toys aside, glancing behind the couch, and even checked under the furniture, but Batty was nowhere to be found.

"Batty!" Damian cried, his voice wavering with a mix of frustration and desperation. "Where are you?"

Bruce watched for a moment, his heart aching for the tiny, spoiled child who so clearly had a need for comfort that only his beloved toy could provide. He stood up and walked toward Damian, kneeling beside him.

"Hey, Dami," Bruce said softly. "Let's not panic. We'll find Batty together."

Damian looked up at his father, his face scrunched with a mixture of confusion and growing worry. "But I can't sleep without him," he said, his voice small and vulnerable.

Bruce placed a reassuring hand on Damian's shoulder. "I promise you, we'll find him. He's probably just hiding somewhere, playing a game with you."

Damian wiped a tear from his eye, sniffling slightly as he nodded. "Okay. But I need him, Papa."

With a smile, Bruce gave a small nod. "I know you do, buddy. Let's check your room, and then we'll try the playroom. How's that sound?"

Damian hesitated but then nodded, looking up at his father with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Okay," he said quietly.

Bruce took his hand and guided him up the staircase toward the hallway. When they reached Damian's room, Bruce opened the door with a gentle push. It was a room filled with dark, cozy tones—a small Batman-themed bed, shelves full of toys, and the one thing every three-year-old Damian needed most: Batty.

There, lying on the floor beside the toy chest, was Batty, with one arm slightly askew and a small grin stitched across his face.

"Batty!" Damian squealed, rushing over to his stuffed companion. He scooped the doll up with both hands, clutching it to his chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Bruce smiled softly, watching his son snuggle the doll. Damian looked up at him, his face glowing with relief and a childlike joy.

"You found him, Papa!" Damian said, his voice bubbling with happiness. "I knew you would."

Bruce chuckled, lifting Damian into his arms and holding him close. "I told you I would. And now, we can both relax, right?"

Damian hugged Batty tighter, his little fingers curling around the doll's fabric. "Yes, Papa. But you know... Batty says thank you, too."

Bruce laughed, pressing a kiss to Damian's forehead. "You're welcome, buddy."

As Bruce carried Damian back downstairs, Batty firmly back in the little boy's grasp, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. Maybe Damian was spoiled, but moments like this—when all it took was a stuffed toy and a promise from his father to make everything better—reminded Bruce of just how much love he had in his life.

And that, to him, was worth every spoiled moment.