Baby Damian one-shots

The Great Toy Standoff

It was a quiet afternoon at Wayne Manor, which, for Bruce, usually meant something was about to happen. He'd been sitting in the study, reviewing files, when Alfred came in, clearing his throat politely.

"Master Wayne, there's been an...incident in the playroom."

Bruce sighed, setting the files aside. "What kind of incident?"

"One involving Master Damian and his toy collection," Alfred replied, his expression unreadable but carrying a hint of amusement.

Bruce headed to the playroom, half-expecting a disaster, and walked in to find his three-year-old son standing defiantly in the center of the room. Surrounding Damian was a circle of stuffed animals, action figures, and toy cars, all carefully arranged like an impenetrable fortress.

"Damian," Bruce said slowly, crossing his arms. "What's going on?"

Damian glared at him, clutching Batty, his beloved Batman stuffed doll, to his chest. "Alfred said I have to clean up my toys. I said no."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"Because they're busy, Papa," Damian huffed, pointing to his meticulously arranged toys. "This is a battle. The villains are attacking, and the heroes have to fight back. If I clean up, the villains will win!"

Bruce suppressed a smile, crouching down to Damian's level. "I see. That's a very important mission you've got there. But Alfred's right—you can't leave a mess in the playroom forever."

"It's not a mess," Damian insisted, stamping his foot. "It's strategy."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, playing along. "Okay, but what happens after the battle? The heroes will need a safe place to rest, right? Don't you think they'd want everything cleaned up so they can relax?"

Damian paused, clearly considering this. He looked down at Batty, as though seeking advice. "But what if the villains come back?" he whispered.

Bruce grinned. "Well, that's why the heroes will need you. You can build a new base for them tomorrow. But for now, they've earned a break—and so have you."

Damian's face scrunched in thought, his stubbornness warring with his desire to please his father. Finally, he gave a dramatic sigh, as though he were making the greatest sacrifice in the world.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing a toy car and placing it back on the shelf. "But only because you said so, Papa."

Bruce chuckled, ruffling Damian's hair. "Thank you, buddy. I'll help you, and we can finish faster."

As they cleaned up, Damian began explaining every detail of the battle—how Batty had saved the day, how the villains almost won, and how next time the heroes would need an even bigger fortress.

Bruce listened intently, smiling at his son's boundless imagination. By the time they were done, Damian was yawning, clutching Batty once again.

"Mission accomplished," Bruce said, scooping Damian into his arms.

Damian rested his head on Bruce's shoulder, his eyes heavy with sleep. "You're a good teammate, Papa," he murmured.

Bruce's heart melted as he carried Damian to bed. "And you're the best little hero, Dami."

As Damian drifted off, Bruce tucked him in with Batty and quietly left the room, already looking forward to tomorrow's adventures.