fyeahbatmanandrobin:

“What does he think he’s doing?” Bruce watched Damian sprint through the treeline that bordered the backyard, frantically searching the crevices in the bark. The boy carried a wicker basket in his hand.

A sly smile pulled at the corners of Dick’s mouth as his eyes followed Damian’s movement. “I told him each egg is part of an explosive system that’s been rigged under my clothes and that I can’t move from this spot.  If he doesn’t find them all in seven minutes, I’ll blow up.”

“That’s terrible,” Bruce said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they watched the little boy overturn a log and withdraw a blue egg with a noise of triumph. 

Dick laughed softly. “How else am I supposed to get him to hunt eggs like a normal, happy child? Three minutes, Damian!” he called aloud.

Damian looked up at him and frowned when he saw Bruce. “Father, what are you doing? Come help me!”

Bruce considered for a moment. He shared a conspiratorial glance with Dick. “Sorry, Damian,” he yelled back, “but they got me too! Hurry, son! Two minutes and forty-three seconds!”