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I can’t say I wasn’t surprised when Master Bruce came home from the circus with a young boy. My, at the time, sixteen-year-old charge rarely left the manor much less socialized. Nevertheless, Bruce had found himself a little brother and when the young master got an idea in his head it was rather hard to dissuade him. Thus, Dick Grayson became Richard Grayson-Wayne. I had thought, in the beginning, that this new dynamic would surely end in disaster. Master Bruce had quite efficiently shut himself off from the outside world after his parents died.
So I was rather pleased when the boys, instead of stifling each other, managed to fit their broken pieces together to make a beautiful, harmonic picture. Master Bruce bravely stepped up and filled the big brother role gracefully. They had a few missteps, but all in all the boys were wonderful together. Master Bruce drove Master Dick to and from school every day, rain or shine. Even when they were fuming at each other, Bruce would eat breakfast with his little brother and drive him to school.
Dick was there when Bruce discovered that the board members of Wayne Enterprises were embezzling money. He was there when Bruce firmly took control of his parent’s company and cleansed the rot from his legacy. Bruce was there when Dick’s parents fell to their deaths. At the funeral, he was there with Dick, a pillar of strength stationed at the boy’s back. Bruce accompanied Dick when the boy visited their graves for the first time and every time after that.
Dick’s first sports competition was quite the event. Bruce has never understood the word moderation and was convinced he should order catering from no less than three restaurants. Dick switched between laughing until he was red in the face and sternly ordering his older brother not to embarrass him. A lost battle from the beginning, I’m afraid.
I do believe that was the first time Bruce had left the manor grounds in months and hundreds of paparazzi flooded the stadium. The pictures of Bruce waving a foam hand enthusiastically and screaming cheers are a favorite of mine to this day. Commissioner Gorden asked to be informed of all other public outings henceforth.
I’m sure you can imagine my displeasure when my eighteen-year-old charge announced in the middle of dinner that he would not, in fact, be going to college, but instead would be becoming a vigilante.
Just as I was about to open my mouth and ask where on earth Bruce got such an idiotic idea from, little Dick, who was twelve at that point, piped up and said he would also like to become a superhero. Luckily Bruce agreed with me on that front, and it was agreed all Waynes had to be fifteen at the very least before they could fight crime on the streets of Gotham.
Unfortunately, there was no discouraging Master Bruce and six months later Batman made his debut. I had a few stipulations, however. The first was that Bruce had to satisfy me with his combat training and that he would still continue his education.
So for the next six months, I drilled Bruce until he dropped each day. Basic medical treatment, stealth, agility, parkour, hand-to-hand, aim, accuracy, knife throwing, and hacking. We went through it all. It took a while, but eventually, I had to admit that he was adequately prepared. In truth, Bruce had exceeded every one of my expectations.
Dick had the brilliant idea to tell the media Bruce went off to college so that no one would accuse the Wayne Heir of being Batman when the vigilante started appearing. So the public of Gotham said goodbye to their golden prince and welcomed their dark knight. That first year was horrifying, well, for me. Every gunshot filtered through the comms was a fatal wound. Every scream Bruce’s.
I lost decades of my life during that time, I’m sure of it. It became clear though, with every foiled mugging and rescued child, that Batman was making a difference, and against my better judgment, the fear was replaced by pride. A good amount of worry remained, to be clear, but I was largely able to relax.
Of course, it was just as the nightly patrols were beginning to become routine that Bruce brought home a second child. Dick had final exams coming up, so I was up in the family room helping him study, and the Batcave computers were unmanned. Thus we were rather caught off guard when Bruce came strolling into the room with a thrashing, cussing pre-teen. His subsequent explanation that the lad tried to steal the Batcar’s tires was not enlightening in the slightest.
“Master Bruce,” I remember saying, Dick stifling his giggles behind me. “This is not how adoption works.”
“More like abduction,” the as of then unnamed child snarled and Dick lost the battle against laughter. Master Bruce simply shrugged, easily keeping hold of the squirming boy.
“He was starving, Alfred,” Bruce had said, and that had been that. Bruce Wayne made his dramatic return from the college he never went to and adopted another child. Jason Todd-Wayne became the darling of Gotham practically overnight, regardless of the fact no one had seen so much as a picture of the lad yet. Master Jason was an altogether different beast than Master Dick had been. There was no grief or dreadful depression. With Dick, it had been a matter of helping him through the mourning process and bonding with him as much as possible.
Master Jason, on the other hand, tried to run away no less than four times in his first week at the manor alone. He accused us of taking him to be our in-home rent boy, being serial killers, vampires, a mob, and finally that Bruce is secretly a dragon that hoards blue-eyed, black-haired orphans. He wouldn’t acknowledge any attempts of assuring him we are not supernatural creatures, pedophiles, or criminals for weeks. I don’t believe Master Jason really started to settle until a nightmare woke him one night and I was there with a mug of hot chocolate, Master Bruce with a new book to read aloud, and Master Dick with an unending supply of cuddles.
As Master Jason began to acclimate to life in the manor, more and more of his personality was revealed. The boy has a weakness for any form of literature, but the classics are his favorites. Jason can’t go more than two sentences without cursing and has an affinity for baking. Master Jason’s love language is quality time which correlates well with Master Dick’s preference for physical touch and Master Bruce’s fondness for acts of service. I can’t count how many times I’ve found them curled up on a couch just existing with each other. They’ll be engaged in their own activities but completely present with one another. It is always a beautiful sight.
Master Dick took up the mantle of Robin on his fifteenth birthday, after passing my training regime, of course. Somehow the second time was no less heartstopping than the first. Batman and Robin worked well together, though, and Gotham swiftly fell in love with the younger hero. Robin, with his bright colors and snappy commentary, was starkly different from Batman, but the two of them never faltered. When they fought together it looked as though it had been choreographed, they danced so smoothly around each other. Batman and Robin made a frighteningly effective team, and the criminals of Gotham paled before them.
Master Jason, being three years younger than Dick, protested loudly about being left behind. He just couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to suit up as well. The night Bruce came storming out of the Batcave screaming Jason’s name was the worst of my life. A domino mask was missing and the last thing looked up on the Batcomputer was the Joker’s last known location. Jason had snuck out to hunt down the Joker in some misguided attempt to prove himself. My youngest, my Jaylad, was walking right into the Joker’s hands, arguably the most vicious of Gotham’s villains.
The next few hours were, in one word, hectic. Batman and Robin flew all around Gotham searching for their missing brother. Well past midnight and nearing first light, the heroes tirelessly combed through the streets. I can’t possibly count how many warehouses they stormed or the number of criminals they interrogated. For many long, horrible hours they found nothing. The Joker left many taunting messages for Bruce and Dick to find, videos of piercing screams and goading jeers. I was forced to stay behind in the Batcave to decode them all, stuck behind microscopes and computers while my eldest boys searched frantically.
In the end, however, it was the Joker’s own hubris that led to his downfall. One of the mocking videos showed a little too much, and I was able to glean a location from it. The Batmobile has never moved faster, Bruce must have broken all traffic laws in existence in that mad dash to his youngest brother. Commissioner Gorden, bless his soul, had his officers clear the streets and look the other way. The roads of Gotham were deserted that night, occupied only by the Batmobile’s racing shadow and conveniently distracted police officers.
The scene waiting for Batman and Robin when they crashed into the abandoned warehouse was equal parts heartbreaking and gruesome. The Joker had Jason tied to the ceiling with rusted, silver chains. Jason was slumped, hanging roughly from his wrists and unconscious. The Joker was holding a bloody crowbar, clacking madly about how he was going to kill the littlest bird. He clearly wasn’t expecting Batman and Robin to arrive so soon and he was wholly unprepared for their unmatched rage.
Robin sprinted to Jason immediately, moving almost too fast for me to follow. Batman took stock of the situation with a single glance. Joker had tried to hit Robin’s unprotected back, but Batman caught the crowbar before it could land. The following battle was brutal, savage, and over quickly. Bruce lashed out with his full strength, and the Joker fell rapidly to his ruthless viciousness. Dick released Jason easily, catching the boy before he could hit the hard ground. The Joker had rigged the warehouse with explosives and my boys didn’t bother with dismantling them.
Batman simply warned the G.P.C.D away from the building and left the Joker to suffer the punchline of his own callous joke. The ride to the Batcave was almost as fast as the journey to the warehouse. Jason was brought home and into my care as quickly as Bruce could safely manage. The poor boy was in a dreadful state, but one he would soon recover from. With the right care and medication, there wouldn’t even be any lasting effects. I remember thinking it was a miracle at the time, and still do. Jason did eventually make a full recovery, Bruce and Dick hovering over him the whole time.
Joker had also managed to survive the explosions. He was badly injured, in an unresponsive coma, but I had lived too long in Gotham at that point to believe that was the end of it. Bruce has a very strict set of morals, something I am proud of and respect him for, but I do not share the same sentiments. Bruce Wayne does not kill, does not allow himself the easy victory. I, on the other hand, have no quarrels doing whatever is necessary to protect my boys, my family. The Joker had proved himself a deadly threat and he had to go.
Over my many years of service to the Wayne family, I’ve killed seven times to protect them. I have injured a great deal more, of course, but only seven died from my actions. Orphaned billionaires make for enticing prey, after all, and I’ve found a shotgun is the best defense against home invasion. What Master Bruce doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I do believe Commissioner Gorden has multiple files marked closed sitting in his desk that are titled, ‘Attempted Kidnappings of Bruce Wayne’.
So, with the knowledge acquired from eleven years of raising the Wayne Heir and three years watching over Batman, I quietly made my way to Gotham’s best hospital in the dead of night. I walked with the confidence of someone who belongs and nobody bothered me on my journey to the Prince of Crime’s room. The two guards standing outside his door and the subsequent cameras were easily taken care of. I had brought a rare poison with me, a useful weapon that would make it seem like the Joker succumbed to his injuries, and killing one of Gotham's worst villains was as simple as injecting the poison into his IV.
The news announced the Joker’s quiet passing the very next day. A startlingly anti-climatic ending for such a terror, but no one was willing to question it. Not a single person mourned the clown, not even the sociopaths that claimed to worship him. Bruce investigated the Joker’s death for a grand total of nine hours before writing it off as good luck and thanking god. The only people who ever suspected my involvement were Jason, who thanked me quietly a week after his rescue, and Commissioner Gorden, who simply raised a glass from across a ballroom and added another file to his desk.
Life moved on, and Gotham slowly began to heal from the Clown’s reign of wicked mischief. Luckily no one ever figured out the Joker’s last act of terror was torturing Jason Todd-Wayne, or if they did they never said anything. Eventually, it was Batman alone who remained affected by the Joker’s demise. Almost losing one of his brothers broke something in Bruce and the boys and I had to watch helplessly as Batman grew harsher and harsher. No longer did the Dark Knight pull his punches, criminals were obliterated without mercy. Batman’s mission was becoming more about punishing criminals and less about saving the innocents.
Just as I was really starting to get worried, the third boy showed up at our door. Literally. It seems we were not the only ones to notice Bruce’s advancing brutality and one Timothy Drake decided to do something about it. Tim marched into our lives with all the grace of a rampaging elephant and basically demanded a spot in the family. He, excuse my French, bullshitted his way right into all of our hearts and carved out a spot for himself. Bruce got an alert that the Batcave doors were opening in the middle of dinner and was rightfully alarmed. My eldest raced off to his secret base instantly, Dick and Jason at his heels.
I followed at a more sedate pace and arrived just in time to see a skinny boy, a year or two younger than Jason, point at Bruce and declare him Batman, identifying Dick as Robin seconds later. Jason started laughing immediately, collapsing to the ground in a fit of giggles. Dick was similarly amused, grinning broadly at the young boy. Bruce made a valiant effort to look annoyed and suspicious, but I could see his lips twitching. I quickly resigned myself to a new addition to the family, rather charmed myself.
It turns out Tim possesses a mind to rival even Bruce’s, and the lad swiftly found a place for himself in our nighttime activities. Tim went to the same school as Jason, and his parents were never around then, so he came home with Jason most days. The evenings and weekends were spent around the manor or exploring Gotham. Bruce loves to take the boys to all manner of restaurants, high class and low, always looking for a new experience. Jason calls Bruce the least snobby, snobby rich person ever.
Dick enjoys any activity with a physical element, and many weekends were spent rock climbing or challenging each other to laser tag. Jason could spend hours at any establishment with books, libraries, and stores alike. He’s always ready to drag his brothers with him to comb the shelves for his next read. Tim prefers the days they go somewhere surrounded by nature. The boy loves to take his camera and capture the quiet peace of wildlife. I, predictably, adore when all my boys are under one roof, preferably mine, making chaos.
With a new person to learn to love, and his days filled with Wayne Enterprises and school, Bruce slowly began to calm down. With help of his family, Batman rediscovered how to walk the fragile line between being efficient and unnecessary violence. Batman and Robin became a seamless team once again, and I could stop worrying that the G.C.P.D would decide Batman is too big of a threat and start shooting on sight. One of the Joker’s last crimes was the crippling of Commissioner Gorden’s daughter, Barbara Gorden. The spirited young woman didn't let that slow her down in the slightest and swiftly demanded she be allowed to join our growing crime-fighting team. Thus Oracle was born and Batman and Robin gained technical support.
Barbara and Tim operated the computers, Oracle offering an eye in the sky as it were and Tim a fast mind to bounce theories off of. Jason focused mostly on his training, unwilling to be so vulnerable again, and helping me with medical assistance and the equipment. Altogether we made a well-ordered team, and Commissioner Gorden pretended not to notice his daughter sneaking out and the Wayne children picking and dropping her off every night. I’m quite sure Gorden figured out Batman’s identity only weeks after the vigilante started appearing.
We didn’t discover the true extent of the Drake’s abandonment for many months. I had thought it odd, of course, that Tim’s parents never seemed to be home, but I dismissed those concerns because Tim was always healthy. It wasn’t until Tim was absent for a full three days did we start to worry. Bruce had looked extensively into Jack and Janet Drake when Tim became a permanent fixture in our lives. Other than a weird amount of business trips there was nothing to find. Tim never said anything so Bruce resolved to keep a close eye on the matter but to let it go for now. I even remember helping my eldest come to that conclusion, a decision I would regret a few months later.
Tim sometimes had to play the dutiful son for his parents, so I wasn’t concerned until three days had gone by without any communication. On the third night, I sent Jason over to the Darke household to investigate, conveniently located right next door. Jason called in a panic only twenty minutes later, babbling worriedly about fever and Tim. After I managed to pull enough coherent words from Jason to understand the situation, I swiftly made my way over. If I didn’t already have a fully stocked medical wing meant to serve highly injured vigilantes, I would have had to rush Tim to a hospital.
Tim had a raging fever, his temperature fluctuating around 103.0 F. He was shaking so bad I had to assist Jason when the boy tried to help Tim off his bed. Tim had a sore throat so painful he could barely talk, and worst of all he was genuinely confused about why we were worrying so much. Apparently getting the flu is a yearly event, something Tim is left alone to deal with every time. Batman and Robin were out patrolling that night so it wasn’t until the early morning that Bruce found out about Tim’s illness. Needless to say, he was not pleased. Leaving a child alone at any time is a disciple act, doing so when you knew the before mentioned child is severely sick is criminal.
Bruce Wayne promptly went to war. Abuse of any kind is not to be tolerated, especially when it is directed at one of Bruce’s younger brothers. After a brutal court case, Timothy Drake became Tim Drake-Wayne and the elder Drakes lost millions. Bruce, of course, was not appeased with just a squandered fortune. Wayne Enterprises undermined all of Drake Inc.’s business deals until Jack Drake was forced to surrender his company. Bruce set up all the leftover holdings in a trust for Tim when he gets older.
By the time Master Bruce was 22, the Wayne family had grown by three members and Gotham had gained two protectors.
It’s been three years since then. Jason joined the crime-fighting team last spring, taking on the mantle of Robin. Dick has decided to pass on his sick-kick identity and become Nightwing. So far I’d say it’s working out rather well. Nightwing patrols mostly on his own, and Batman and the new Robin make for a swell team. Jason greatly enjoys confusing Gotham’s Police force, who are all confused about the multiplying Robins, with his presence.
Bruce graduated from Gotham College’s online academy at 24 years old, and Dick started classes just last year. Tim eagerly awaits his fifteenth birthday, already dying to help protect our city. You’d think at least one of my children would want to avoid the vigilante lifestyle, but no such luck as of yet.
At the moment I’m preparing for a short trip to Tibet, specifically to Nanda Parbat. Perhaps you are wondering why I plan to visit the residence of the League of Assassins. Well about nine months ago, Batman was stolen right off the streets of Gotham. Now that was not our first run-in with the League of Assassins or their Leader’s weird obsession with Bruce, but it was the first time Ra’s al Ghul had dared attack in our homeland.
For five solid days, there was nothing, just the torn sleeve of the batsuit and the signs of a deadly fight. I even left Barbara and Tim in charge of the Batcave and helped Robin and Nightwing search the underbelly of Gotham.
I’m sure you can imagine my fury when I finally did track down my eldest. I found Bruce tied to a bed in a seedy motel room that reeked of sex. He was completely naked save for the coarse ropes tied around his wrists and ankles. There weren’t any visible injuries, but it soon became clear Bruce was thoroughly drugged.
Further tests in the Batcave revealed it was some type of date-rape drug. Meant to lower the recipient’s inhibitions and render Bruce weak and confused. There was a truly insane amount of the drug in Bruce’s system, proving once and for all that my boy’s stubborn streak can only be beaten with a heavy dose of mind-controlling substances.
It was only three days after Bruce had been rescued that he was coherent enough to identify his attacker. Talia al Ghul. The Demon Head’s daughter. Talia has been convinced for some time now that she and Bruce are destined to marry and refuses to call him anything other than beloved.
Now I’ve never claimed to be a genius, but I am certainly no fool. When my son’s rapist disappears for nine months after forcing herself on him and then returns smugger than ever with slightly wider hips, it doesn’t take much more than that to connect the dots. No, it is clear I have a grandson in dire need of liberation. The League of Assassins is no place to raise a child, after all.
It’s very rare I leave my boys on their own, and I’ve left detailed instructions, but I still fully expect to come home to an abundance of pizza boxes and an impressive mess. Dick can’t go a day without causing mischief and Tim and Jason are just as bad. Bruce, I’m sure, will try to protest in the beginning, but will be quickly conquered when issued a challenge. Dick can get his brothers to do just about anything if he dares to question their valor or honor. It is quite possible I’ve raised a bunch of hooligans. Loveable ones, to be sure, but hooligans nonetheless.
Wayne Enterprises’ private jet always makes for a pleasant journey, and in no time at all, I’m landing in Tibet. For the main headquarters of the League of Assassins, Nanda Parbat is distastefully easy to break into. The winding hallways were mildly annoying, but it hasn’t taken me longer than an hour to locate Talia’s rooms. There are four guards stationed at her door, but they were rather taken aback by an older British gentleman holding a duffle bag and dressed in a flawless suit. Those few moments of shock were all I needed to soundlessly dispatch of them.
The League is very good at teaching its Assassins the handling of swords and arrows, but they are woefully unprepared for a modern attack. Something my effortless invasion proves. Talia al Ghul sleeps peacefully in her bed as I slip into her room. She doesn’t even twitch as I surround her resting place with hidden traps that will subdue her if she tries to attack me. It has been many years since I’ve served in her Majesties’ army and I find myself surprised that this woman managed to get the drop on Bruce in full Batman regalia. I guess even trained assassins tend to foolishly let their guard down in their home bases. A fatal mistake for one Talia al Ghul.
Pushed into a barren corner of the room is a stone crib that can’t possibly be comfortable. A little tan-skinned baby is resting fitfully in its cold embrace. The poor lad is clearly uncomfortable but has been taught to stay quiet, to never voice his discomfort. A bright rage burns within me at the thought of what measures were used to teach a child this young that lesson so thoroughly. It is a simple matter to liberate the boy of the thin, scratchy robe he was dressed in and into a soft onesie. I hand him a pacifier filled with applesauce and the lad settles down nicely, content to lay his small head on my shoulder.
Now all there is left to do is wait for the sleeping vixen to wake. It will be my genuine pleasure to tear the peacefulness show cased on her face away.There’s a reasonably comfortable chair a convenient distance away from the bed that I sit down in, prepared to wait. About ten minutes go by before the senses they love to boast about alert the assassin to the dangerous presence lurking in her room. Talia’s eyes snap open, but she freezes almost immediately after when she registers the red dot painted on her chest.
“Guns are a coward’s weapon,” Talia snarls, glaring hatefully from her bed. I smile mockingly back at her, gently bouncing my first grandchild in my arms.
“And yet they remain a useful one,” I counter smoothly, nodding to the multiple guns around the room. All of them are pointed at her. “They are all motion activated. Just to be clear, you move, you die.”
“Who are you?” She demands, as still as a statue.
“Tsk, tsk, you claim to love my eldest, but do not recognize the man who helped raise him,” I scold, sighing as if greatly disappointed. Talia’s eyes widen minutely, staring at me in disbelief.
“You’re the butler,” she exclaims incredulously. I nod in agreement, smiling faintly. From her flinch, I gather she understands the threat hidden in my cordial expression.
“Yes, I am, and I’m rather good at my job, Miss Al Ghul,” I inform her, staring her down.
“What do you want?” She inquires snidely. I raise a single eyebrow and look pointedly at the bundle in my arms. Her face reddens angrily when she interprets my meaning.
“No,” She snarls, her arms twitching from the effort it takes to keep from surging forward and running me through. “You can’t take him.”
“I think you’ll find I can,” I retort, gesturing to her trapped self.
“He’s mine,” Talia insists, her glare poisonous in its intensity.
“No, Miss Al Ghul, I think you’ll find he is not,” I correct, matching her glare with one of my own.
“Bruce is-”
“Master Bruce is nothing to you,” I cut her off, seething. Her eyes widen once more, this time staring at me in shock. “You are his rapist and nothing more, Miss Al Ghul. You should count yourself lucky I didn’t just kill you and take the child.”
“Batman doesn’t kill,” she protests weakly, stilling for an altogether different reason this time.
“Miss Al Ghul, do I look like Batman to you?” I ask sarcastically, letting a truly mean smile split my lips. “In this case, however, you are right. I wouldn’t simply kill you, the crimes you’ve committed against my family are just too dire for such an easy solution.”
“No, if I was going to take my revenge I would. Skin. You. Alive,” I ground out, gazing calmly at her. I’ve been reliably told my impassive act is far scarier than my wrathful one. Talia shrinks back, she’s been around killers long enough to recognize the truth in my threat.
“You will stay away from my family, and all of our nighttime partners,” I order, rising gracefully to my feet. “This child is no longer under your care. Tell your father to steer clear of Gotham. Raising a small child is not the ideal time to wage war with the League of Assassins, but I will do what is necessary to protect my family. Do you understand?”
Talia nods frantically, avoiding my direct gaze. It seems I’ve still got it, as the kids say.
“Wonderful, I’m so glad we’re on the same page. I do hope for your sake, Miss Al Ghul, that this is the last time we will see each other,” I remark, striding to the door.
“His name is Damian,” Talia calls quietly, perhaps a bit desperately. I fill the beginnings of guilt stir in my gut, but I ruthlessly push it down. If given the right opportunities Talia Al Ghul might have been a wonderful mother, but that is not her fate in this world. She has hurt the people I love too badly and on far too many occasions to be trusted with the newest member of my family. Besides, the League of Assassins is no place to raise a child. I nod once in acknowledgment, allowing her the honor of naming her child. Talia relaxes slightly and firmly looks away.
My journey out of Nanda Parbat is just as uneventful as my trip in. The jet is waiting for me when I reach the airport and minutes later we are back in the air. Little Damian sleeps peacefully through this all, poor lad must have been exhausted. With my limited experience with newborns, I would have to estimate that Damian is around two months old. I do believe getting him to a proper doctor should be my first task after introducing the lad to his father. Wayne Manor is quiet around me as I travel through the halls, its lights off and occupants sleeping.
I find my boys just where I had predicted they’d be. Every time Bruce goes away on a business trip, rare as that is, his younger brothers will sleep in the family room on the night of his return. Bruce will stumble in and collapse onto the puppy pile his brothers formed while waiting for him to come home. It’s always a pleasant sight to come down to in the morning and it’s just as adorable this time.
They’ve dragged what looks like all the pillows and blankets we own to the middle of the room, the furniture pushed to the sides. Bruce is laying on his back smack dab in the middle, Jason and Dick are curled into his sides and Tim is tucked in right on his chest. The muted T.V. casts changing shadows on the boys as they cuddle beneath it, lost to the seductions of slumber.
“Those are your uncles and father, little man,” I tell Damian quietly, the baby only just now waking. Bruce jerks awake immediately at the sound of my voice and I get to witness the extremely amusing sight of Bruce trying to wiggle out of the pile without waking anyone. Tim grumbles discontentedly when Bruce repositions him so he’s laying on Dick, but he settles down easily enough when the older boy sleepily pulls him closer. Bruce looks over to me with a smitten smile only to freeze when he registers the baby sleeping in my arms.
“I- is that- I had thought-'' Bruce stutterers, shock seeping into his gaze as he stares at Damian.
“It seems Talia had an ulterior motive, after all, Master Bruce,” I observe quietly, motioning to the baby. Bruce reaches for Damian, a look of wonder slowly taking over his features before suddenly stilling.
“Wait,” Bruce hisses, glaring at me. “Where did you find him? Alfred, tell me you didn’t go to Nanda Par-”
I quickly thrust the drowsy child into his arms, effectively distracting Bruce. Oh dear, I shall have to endeavor to be conveniently absent any time after this that Bruce wonders such things. It wouldn’t do if my eldest discovered the many deeds I’ve committed in the name of his protection and happiness.
“His name is Damian, Master Bruce,” I inform him softly, a warm smile on my face. Bruce nods absently, preoccupied with gazing wonderly at his son. He cradles Damian gently, extending soft fingers to tenderly touch the baby’s plush face.
“I- Alfred, how do I care for a baby?” Bruce asks desperately, love and fear warring for dominance in his tone.
“I imagine being a father isn’t much different than being an older brother, Master Bruce,” I reply soothingly, clasping his shoulder. “You seemed to have figured that out rather well.”
“Not always,” Bruce whispers timidly, like he is confessing a great sin.
“My dear boy, you are human and are bound to make mistakes. No one can claim perfection and if they do, they are lying,” I say, chuckling a little. Bruce grins at me, sufficiently distracted. “Besides, Master Bruce, you will not be alone in this.”
Bruce turns to gaze at the pile of sleeping boys with warm, blue eyes. Dick has Tim wrapped securely in his arms and Jason has managed to scoot close enough to drape himself over Tim’s back.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Bruce murmurs decidedly, nodding.
“Of course, we are, Master Bruce,” I agree fondly.
“Hello Damian, welcome home,” Bruce whispers to the baby looking curiously around the room. Bruce sinks tiredly into one of the family room’s leather couches, gazing at Damian with adoring eyes.
“Is that a baby?!?” Ah, it seems Master Jason has awakened. Yes, I think contently, watching as the boys crowd around Bruce, we are going to be okay.