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starry-bi-sky · 9 months

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Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #clone^2 #like god can you imagine how scared he must've been? how afraid? he just wants his mom - only to realize he doesnt even matter to her #dpxdc au #danny fenton is not the ghost king #this poor kid man. no wonder he latched onto danny the moment he gave up on the league like a leech. he's a six year old kid man and #it doesnt matter how smart he is or how mature he acts. he still is six years old. he still needs that validation and affection from adults #or from people older than him. and his emotional needs were just not being met in the league.#cue the song “two” from sleeping at last - some of their songs are very clone^2 honestly.#'sweetheart you look a little tired. when did you last eat? come in and make yourself right at home. stay as long as you need.'#'tell me is something wrong? if something's wrong you can count on me'#'its okay if you can't find the words. let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders'#'like a force to be reckoned with. am i the ocean or a gentle kiss. i will love you with every single thing i have'#'like a tidal wave i'll make a mess. or calm waters if that serves you best'#'i will love you without any strings attached'#like just. just *imagine* being in damian's shoes during all of this. he's *six* you guys. i've worked with six year olds and they're #pretty independent but they're still six. they get excited when they see their parents and they get upset when an adult is angry with them.#they're still developing their motor skills. they're still developing everything else!

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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pt one

———

Hunk’s phone rings. Loudly. Since he is the pinnacle of grace and benevolence, he spares one hand, eyes still trained firmly on the other hand pressing a screwdriver onto a delicate wire joint to hold it steady, to blindly pat about on his workbench until it closes around the device. He jabs a finger on the screen until the ringing ceases.

“Yah,” he says, not bothering with hellos. He’s busy.

“Handle your person,” Shiro hisses, then immediately hangs up.

Hunk snorts. Someone’s nap was disturbed.

He turns back to his project, sighing as he wraps it up. He doesn’t have long. If he can just solder this last wire, get that last connection in, it’ll be way easier to —

Lance kicks open his door, walking in screaming.

“Hello,” Hunk greets idly. And largely sarcastically, he will admit. Lance continues his wordless yell, vocalizing at the very top of his lungs, muffled only when he throws himself on Hunk’s bed and buries himself in Hunk’s pillow. “Shiro tells me you’re terrorizing people.”

“His skull is fucking solid!” Lance screeches.

Hunk does not need to ask to whom Lance is referring. He does, however, pause what he’s doing immediately, spinning around slowly in his chair with his fingertips pressed together like every eighties cartoon villain. His smile can only really be described as gleeful. Perhaps diabolical if he stretches.

He is entirely unapologetic.

“And what happened this time,” Hunk questions, adopting his very best therapy voice. It must work, because Lance shoots up, face bright candy red, wicked snarl pulling on his lips. When he speaks again his voice is carefully controlled and dripping with rage.

“It is beyond hinting, Kealoha. I have practically laid myself at his feet and begged him to ravish me, and he still does not get it. I am going to fucking wring his neck.”

Hunk hums thoughtfully. “Well, that is probably what it’s going to take.” At Lance’s raised eyebrow, he rushes to clarify — “Throwing yourself at his feet, I mean. Don’t strangle him. At least not before I can see it.”

Lance groans loudly. This time when he flops back on Hunk’s mattress he is more miserable than rageful, like a scolded chihuahua. Hunk considers telling him that and then remembers that he’s quite fond of his limbs where they are.

“I know he likes me,” Lance grumbles. “He’s just a dumbass. Like, yesterday he had to go into a healing pod because I did those leg stretches in front of him and he walked into the wall and broke his nose. And last week he said I smelled good and no straight people say stupid shit like that. And when I flirted with that princess on our last mission I was lowkey worried he was gonna jump her, or something. He went all big bad Galra growly and everything.”

Hunk inclines his head. “This is true.”

It is true. Well, he didn’t know the broken nose thing — although that’s hilarious and he will be sharing that information with the class when prudent — and he hasn’t witnessed many of the specific brands of Keith and Lance dumbassery, since they spend so much time on their own, but he, like, has eyes. Keith wants Lance so bad it’s actually embarrassing. Hunk’s not one to generally agree with Lance, since it’s his God-given right to humble him at any opportunity, but that boy is oblivious unlike any other. He understands that Keith is emotionally stunted due to the ordeal of being orphaned, and to Keith he leaves his highest sympathies, but also Jesus Christ, dude. How many times are you going to be wrought with jealousy before you go oh, duh, I might be in love with this goober.

Maybe Shiro hasn’t had the talk with him yet. Hunk makes a mental note to follow up.

“—it’s just that I don’t understand,” Lance laments.

Hunk blinks back to the conversation, where Lance has clearly taken it upon himself to wax poetic and inspire woe upon himself once more.

Hunk stills. An idea wiggles its delightful little way through his brain. He holds up his phone, pointed at Lance’s prone and desolate form.

God, he loves his brain. He loves meddling. He loves love and life, basically.

“I just,” Lance sighs, and to his endless credit he sounds genuinely torn-up, for all his melodrama. “I wish I could just tell him, I guess. In some way. I wish I could get it through his fool head that he is loved by me particularly in such a way that I want to hold hands and kiss and generally be nuisances of the affectionate kind. You know, romance.”

Hunk hums with great understanding. “I see. And say you were not plagued with chronic anxiety and an unfortunate tendency to glow in your face region if someone so much as insinuates in any capacity that they care about you — what would you say to this paramour of yours?”

Lance tilts his head consideringly. His eyes are big and brown and pouty, like a scorned puppy. It’s adorable, in a pathetic kind of way. Hunk cannot help but pat him delicately on the knee.

“I suppose,” he huffs, “that I would just say it outright. Keith Kogane, you magnanimous dumbass, would it kill you to ask me out like a man. Something like that.”

“You could also ask him out like a man,” Hunk points out.

“Choke and die,” Lance responds, predictably. Hunk pays him again.

Hunk stops the recording and tucks his phone back in his pocket. He will decide how to handle the situation shortly.

…After he makes several copies and distributes them to the team. Obviously. Hunk’s excellent advice and matchmaking skills isn’t free, after all.

Lance whines again. “Why is my life so sick and twisted.”

Hunk chooses against reminding Lance that they are in the very beginning of the process of dismantling the worst tyranny the universe has ever seen, and of all the things in his life to be sick and twisted his dweeby romance is probably not one of them. Because that would be a huge buzzkill, obviously. Instead he delicately and a touch condescendingly pats Lance on the head. Lance leans into the touch, because he is a massive sweetheart and dork and nerd, and Hunk can’t help but smile widely.

“All will work out,” he says ominously. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Blah,” Lance says.

Hunk smiles wider.

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