"Damian, are you sure you're comfortable with this?"

Damian's brow rose considerably, "You do understand that I have trained with assassins before?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed, "I had a feeling your mother would train you in such a way."

Damian nodded, "I assure you, this…event you have planned will go swimmingly compared to what I have faced before."

Bruce shook his head, "Damian, this is going to be unlike anything you have ever dealt with before."

Damian shoulders fell, "How so?"

Bruce crouched to his son's level, "These people I am inviting here have no idea who you are and how you were raised. They will push you and pry, and try and intimidate you because you are now going to be considered a public figure."

"A little recognition as your son is what I wanted, Father." Damian replied, "I am not having doubts about this, are you? Father, are you ashamed that I am your son? Is that why you do not want people knowing?"

"No Damian, dammit, you don't understand the press in Gotham."

Damian's head tilted in confusion, "I don't understand what you are worried about. They cannot harm me."

Bruce shook his head, "I don't think that having a party here is a good idea, despite what you may feel right now."

"Do you think this public event poses a threat to us?" Damian asked, his nose wrinkling.

"Not a threat to your safety."

"Then let the event commence. Besides, Grayson and Drake are going to be here." Damian's face twisted into something close to a snarl when he uttered the name 'Drake'.

Bruce didn't look convinced, "Damian, if at any time you feel overwhelmed, come to me and I will shut it down, okay?"

"Father, it will take a lot to overwhelm me, believe me."

…..

The day of the gala arrived and the Manor was heavy with traffic, from caterers to additional security guards to landscapers, ensuring the grounds looked spectacular. Damian for the most part stayed out of their way and kept his great Dane, Titus occupied.

Walking farther on the property, away from the chaos and the madness of designers arguing about colours for tablecloths, Damian felt a sense of solace.

Titus was busy sniffing the ground and walking without his leash around the outer limits of the property.

That left Damian with a few quiet hours before the guests would arrive and his required grand appearance.

Although Damian didn't know too many of the details, his story would echo the truth of who he was: the biological son of Bruce Wayne.

For obvious reasons, his life as an assassin would never be uttered in public, rather his mother, an unnamed woman raised him away from the spotlight of Gotham's entertainment press; until she realized he needed his father in his life.

Damian knew that this was for their benefit. It would safely confirm Bruce Wayne's playboy personality, and would ensure that no one would think to dig deeper to poke holes in their story.

Damian was sure he would be respected as Bruce Wayne's son. The reporters and press would dare not disrespect him or his father.

Before he could think about his impending introduction to Gotham society, he was snapped out of his reverie by Titus running to someone behind him.

Slightly startled, he looked to see who was lurking in the outer perimeter. He usually was more focused and knew who was behind him, even if by several yards.

"Oh, it's just you." Damian stated bored, turning back around to eye the treeline.

"Owch Dami, I'm hurt." Dick reached his hand to ruffle Damian's hair but Damian stepped out of the way before his hand made contact.

Damian, now a good few feet away crouched on the ground, petting Titus looked up and asked, "I thought you weren't arriving until later?"

Dick shook his head, "Nope, I thought I'd come a little earlier to torture you with nostalgia."

Damian smirked, "Grayson you couldn't torture anyone with your memories."

Dick tilted his head back and forth, as if he were thinking about it, "Well, I did want to arrive early to give you some advice for tonight."

Damian grunted in annoyance, "Why does everyone seem to think I am going to fail at socializing?"

Dick blinked a few times, "You were raised mostly in isolation, not anywhere near kids your own age, and I couldn't possibly forget to mention: you were raised to be an assassin by the very people that want to dominate the world."

Before Damian could protest, Dick continued, "Damian, I don't think you'll have a hard time in there. I think you'll do great. I just want to let you know, if something happens to be said about your parentage and insults are thrown around, don't react. The press corps absolutely love a negative reaction to these sorts of things."

Damian stopped petting Titus and looked up confused. Titus on the other hand looked bored now that Damian's ministrations stopped.

"What do you mean they will insult me?"

Dick looked slightly uncomfortable as he explained, "They want to sell their columns and papers, so they often embellish or exaggerate events they capture. Some of the members of the press are great, they understand that you're just a child, but some just want to get a rise out of you and want you to act out. Like a child throwing a tantrum."

Damian's brows rose, "Shouldn't it be enough that I have never been seen before? I will destroy their recording devices and cameras if they shed me in an unfavourable light."

"Whoaaaa, Damian, you for sure cannot do that. They are allowed to write what they want, first amendment and all that."

"Yes, I am aware of your constitution, Grayson."

"Perfect, then you understand that they're allowed to write almost anything in their paper. Gosh, I hate to think of what your family did to those that spoke badly of you."

"Execution. Mostly beheadings, sometimes hangings." Damian replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Dick's eyes widened, "Alright, well, that's Ra's al Ghul's way, not ours."

Damian nodded, "Obviously," he paused for a moment before asking in a softer voice that betrayed his age, "Grayson, will you be there when I am to descend down the steps?"

Dick this time got away with rubbing Damian's shoulder affectionately, "I wouldn't miss it buddy."

…..

Damian stood in front of the mirror, his suit was freshly pressed and free of wrinkles, courtesy of Alfred. Staring at himself, devoid of his usual armor and uniform, he tried to relax his shoulders. He knew he didn't want to disappoint his father or bring shame upon the family. He was the true son of Bruce Wayne, his rightful heir, and he needed to set a perfect example for tonight.

Of all the things he practiced, restraint and patience were the most difficult. It was hard to abandon what you were taught. Being set in one's ways was a difficult habit to break, but Damian truly tried. He had been essentially retrained by his father, not in methods of fitness and physicality, but in methods of efficiency and procedure. He knew not to use deadly force, (even if he was sure the criminals deserved it), to think before acting upon impulses, (although his intuition was often accurate) and to listen before jumping into missions (a trait all Robins had become accustomed to learning).

Damian knew he could do this, he was meeting the press corps, having to introduce himself during the event to various people seemed like an easy task, but he took what Grayson had said to heart, and would practice restraint in full tonight.

Rolling his shoulders back, he checked the clock on the wall near his headboard. He had a few moments to spare.

There was a knock at the door that captured his attention.

"Enter!" Damian commanded.

As the door opened, Damian had to stop himself from crossing the room and drop kicking the young man that crossed the threshold of the door and stepped in his room.

"Drake." Damian sneered.

"Demon-spawn." Tim Drake responded, hoping they wouldn't engage in a fight.

"Why are you here?" Damian asked accusingly.

Tim closed his eyes and sighed for a moment, "I seem to recall an invitation."

"No, you cretin, why are you in my quarters?" Damian questioned further.

Tim breathed in slowly, "Bruce is speaking to reporters and preparing some things before you're to come down, Dick is flirting with one of the journalists, and I thought I would give you a head's up before you are due downstairs."

Damian looked puzzled, "Why would you want to help me?"

"Honestly, I was more curious about coming up here. I asked myself the odds of you trying to kill me again." Tim replied scoffing.

"Tt. I seem to recall saving your life from Todd. Why would I try to kill you? Besides, it would disappoint father."

"…right…" Tim exaggerated his response.

"I appreciate your concern, Drake, but I can handle the time. Last I checked I'm not five." Damian retorted irritated.

Tim moved out of Damian's way, but called out to him, "Damian, your bow tie is showing, jeez, here let me."

Maneuvering his way around the dresser, he walked to Damian and quickly fixed his white collar before Damian could move or strike at him.

Damian looked angrily at him, "I could have caught that."

"Hey, to be fair it was behind you, it's sometimes hard to catch."

Damian sighed, "Thank you," he whispered.

Tim looked flabbergasted, "What did you say?"

Damian blew air through his nose, "You heard me, if you ever repeat what I just told you, you will wake up to your head being severed from your neck."

On that note, Damian walked forward into the hallway to descend from the grand staircase that was recently carpeted. Tim, to his credit was fighting valiantly to keep the smirk from his visage. He followed behind his younger brother, ensuring that he didn't ruin the moment by staying too close to Damian.

Despite the two of them hating each other, they looked alike. Both had the same jet-black hair and confident swagger, and both were working the same full-time occupation.

There were differences in the two of them, but Bruce cared for both of them equally, much to Damian's chagrin.

As Damian descended down the main staircase he was almost blinded by the flash of the cameras. He breathed in slowly, not allowing himself to demonstrate how uncomfortable he was with the situation.

A chorus of loud voices made itself louder than that of the live band that was playing in the corner near the fully stocked bar. Damian couldn't see in front of him, but nevertheless had memorized how many steps there were from the top to the ground when he first moved into the Manor.

Walking slowly as he stepped off of the last stair, he allowed a fake smile to plaster his face. He couldn't see his father, but he knew Tim was behind him.

Relaxing his shoulders once again, he readied himself for the ambush of reporters asking questions.

However, all he felt was Tim stand beside him too close for his comfort. Before he could push him away discretely, he felt another person behind him. A familiar hand on his shoulder enabled Damian to recognize Grayson. After a few seconds passed, his father placed his arm over Damian's shoulder, providing comfort Damian didn't know he needed.

With his breathing starting to relax, Damian laughed at the attention, playing the part of a young boy.

The journalists and columnists were beaming at the young Wayne in front of them, ready to subject him to several "easy" questions.

One older middle-aged reporter with graying hair and a tired face, wearing too tight of a jacket began speaking, "Damian! Over here!"

Damian allowed his attention to wade from the doorway to the man near the front.

Seeing as though he had the young boy's attention he asked, "How old are you, Damian?"

"I'm twelve," Damian responded nodding to the reporter.

"Damian!" several voices yelled into the ballroom.

Damian had to fight to be heard over the cameras shuttering and the noises of irritated reporters.

"Where is your mother?"

"Where are you attending school? Being tutored, or attending private school here in Gotham?"

"How long have you known Bruce Wayne was your father?"

"Where is your mother?"

"How do you like living in Gotham?"

"Can you confirm your presence at Wayne Enterprises on October 6th for their board meeting with Wayne Aerodynamic?"

Damian flashed a look of concern to his father, and softly shook his head, as if to say, I don't know.

Bruce sensing the discomfort of his youngest son, he quickly intervened, "Please give my family some room. Your questions will be answered, but at a later time. Please, enjoy our craft services and open bar. I know I will," Bruce joked, knowing that the reporters and journalists would listen to him.

As if he were God himself giving a commandment, the crowd in front of Damian dispersed.

Damian felt like he could breathe once they were farther away. Glancing up to his father, he was surprised when Bruce crouched down beside him.

"Damian, are you alright? I know it can be overwhelming and scary the first time to have to deal with reporters and the shining lights of the cameras. You did well." Looking beyond Damian, Bruce called out to Tim and Dick, "Dick, grab Damian a glass of water please, and Tim, be my eyes and ears around the room."

Both of his sons nodded once and went into the thick of the crowd, ready to fulfill their orders.

Damian stepped back away from the crowd and turned his back to the reporters that were staring at him, scrutinizing him.

Bruce smiled to the crowd as he stepped in front of Damian to speak to him.

"How are you feeling, Damian?" His father questioned carefully, trying to gage his reaction.

"I see why you keep a private life, Father." Damian answered quietly, his eyes gesturing to the crowd directly behind him.

Bruce sighed, but kept his face looking content and happy, "I didn't want you to face this so soon. They can be extremely hostile with their questions."

"Father, what do I say about Mother?" Damian asked unsure of what to say.

Bruce shook his head, "For all intents and purposes, your mother is dead."

Damian's eyes widened, "You said that Mother is dead?"

Bruce nodded, "The story is validated, as the only option was to send you here when she died. The official story is that you came here and we ran DNA tests to prove that you are my child. I strictly ensured that no reporter would question you on the status of your mother. Clearly the message didn't resonate well with the press corps."

Damian fiddled with the lapels on his suit, "So, what do I do now?"

"If you want me to call this event off I will, you may retire to your room upstairs and I will have Alfred send you some of the foods upstairs."

Damian shook his head, "That would be too easy for them to write a report about, let's give them something to actually write about. I will walk around with Grayson and he can keep me company and you can keep up with your image. I will answer their questions with what you have just told me."

Bruce's eyes narrowed with hesitation, "If you feel uncomfortable or face any hostility you are to come to me immediately. We do not want the reporters becoming complacent with abusing you for the sake of a story or column, okay?"

Damian smiled a genuine smile, "Agreed."

With their compromise intact, they both faced the crowd, anticipating another ambush. Despite Bruce's orders to the crowd, the idea of having the child answer questions about his life as a Wayne was too tempting to some of the reporters in the Manor that night.

Before the onslaught of reporters could intervene in their private moment, Dick returned with a glass of iced water for Damian.

Dick gave the glass to Damian and ruffled his hair before Damian could slap his hand away.

"Dick, go with Damian and walk around the party, slowly. Let him answer some questions, but if they start becoming hostile or suggestively rude in their questions, bring him back to the staircase and allow him to go to his room."

Dick nodded, his black hair becoming unkept behind his ears.

Damian set the water down on one of the corner tables and began sauntering around the room, hoping that his height would at least make him hard to spot in the large crowd.

Damian would have no such luck tonight, the reporters were hesitant because of his older brother directly beside him, but some of the more brazen and confident reporters felt right at home.

"Damian can you tell me what you hope to be in the future?" One of the younger women asked him, allowing him to speak directly into the recorder.

"The CEO of Wayne Enterprises." Damian responded quickly and confidently, as if he had no other plans for his future.

The reporter looked surprised, "But Damian, what about Richard Grayson?"

"What about me?" Interjected Dick happily, shooting a smile at the reporter.

"Well, I would assume the company would go to the eldest son." She replied, a little miffed that Dick would interject in interview.

Before Damian could mention his birthright and what he was entitled to, words that would inflame the reporters, Dick laughed and cut in, "Well, I don't want the company, and neither does our other brother. Besides, Damian is the one that takes most after Bruce Wayne."

Smiling, but humor not catching in the reporter's eyes, she thanked Damian and walked away.

Damian turned to Grayson, "Why wouldn't you let me answer that one?"

Dick shook his head, his hair flying from behind his ears and onto the sides of his face, "Evasion is the best method for answering their questions. If you answer their build up questions, then they know that you're willing to answer anything honestly."

Damian nodded slowly, "Okay."

They continued their way around the ballroom, answering questions for the Gotham Gazette, the Gotham Globe, the Gotham Herald, the Gotham Chronicle, and the Gotham Free Press.

After their last encounter Damian was feeling extremely tired and agitated with the proceedings. He wondered why they didn't just hold a simple press conference and call it a day.

Before long, Damian made his way back to his father where he was speaking to the security personnel.

Bruce smiled once he saw Damian, "William, this is my son, Damian."

Damian let his outstretched hand be taken into a firm grip, "Hello Damian."

William looked to be in his late thirties, with thick blond hair and light brown eyes. His face was free of wrinkles and the bags under his eyes didn't go too deeply. His jaw was square and he had well defined features.

"Nice to meet you, William." Damian said amicably.

Bruce looked at tired young son, but before he could say anything a voice from the crowd shouted across the room.

"Damian, is it true that you reprimanded Mr. Avlara at the board meeting for Wayne Aerodynamic?"

Not being able to tell where that came from, Damian placed his hands in his jacket pocket, unsure of what to say.

"Damian, how did your mother die?" the voice bellowed.

Dick and Tim were scanning the room trying to find out who was speaking, while Bruce was storming into the crowd trying to find the man himself.

"Are you really Bruce Wayne's bastard son?!"

Damian had enough of the questions and did what any other anxious child would do, he turned on his heel and ascended up the stairs to his room. Thankful that he had made an agreement with his father earlier.

Damian couldn't help but feel hurt by the reporter's words, he knew that he was not born like other children, he was born out of artificial machines and technology most of the world couldn't even fathom having access to. He was by all means a bastard by definition, but he was Bruce Wayne's son. His biological son. No one could take that away from him. He wouldn't let them.

Storming up the steps, forgetting being dignified, he closed his door once he got to it and let himself fall in front of it.

Breathing in slowly he tried to relax. He was Bruce Wayne's child, and his father loved him, even if he didn't know of his existence up until four months ago.

It certainly hadn't been easy to become accustomed to his father's methods, he wanted to please his father at first, but he didn't know how at all. It took weeks to gain his father's approval and respect, but he never doubted that Bruce loved him. Damian knew he did.

He just hoped it would be enough to convince his father to treat him as the heir to the mantle and legacy.

Damian heard shuffling up the stairs and he quickly got up off of the floor before he embarrassed himself.

As if on cue, his door knocked gently, "Damian," his father called out.

"Enter." Damian replied, surprised he found his voice.

He was surprised to see his father looking dishevled, his hair looked unkepmt like he had run his fingers through it too many times, and he had his crisp white shirt sticking from his black trousers. He had gravel on his shoes as if he went outside, but he knew that the party was kept strictly indoors.

"Damian, I'm sorry." His father apologized.

"It wasn't your fault, Father." Damian stated calmly, as he sat on the edge of his bed.

Looking to the floor, unable to meet his father's eyes, he felt the bed dip slightly as Bruce's weight materialized beside him.

"I know that tonight was difficult. I'm proud of you Damian, you took it all in stride. Don't let that man's words fool you, you are not a bastard, you are my son."

Damian lifted his eyes from the floor, "You are not upset that this is the legacy you have left? An assassin son that was raised to believe he would become the next Alexander?"

"No Damian, legacy is not who you are, it is who you become and who you strive to be. You can't help your upbringing, and it would be cruel to use your ubringing against you as some sort of condemnation."

"You are not embarrassed to have a son with my origin?"

Bruce shook his head, "No Damian, you are one of the best things that has occurred out of my dealings with your mother and grandfather. You are my son, and you are the one to continue my family name, as long as you will have it."

Damian said nothing, but he embraced his father, and felt comforted when he was embraced back without hesitation.