Baby Damian one-shots

**Damian Wayne and the Forbidden Toy**

The grand clock in Wayne Manor chimed softly, signaling that it was nearly time for Damian's afternoon nap. It had been a long day of play and exploration, but before the inevitable slumber, there was one more thing on the three-year-old's mind.

Alfred had just finished tidying up the living room when Damian came toddling into the room, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. In his tiny hands was a toy car—one that wasn't quite supposed to be his.

It was a sleek, black, high-tech car, a miniature model of the Batmobile, and it wasn't just any toy. It was Bruce's personal collectible, one that he had kept carefully displayed on a shelf in his study for as long as Damian had known it existed.

Damian, ever the curious and persistent child, had spotted it earlier that morning while Bruce was out in the Batcave. And now, with the stealth of a young Wayne, he had swiped it from its resting place.

"Papa won't mind," Damian muttered to himself as he examined the toy, his tiny fingers running over the smooth surface. "He's always busy."

Alfred, who had witnessed the entire thing from the kitchen doorway, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Damian pushed the toy car across the floor, humming contentedly.

Bruce entered just a few moments later, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. As soon as he stepped into the room, his gaze immediately landed on the empty shelf where the Batmobile model had been.

His eyes narrowed. "Damian..."

Damian froze. His little heart skipped a beat as he turned toward his father, trying to play it cool as he continued to push the toy car with exaggerated casualness.

"Damian," Bruce repeated, his voice softer but tinged with a quiet authority. "Where did you get that?"

The small child's eyes flicked between Bruce and the toy, his little face scrunching as he weighed his options. He knew that what he'd done was not only sneaky, but it was also something Bruce had made clear was off-limits. But three-year-olds had no concept of "off-limits." If it was there, it was for the taking.

"I found it," Damian said, not even attempting to sound innocent. "I like it. It's like yours. I want to play with it."

Bruce crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "That's a collectible, Dami," he said with a sigh, crouching down to Damian's level. "It's important to me. It's not for playing."

Damian's face fell for a moment, but it was brief. A flash of defiance crossed his features as he hugged the car tightly to his chest. "But I want it," he said, his voice small but determined.

Bruce softened at the sight of his son's stubborn expression. It wasn't that he minded Damian playing with the toy—it was that, well, there were some things that couldn't be replaced. But watching Damian's little face, Bruce found himself sighing once more.

"Alright, Dami," Bruce said, his voice filled with quiet affection. "You can play with it for a little while. But you need to promise me something."

Damian's green eyes lit up with excitement, and he nodded eagerly. "What?"

"That you'll take good care of it," Bruce continued, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's not like the other toys. This one's special. Can you do that for me?"

Damian held the Batmobile closer, his small fingers gently cradling it as if he'd just been handed the most precious thing in the world. "I'll be careful," he promised. "I'll take care of it, Papa. I promise."

Bruce chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his son's dark hair. "You're something else, Dami," he said warmly, watching as his son began to race the car around the room, giggling to himself.

Alfred, standing off to the side, couldn't help but smile at the sight. The dynamic between father and son was so different from what he'd expected. Damian was indeed spoiled, but in the best possible way. Bruce might have his rules and his principles, but when it came to Damian, he had an unshakable softness that made all the difference.

Bruce sat down on the couch, settling into his seat with a quiet sigh of contentment. "I think it's time for your nap," he said after a moment, his voice light but firm. "Come on, buddy. Time for a break."

Damian pouted for a second but then smiled up at his father, holding the Batmobile firmly in his small hands. "No nap, Papa," he protested, shaking his head. "I want to play more."

Bruce smiled, shaking his head as he stood. "Alright, a few more minutes. Then we're off to bed."

It wasn't about the rules, or the toys—it was about this small moment, this quiet exchange of understanding between them. In his own way, Bruce knew that letting Damian have his way now would teach him about responsibility later.

As the clock ticked on and the light slowly began to fade, Bruce watched his son race the toy car one last time, knowing that moments like this were fleeting—but oh, how he cherished them.