Baby Damian one-shots

**Damian and the Reluctant Carry**

It was one of those days when Damian just wasn't feeling like walking. Bruce and Alfred had been busy all morning, and after a quick play session with Jon Kent and Lizzie Trevor—who had recently left for their own homes—Damian was feeling unusually clingy.

Bruce had just wrapped up some business in the Batcave and was making his way through the manor to the study when he noticed Damian standing by the door, a familiar pout on his face.

"Papa," Damian called out in his little voice, drawing out the word, his arms lifting slightly as if to say, *Pick me up.*

Bruce sighed and glanced at Damian, knowing exactly what was happening. It had been a quiet day, but now the moment had arrived.

"Damian," Bruce said, trying to avoid giving in to the request. "You're perfectly capable of walking."

Damian looked up at him with wide eyes, his lip trembling ever so slightly. "I'm tired, Papa," he said softly, a hint of drama in his voice. "I need you to carry me."

Bruce's gaze softened despite himself. Damian, at just three years old, was undeniably the most persistent—and most spoiled—little one he'd ever met. There was something about the way Damian said his name, that tiny little voice, that tugged at Bruce's heartstrings every time.

"You're not tired, you've been playing with Jon all morning. You have energy," Bruce tried to reason.

Damian folded his arms, his expression more determined than before. "No. I'm tired," he repeated, a little more forcefully this time. "Carry me, Papa."

Bruce gave a quiet chuckle, knowing this was one battle he wasn't going to win. He looked down at the tiny bundle of stubbornness standing before him. With a resigned sigh, he crouched down and opened his arms.

Damian didn't need to be asked twice. In an instant, he was in Bruce's arms, his little body curling up comfortably against his chest. His hands immediately gripped Bruce's shirt as if to stake his claim.

"I'm heavy, Papa," Damian murmured, as though it were the first time he had ever acknowledged his weight, though it wasn't. It was just another excuse to be held longer, to savor the comfort of being in Bruce's arms.

Bruce shifted him to a more comfortable position, the young boy nestling closer. "You're not heavy," Bruce said with a soft smile, though in truth, Damian's persistence often felt like it weighed a ton on his shoulders. But that was the thing about being a parent: there was never a time when carrying your child wasn't an honor, even if it was for the hundredth time that day.

Damian's eyes fluttered, as though he might have been ready to drift off, but he was too focused on the feeling of being close to his father.

"Papa?" he asked, his voice small.

"Yes, Damian?" Bruce replied, careful to keep his tone patient.

Damian's grip tightened a little on Bruce's shirt. "I love you."

Bruce's heart melted. "I love you too, Damian," he whispered back, holding him just a little closer, even though he'd never admit how much he cherished these moments.

And as Bruce carried Damian through the halls of Wayne Manor, he couldn't help but think that no matter how many times his son asked to be picked up, he'd always say yes. Because as much as Damian was spoiled in ways that made Bruce shake his head, there was no denying that his little moments of affection meant everything.

Even if it meant carrying him for the thousandth time.