It was either a dream or a nightmare. Damian hadn't decided which yet, and his decision was mostly contingent on when blood started being shed and how much blood it ended up being.
Bloodshed, he felt, was only inevitable. There was no two ways around it. The gathering of seven had not been in one room together before, though they all flew---or had flown---under the same banner. He knew he was dreaming, because the combination was too surreal to exist in the waking world. How or why his subconscious had dredged it up was beyond him, and in any other case he would have lodged a complaint with the management.
He, Tim Drake-Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Bruce Wayne were all seated around a small table. In the center of the table was a board game: Monopoly, with its neat sheafs of garishly-colored paper money and inane property names.
Someone was going to get stabbed. He could just feel it. If no one made the first move, Damian would be forced to do it himself. The only question was, Drake or Todd? And what were the odds of making it look like he'd just...slipped and put a knife between their ribs?
"Isn't this just the best," Dick gushed, his smile wide as he doled out paper money. "All of us together, playing a board game like a real family?"
"Family," Jason deadpanned, lighting a cigarette. "Right."
"Jason," Father said, with a warning in his voice. Todd didn't say anything---just pulled his lip in a sneer---but he ground out the cig and looked even more annoyed, if possible.
Cassandra was 'helping' Stephanie hand out all of the pieces. Her methods of determining who got what were abstract at best.
"Bruce gets the tophat," Stephanie said, passing the metal piece to Cass, who then passed it to Bruce. "Because he's a classy S.O.B.. Dick gets the hotrod, because it's a penis joke, just like him. Tim gets the wheelbarrow, because he's a complete tool. Damian gets the dog, because he's a little bitch. Jason gets the shoe, because he's a dirty hobo. Cass, you get the battleship because you're a badass, and I get the iron because I'm too hot to handle."
"I object to all of that," Damian growled, shooting metaphorical daggers at Steph. If the uppity woman continued in that vein, they wouldn't be metaphorical for long. "With the exception of your analysis of Drake and Todd."
"Hey," Tim said, scowling. "I resent that."
"And I resent you using my name, but I don't whine about it now, do I?"
"Boys," Bruce warned, which momentarily simmered the Robin in-fighting. "Let's just start the game and try to enjoy ourselves. Monopoly can be a game of strategy just as legitimate as chess."
"Yeah, a game of corporate strategy," Tim agreed, because he tended to do that whenever Bruce said anything. "If everyone would just cool it for five minutes, this could be fun."
"Fun?" Jason repeated, and Cass and Steph exchanged a look that said here we go... "Fun? You think that it's fun to be controlled by the bank, to prey on your friends and family? Let's discuss endgame here. The aim of this game is to be rich as fuck, to own everything, and to bankrupt everyone else. So no, dickwad, I don't think that this is going to be fun."
"Jason," Bruce sighed. "We talked about this."
"YOU AREN'T MY REAL DAD," Jason bellowed, and flipped the table. "YOU OWN PARK PLACE, BUT YOU DON'T OWN ME!"
"This is why we can't have game night," Damian told Dick, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No," Dick sighed as a rainbow of paper bills fluttered to the ground around them. "This is why we can't have nice things."