Most, if not all of the family's children, Damian had to admit, had appeared in their lives in unforeseen and impressive ways. From Jason's attempt to steal the Batmovile's rims and Dick's parent's unfortunate murder to Lady Shiva's battered form as she handed her daughter to Tim during battle.
So it wasn't such a surprise when Tim called Damian to his own home to find him sitting in the kitchen isle, sipping a cup of steaming coffee and staring at the ten year old child currently sleeping on his couch.
"Timothy?" he asked, frowning.
"Don't ask me," Tim said shrugging. "I woke up this morning and he was here. I thought you had sent him here."
"I wouldn't send you another kid," Damian scowled. "We have enough as it is."
Tin raised an eyebrow, knowing his lover didn't approve of his stray-picking tendencies – he would always huff and protest that the children stole Timothy's attention from him, but Tim knew he really was a big softy that loved all his sons and daughter madly – and would sometimes have to drag him away from Crime Alley in fear he would pick another kid.
"Then there is no logical explanation, is there?" Tim asked, far too calm for Damian's tastes.
"Tt," he snapped. "Beloved, you should upgrade your security."
"I did, remember? Right after I upgraded yours," Tim deadpanned, pouting. Damian sighed and kissed the pout away.
"A prank?" he asked.
"Jason is out of town and Steph is training the new Batgirl, remember? Barbara?"
Both men stared at the child, trying to determine his origin by his clothing or the dirt in his shoes. Failing and frustrated by such fact, Damian decided he might as well do the only intelligent thing he could.
With a snap of his wrist, he pulled the blankets covering the child away, his frown deepening when the boy became instantly awake and stood, brandishing a sword against them both.
A trained kid, then.
Unusual.
"Do not presume!" the child snapped, eyes narrowed. Tim and Damian blinked.
"What?" Batman asked, hands clenching.
"Who sent you," Tim asked at the same time, crossing his arms over his chest. He was sure Oracle must have picked the distress signal by now and must be monitoring this meeting. Jason and Cass would be on their way if the need arose.
Or if their children became too curious, which was more than possible, considering their past antics.
He sighed when the sound of boots echoed in his drive way.
Of course.
Damian couldn't believe his eyes as he read the report Stephanie handed him. His eyes turned grim as he regarded Tim's paling face, the way he seemed to sway and falter for a second before his hand was clutching Damian's tightly.
"He's your son," he whispered, biting his lips.
"And yours," Damian added, his hand tightening around Tim.
"It is kind of funny if you ask me," Stephanie's disembodied voice flared through the speakers, her purple mask bouncing around the screen. "A perfect clone of the two of you, the closest you will ever come to have children of your own?"
"We have children of our own!" Damian protested, frowning. "Three of them."
"Four, apparently," Steph corrected, her smugness clear despite the distorted voice.
"Cut it out, Steph, please," Tim begged, taking a seat. "How could this happen, I'm sure Luthor would have never let Ra's Al Ghul within inches of his technology."
"Why don't we ask the brat?" Damian scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I don't think he will be very forthcoming about his origins," Tim commented, his own arms coming around his chest. Damian worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches him. For some reason, his beloved seems to be in the brink of collapse.
He shook his head.
"Timothy," he said, placing both hands on Tim's shoulders to capture his attention before leaning in for a kiss. "I will come back in a few days, three at most."
Tim kissed him lightly, his lips trembling.
"Where are you going?" he asked, uncertain.
"I think I can pull in a favor from someone," Damian admited, pulling the cowl over his face and walking stiffly towards one of the bikes. "Someone with reliable information."
Tim blinked, and for a moment, he looked like the child caressing Damian's frozen cheek as it snows, like the lost little boy that didn't understand love and yet was so ready to give it.
Damian won't let Timothy suffer for this.
"Who?" Tim asked finally as Damian fastens a helmet over his head.
Damian started the engine.
"My mother," he said before driving away. He won't stand for any nonsense from his estranged family.
Talia wais, of course, as young as the day he last saw her, and he couldn't help but think that they no longer look like mother and son, that the differences between them were too great now, and that such differences would continue to grow with time. He idly wondered what would have become of him had he stayed by her side and decided he doesn't want to contemplate the alternatives. Not when he has a family waiting for him at Gotham.
Not when Timothy was waiting for him.
"Mother," he called, not surprised when she doesn't even flinch in his presence. His mother could always sense him, no matter his attempts at stealth.
"Damian," she greeted, taking a sip of her glass of wine. "I take it the boy finally reached you."
Chardonnay, Damian could tell from the color and scent.
Her favorite.
"Finally?" he asked, hands clenching. "What have you done, mother, what is the meaning of this."
"I had nothing to do with the child, son," she said simply, her slender shoulders shrugging elegantly. "This was all your grandfather's doing."
"Speak, mother," he demanded, approaching her reclining figure. She showed no fear and most likely feels no threat from him. She was immortal and he was not, there was no competition from him, no danger. He narrowed his eyes, pulling his cowl back. "What has grandfather done."
His mother raised and eyebrow, eyeing his face with noticeable interest before a cruel smile curls her ruby-red lips.
"It was all your beau's fault, my son, and his refusal to bend to father's little whims," she began, sipping her wine once more. "Of course your grandfather would set eyes on your little companion and his continuous rejections had worn on his patience, as you can imagine."
"So he cloned him?" Damian hissed, a snarl showing his teeth to his mother.
She shrugged again.
"If your young Mr. Drake would not share his incommensurable talents with The League, of course father would attempt to harness that prodigious intellect for himself in some other way," she explained, eyes piercing his.
"And cloning me?"
"Please, Damian," Talia sighed. "You do know you were your grandfather's first masterpiece, a child made to perfection. Of course your precious DNA combined with your lover's intelligence would make the perfect mixture of excellence your grandfather had sought so. You are, after all, an Al Ghul."
"I am Damian Wayne," Damian growled, his hand reaching for her and knocking the glass from her delicate hand, the sound of its crashing against the wall sending a thrill of satisfaction through his system as much as her surprised expression. "And what part do you play in this? We both know you are not the mothering type."
She glared at him for a moment, her lips pursing in distaste before smoothing into an expressionless mask.
"I did try to explain the same thing, but your grandfather insisted the child needed a mother," she said evenly. "However he did not take well when I informed him he had no mother."
"You did what?"
"I am not the child's mother, Damian, and I will not entertain his ridiculous fantasies," she informed him, eyes straying to the fireplace currently lighting the room. "The boy researched you both, your lives and all the data I had on me of the two of you, and then disappeared. I guessed he would approach your home."
Damian suddenly paled, his eyes wide.
"He didn't," he whispered, instantly turning to the window. "He infiltrated Drake Manor."
"Oh," Talia mocked, rolling her eyes. "How precious."
Damian jumped through the window and into his bike, the engine roaring into the night as he hurried back home. He just left a child assassin obsessed with the idea of his absent parents alone with Timothy and his children.
"Oracle!" he yelled into his comm. "Where's Nemesis?"
"Calm down, big guy!" the woman replied. "He's on patrol with Black Bat, Alfred is looking after your baby boy."
"Call Nightwing back to the manor, Stephanie," he said urgently, his eyes wide.
"What?" she asked, obvious concern in her mechanical voice.
"Do it!"
He arrived into the manor at the same time as he saw Tim dashing from the cave, Nemesis costume still on but mask off in the rush to get home. Cassandra was running behind him, her eyes wide. All three of them stared at eachother for a second before the clashing of metal against metal alerted them their worst fears have been confirmed.
Alfred was unconscious on the floor, a small bump on his head, Cassandra instantly knelt by his side, checking for further injuries, the dilatation of his pupils, his pulse, the color of his skin, the warmth of his body.
She nodded to them.
"He's just unconscious," she whispered, eyes saddened.
Tim nodded, eyes searching the shadows of the manor.
"Steph, where's Dick?" he asked, hands clenching and unclenching nervously.
"Garden, the demon brat is with him," Oracle replied instantly. "It looks bad."
It's bad, alright.
Bad enough that Dick flies through the window, eyes narrowed in homicidal rage, dragged a shotgun from the study's vault and jumped out again, a snarl curling his mouth.
Damian peered through the window, eyes wide as his unstable son started shooting at the demon brat – who in turn evaded each shot expertly – before ducking from getting stabbed with a hunting knife himself.
"STOP!" Tim snapped, eyes wide and Dick instantly turned to the sound of his voice, always obeying his mother figure. The child, on the other hand, snarled loudly before he plunged his knife on Dick's side, deepening it as much as he could on his opponent's skin.
"Dick!" Cass cried, her legs propelling her to kick the child away from her brother.
"You," Damian hissed immediately grabbing the boy by the neck. "You come to my house, try to kill my son. Is this why grandfather sent you?"
The boy struggled against his grip, eyes wide and terrified and his whole bravado lost against the force that was Batman's wrath. Tim was tending to Dick, calling out for Cass to help him take the injured young man to the cave and for Jason to hurry into the house.
"He didn't… send me…" the child whimpered, eyes watering. "I… ran away…"
"From the League of Assassins?" Damian snarled.
"Batman, stop!" Jason yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the kid who fell limp into the ground. Damian's eyes were wide.
"Jason…" he whispered. "Richard is…"
"I know, Nemesis told me," Jason said, wrapping his arms around his father and hiding his face on the man's powerful shoulder. "It's going to be okay, you know that…"
Damian wanted to reassure his child that yes, everything would be okay, Timothy was skilled enough to help Richard and Cassandra would also assist them. The child his grandfather sent to play with their heads was skilled, yes, but not enough to actually threaten them and could be sent away soon.
No word made it past his lips however.
And Damian realized he was trembling.
When Stephanie announced that the kid has woken up, Damian tried not to flinch. He could still feel the fragile bones against his fingers, the way they bent against his strength. His hand that could have easily killed, broken the oath he swore to his parents, was now holding Dick's limp one as the young man rested, eyes swollen shut with bruises and lips cut crimson-red with their blood.
Tim placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Let's go, Damian, we need to face this," he said gently, his thumb caressing the man's skin.
Damian shook his head.
"Just put him on a plane back to grandfather," he said softly, unable to tear his eyes from Richard's calloused fingers.
"You know we can't do that…" Tim replied, eyes sad.
"We can," Damian snapped.
"Damian…"
"He ran away, dad," Richard whispered suddenly. "He says he's your legitimate son."
"Shh," Tim soothed. "Is that why you two fought?"
"He said…" Dick frowned lightly, still dizzy with painkillers most likely. "… that we had enjoyed hisparents long enough and that he wanted them back… that he deserved you two more than we did."
"And he decided to kill you when you wouldn't move.." Tim surmised, shaking his head.
"He's an animal," Damian hissed.
"He just like you when you arrived," Tim reminded him, eyes narrowed.
Damian narrowed his eyes, his teeth grinding into eachother.
"I don't know what you want from me, Timothy," he said, looking away. "Not this time."
"He reminds me of you," Timothy said simply, shaking his head. "Violent, mistrustful, alone."
"He tried to kill Richard," Damian argued, eyes wide.
"You tried to kill Alfred," Tim replied. "Just sit with him for five minutes, Beloved. That's all I'm asking. If you decide it is not worth the effort, I will personally drive him to the airport."
They locked eyes, Damian's full of ire and Tim's with calm resignation.
"You will sent him back to The League?"
"No, I will send him somewhere where he will be appreciated."
Damian rolled his eyes, standing. Timothy for all his cold calculations and inflexible will, was weak against the simple idea of a child being unwanted. Yes, Janet Drake had made a number on her child, and yes, Damian understood, and most of the time, tolerated such impulses, all three of them.
But this boy was crossing the line.
He stalked towards the holding room where the child was being held, nodding to Jason as he opened the door.
Cassandra was sitting by the boy's bedside, occasionally rubbing cream on the black and purple bruises on the child's neck.
Damian's handprint.
He shook his head when the boy's wide blue eyes met his.
The same blue, but the roundness of his eyes was all Tim.
"What is your name, boy?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
The child looked at him for a second, silence stretching into the room, before his eyes fell on his folded hands over his lap and his cheeks colored with shame.
"I don't have a name," he admitted, much to Damian's surprise. "I am the child, the boy, the clone. I don't have a name like you or your family do."
Damian stared into the embarrassed face for a moment before motioning for Cassandra to leave the room, silent in every way until he was sure she was gone and had dragged Jason with her.
"I thought grandfather would have given you one, considering the circumstances," he commented as he took Cass's vacated seat.
"Circumstances?" the boy asked, eyes wide.
"You are a perfect clone born from his perfect obsession," Damian commented, eyes straying to the window. "The family always had a weakness for the intelligent type."
"You mean The Master is in love with Mr. Drake?"
"Or so it looks to the family," Damian shrugged. "To outsiders it might look like a potential admiration of his intelligence."
The boy nodded, his frown thoughtful.
"It would explain a lot," he muttered. "I look more like you than I look like him. I guess it's the reason why he sent me to live with Miss Talia."
Damian sighed.
"Why did you come here, child," he asked. "You ran away, you could have hidden anywhere in the world. Why here?"
The boy shook his head, embarrassed.
"I never knew my mother or father, I thought I would if I behaved but then The Master sent me to live with Miss Talia and I thought maybe I was hers," he said and laughed mournfully. "She shot me down quite quickly, so I decided I should find out where I had come from."
Finally the boy pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket, folded and unfolded in so many places it felt to Damian like it might disintegrate in his hands.
A cut-out from a League's report.
A picture of them.
Tim and Damian were sitting in the garden, hand in hand. Jason was ruffling Cassandra's hair as she pouted lightly and Dick's head rested on Tim's lap, where the smaller man's fingers played with his hair.
A sudden burst of cold clenched his insides.
"I thought you weren't my parents because you couldn't be parents, but then I realized you had them," the child hissed. "Why them and not me? I am your own flesh and blood, I will always be more legitimate and… and…"
Damian stared at the picture, at the way the boy's hands trembled over his lap and his teeth sank into his bottom lip – just like Damian used to do when he was younger – the way his brows would furrow and his nose wrinkle – Tim's nose wrinkled like that when he tried to hold back tears – and realized this child, this lost little boy, had just travelled half of the world to see his parents, or the ones he thought were his parents, only to find a happy family that didn't include him.
He had lashed out in the only way he knew.
The way of the League.
He closed his eyes.
"You are named after your grandfather," he said finally, locking eyes with the ones almost mirroring his own.
The boy's eyes widened.
"Ra's?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"No," Damian said, handing the picture back to those little hands – how come he hadn't noticed how little they were? – and pointed to the painting on top of the room's chimney. "Those are you grandparents, the ones that took me in and taught me everything. You are named after my real father."
The boy's eyes traveled over their faces, their smiles, and then to the golden plaque at the bottom of the canvas.
Thomas B. Wayne and Martha A. Wayne.
"That means…" he whimpered, his eyes growing bright.
Damian nodded in defeat, later on he would blame this on Timothy and his mind games. He was sure his lover had planned this from the beginning.
"Welcome home, Bruce Jackson Wayne," he said softly.
Damian wouldn't move for the following hour or so, too busy holding the boy, his Bruce, as he cried his little heart out, holding onto his father's hands and muttering his thanks over and over. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. The child was a trained assassin and his morals left much to be desired – he would have to keep him away from Dick for a while – but they had managed with Cassandra and his parents had managed with him.
He could do it.
From the doorway, Tim smiled his little proud smile.
No.
They could do it.