Chapter Text
Damian stepped back into the manor for the first time in years.
It was … lively.
Damian knew his father had adopted a bunch of kids, but he wasn’t prepared for what that meant. See, the manor wasn’t completely silent when he was a kid, but it also wasn’t loud. It was the scamper of dog paws across the floor, the soft meows in the hallways, and the quiet breaths of a young assassin.
This manor was the complete opposite. No one was even in the foyer, yet he could hear yelling from the dining room, video games in the living room, and loud footsteps across the halls. It was a little overwhelming.
He nearly turned around and walked out the door, his hand still on the small suitcase he’d packed. Damian hadn’t told anyone he was visiting; hell, he hadn’t seen his father, outside of occasionally crossing paths on patrol, for almost 5 years. From the moment he moved out at 16 till now, he hasn’t visited once. It wasn’t intentional; it's just neither of them ever reached out.
Now he’s standing in his childhood home, suitcase full of clothes for a few nights' stay, and questioning what led him to this point. He even knew that the Drake kid’s birthday was coming up and got him a gift– even if it was just a gift card for a local coffee shop. He planned everything, except how he’d greet them.
Maybe he should have called first.
Perhaps he’ll just leave, send the gift card through the mail. They’d question it, but much less than Damian just showing up.
“Damian?”
And there goes that idea.
Damian looked towards the kitchen and found Alfred standing in the doorway. He had a serving tray with drinks and cookies on it in his hands; the tray was promptly set down as he hurried towards Damian.
“Master Damian, it's been-”
“5 years, you should change the locks more often.” Damian internally cringed. He’d been working on being nicer, but it seems that was all thrown out the window. Alfred didn’t seem to mind, though; he only smiled and looked Damian over.
“That we should have,” he glanced around as if checking for people, “but Master Bruce has been holding out hope for your return.”
That sent Damian’s thoughts skidding to a stop. He’d been waiting? It wasn’t like Damian cut off all communication; Bruce could have called, but he just didn’t. Granted, Damian didn’t call either, but he also had no reason to.
“Alfred! Jason won’t put money in the swear jar!” A blonde teen came running into the foyer, a second girl following her.
“One moment, Miss Stephanie, we currently have a visitor.” Alfred stepped out of the way, letting the girls see Damian fully.
“Oh, hi!” She practically ran over to him, full of too much energy, “I’m Stephanie, though you can just call me Steph. Oh, and this is Cass!”
Damian nodded. He’d seen Brown in pictures and videos, but she seemed the same in person as she did in the media. Cain, on the other hand, rarely shows up in the media; she’s a complete wildcard.
“I am Damian Wayne.”
“Wayne? As in Bruce Wayne? Are you Bruce’s cousin or something? But you look too young to be his cousin.” Brown was immediately in his face asking questions.
“He is Master Bruce’s oldest son,” Alfred explained, guiding the girl to take a few steps back. She stared up at Damian, her mouth hanging open slightly.
“Wait, what? Why did he never say he has another son?! And a bio one! Wait, that means Bruce had sex, oh god I’m gonna barf.” Brown dramatically placed her hand over her mouth and mimed gagging.
“Language, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred called out. He was slowly trying to inch towards Damian’s suitcase. Sensing this would be a battle he’d lose, Damian handed it over without a fight.
“But that’s not a curse word! Right Damian?! It’s not a curse word!” Brown turned back to Damian, but the young man was indifferent to her plight.
“I am going to go to my room. Pennyworth, is it safe to assume my room has remained my room?” Damian asked, already heading towards the stairs.
“You would be correct in the assumption.”
Damian nodded, already walking up the stairs. It would be a long next couple of days, he could already feel the migraine coming on.
__________
Damian spun the card in his hand absent-mindedly. His thoughts were stuck on the father he once knew, that man who seemed to exist no longer. In the place of the man he once knew is now a loving and doting father. A man who took in children in need of a home and gave them so much more.
Not the father who rarely even acknowledged Damian’s existence. The father who never showed up to parent-teacher events at school. The father who didn’t even refer to Damian as his son. The father that …
Wished he didn’t have a biological son.
But Damian isn’t jealous. He never cared. The manor was a place to eat and sleep, and that was more than enough.
He pushed himself to stand, stuffing the card in his back pocket.
There was no noise in the hallway. Damian quickly found out everyone else was on a different floor of the manor. The same floor as Bruce’s bedroom, which he was never allowed to go in or even near. It was like the man had tried to forget his first son.
The afternoon sun sent shadows across the hall’s floor, intricate patterns carved from light. A thin layer of dust settled on every surface, as if even Alfred forgot this part of the manor.
Damian wished he could forget it. He wished he could forget the reason why this was the only area his paintings were ever hung. He wished he could forget why he was so far away from his father. He wished he could forget the hours spent pacing that hallway. Wondering why?
Why?
But those memories are stuck with him. There’s no pretending they don’t exist, burying them away to be covered with dust.
Unlike Bruce, he will face his past with his head held high.
So it’s with that confidence that he marched down to his father’s office to demand the respect he deserves. Not because he needs it, but because he’s no longer the child who once wished his father would just look him in the eyes.
He pushed open the doors, not bothering to knock.
And
Bruce wasn’t there?
What?
Damian looked around, confused. His father was almost always in his office. Did he go to work? Maybe he was in the Batcave?
He stopped and listened for a second, hearing a deep booming laugh. It almost sounded like Bruce? But his father rarely laughs, Damian used to wonder if the man was even capable of laughing.
The laughter was coming from one of the sitting rooms. One Damian used to hide in because no one else was ever in it. It had bookshelves lining the walls and three sofas surrounding a coffee table. The best part was the floor-to-ceiling windows at the perfect location to bathe the room in sunlight in the evening.
Damian crept down the hall, listening as more voices joined the laughter. He found it hard to believe it could be coming from that sitting room. The same one that used to never hold sounds louder than the turning of pages and the soft meows of a cat. His sitting room?
The doors were cracked open a little to reveal the sitting room, but it wasn’t Damian’s sitting room. Two of the couches were rearranged to completely face away from the door, the third one missing entirely. The coffee table was covered in snacks and drinks, and Damian cringed at the lack of coasters. Perhaps the worst offense was the TV stand and flat screen that now partially blocked the sun’s light from entering the room.
And there, on the left couch, Damian’s father sat surrounded by his adopted children. They were all there, playing some racing game on the TV, in Damian’s sitting room! They’d changed everything about it, maybe not physically, but it was still different. There were a thousand other sitting rooms and living rooms (actually only 6 others, he counted), yet they had to choose this one.
Damian took a breath to calm down and pushed the door further open. No one even noticed over the sounds of the game and the laughing and the yelling. Damian cringed a little at the noise. It was too loud compared to what he was used to.
The game ended quickly, and Bruce lost by a landslide. Yet the man didn’t yell or lose his patience; instead, he just threw his head back and laughed. He turned to hand his remote off to someone else when he finally seemed to notice Damian and froze.
“Damn, B, you look like you saw a ghost,” a young teen laughed. He stopped laughing when Bruce didn’t even blink at his language.
Damian and Bruce stood at a standstill, neither willing to speak first. Damian raised an eyebrow, glancing at the scene in front of him. The man opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally settling on one word.
“Damian?”