When Bruce and Selina had announced they were having a baby, everyone had been elated. Everyone, it had seemed, but Damian.
"What do you think, Damian?" Selina had asked, one hand resting on the gentle curve of her stomach, the barest beginnings of a bump forming there. "You're going to have a new baby brother or sister!"
"Fine," Damian had said, and then he'd stalked away.
Over the months, Selina had tried to include him in everything, from preparing the nursery to the baby shower, but she had been met with frosty silences and glowering and the occasional threat to her life, so after her second trimester, she'd dropped it, and left it to be a Bruce problem.
Bruce had, predictably, failed on that front.
"I'm very happy with Selina," Bruce had said, "And this is very important to us."
"Fine," Damian had rolled his eyes. What his family didn't understand was that he didn't care, one way or the other. It made no difference to him if he was gaining a younger sibling; God knew Bruce would probably adopt another helpless orphan between now and the baby's due date, anyway, so it wasn't even like it would be entirely unexpected.
Bruce did not adopt any orphans, and the due date came and passed, and three days later they'd been standing around in the kitchen when Selina had let out a cry and clutched her stomach.
"Bruce," she said, panting slightly, "My water just broke."
"What?" Bruce replied, croissant halfway to his mouth. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Selina snapped back, doubling over as a contraction started. Bruce tried not to panic.
"KIDS," he bellowed, and nobody appeared. He threw his hands up in the air and started ushering Selina out of the kitchen. She swatted his hands away, managing to waddle over to the coat rack and pull on her overcoat, which no longer did up over her stomach. Bruce poked his head into the living room and found a small gaggle of his children lounging about, plus Stephanie, who had appeared a week prior and had yet to go home.
"Selina's water just broke," he told them. Steph's eyes lit up, Cass whooped, and Tim gave him a grin from ear to ear. Neither Jason nor Damian acknowledged him, and Dick was nowhere to be seen. Bruce could only hope he hadn't gone back to Bludhaven.
"If Alfred's out, Dick's in charge. If Dick's out, Tim's in charge."
"Hey!" Jason looked up from the Austen novel he was reading.
"Sorry," Bruce said, not sounding even remotely apologetic. He herded Selina towards the doors. "Okay, we're going now, love you all, bye!"
The door closed behind them with a thud.
"Did Bruce just say he loves us?" Tim asked, looking around at his siblings in confusion. Jason slid a bookmark into his book and used it to point at his younger brother.
"Ignore that. Why are you in charge and not me?"
"Because he's never beheaded a drug lord?" Stephanie said through a mouthful of cereal. She held her hand up for a high-five, and Cass obliged, slapping their palms together. Steph dunked her spoon back in the bowl and fished around for the last of her coco pops.
"Why are you here?" Jason asked, rolling his eyes at her. "I don't remember inviting you."
"Because I'm going to be your new little brother or sister's nanny, jackass, and I want to be here when they bring the baby home." Steph chewed slowly, giving Jason one of her steeliest looks. He retreated back into his Austen novel rather than beleaguer the point.
Damian listened to his siblings squabbling and thought that it was only going to get worse. They had a long while ahead of them until Selina gave birth, and in that time all there was to do was wait.
He didn't want to wait here.
He got to his feet, and almost immediately all eyes snapped to him. Jason looked up from his book, Cass peered up at him from the floor, and Steph actually set her now-empty bowl down and looked up at him from her perch on the other end of Jason's couch.
"Where you going, D?" Jason asked.
"For a walk," Damian replied. "Not that it's your business."
"Can I come?" Steph asked, sliding her legs out from underneath her. Damian rolled his eyes.
"I do not need you to babysit me, Brown," he snapped. "I am not the helpless infant of the family."
Steph froze, and glanced from him to the others, and they annoyingly did that silent thing where they communicated with only their eyes. After a moment, she landed back on the couch cushions with a soft thump, and offered him one of her frustratingly sunny smiles.
"Have a good time, Dami," she said, and he huffed and walked away.
He made his way down the many halls of Wayne Manor, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He wanted to head outside, perhaps find some solace amongst the trees that bordered the property, but it was cold outside and heading downstairs for his coat would be facing his siblings (and Stephanie) once more. He didn't think he could bear such a thing, so he retreated to his room, curling up on his bed with a sketchpad and some charcoal. Alfred always tutted when he got charcoal on the sheets, but he'd never actually asked him to stop, and he'd yet to be unable to remove the stains in the wash, so Damian persevered at his latest drawing.
He longed for his mother, as stupid as that was.
"Demon brat?" There came a knock at his door, and Jason's head poked inside, the Austen tome missing from under his arm. He must have left it in the living room. "Can I come in?"
"You may not," Damian said, returning his focus to his drawing, but it didn't stop his brother, who sauntered inside and grabbed his desk chair, spinning it around and straddling it, resting his forearms on the headrest and his head on his forearms.
"I wanted to talk to you," Jason said.
"Father wanted you to talk to me," Damian glowered.
"No. Well, yes." Jason shrugged, pushing back the stripe of white in his hair. He exhaled slowly, looking down at Damian with much consideration. "Why are you scared of the new baby?"
"I'm not," Damian said, sketching out two lines.
"Do you think Bruce is going to make the baby Robin? 'Cause kid, that's a fair way off-"
"End this farce at once, Todd," Damian looked up, his eyes narrowed. "I have had enough of this ridiculous topic. Leave."
"I'm just trying-"
"Out," Damian snarled, and pointed to the door. Jason shrugged, raised his hands in the air, and made his way out of the room, muttering, "Well, can't say I didn't fucking try."
Damian was not scared of the new baby.
What Damian was scared of, and what the others did not seem to yet realise, was change.
Would he still have a place in the family after the birth of Selina's child? Would Bruce, perhaps, love his first legitimate child more than he'd ever loved Damian, or any of the others? And, though he'd told Todd it was something that didn't scare him, the question did play in his mind:
What about when the baby was old enough to be Robin?
He wasn't afraid of being replaced, to be clear. He was not so insecure about that. But if his younger sibling was going to go out into the world, fight crime as they all did, he had a responsibility to that younger sibling to ensure they were the best damn vigilante Gotham had ever seen.
He was loathed to admit it, but Damian…cared for his little brother or sister, whichever they may be.
(He kind of hoped for a sister. Bruce had given him enough brothers, and Cass would be elated at there being another girl in the family – not that he was going to ever admit this, either way, because so far he'd been approaching the situation with an air of cool indifference, and he was going to maintain that illusion until the child was, oh, eighteen or so, if he could.)
He made his way downstairs a few hours later, to find the lights dim and his siblings nowhere to be found. He shrugged and made his way to the kitchen, preparing a simple sandwich for himself and taking it into the living room to eat. It was frowned upon, but Stephanie ate food anywhere she pleased in the Manor and nobody had pulled her up on it yet, so he settled into the couch and took a bite.
The front door opened, and the siblings trailed inside, stripping out of their coats and scarves, Jason's arms piled high with pizza boxes. Damian sighed and set his sandwich aside.
"Hey, D!" Steph exclaimed, reaching down and pulling him into a one-armed hug. She still had her infuriatingly purple beanie perched on her head, the pom-pom waving back and forth with every movement of her head. "We brought back pizza!"
"Wonderful," Damian deadpanned. It wouldn't even be good pizza, with za'atar and kashkaval, it would be some disgusting American invention with too much tomato paste, mozzarella, and some godforsaken thing like pepperoni. Steph flipped open a box lid and sure enough, there it was, the pepperoni. Damian had only hoped they'd remembered he did not eat meat.
"We got you a vegetarian pizza," Tim said, lowering a bag of garlic breads and other appetisers onto the table. "You like spinach, right?"
So they weren't as incompetent as he'd assumed.
Damian dug through the boxes until he'd found the vegetarian pizza, which was mostly just spinach and cheese on a garlic base. There was, he found after taking a bite, the occasional mushroom slipped in there, and that at least he could appreciate.
Someone's phone chirped, and all heads swivelled towards the sound.
"It's me, it's me," Steph said, patting down her pockets before pulling her phone free. "It's from Selina."
"What does it say!?" Jason demanded, reaching for the phone. Steph snatched it back and unlocked it, scrolling through her texts.
"Hey all, doing well. Currently 8 centimetres dilated. Will keep you updated throughout the night. Love, Selina," Steph read aloud in an uncanny imitation of Selina's tone.
"Is eight centimetres a lot?" Jason asked. "It sounds like a lot."
"She's still texting?" Tim exclaimed, picking up a slice of the pepperoni pizza. "Hardcore."
"Childbirth isn't that hard, between the contractions," Steph remarked, taking a bite of her own pizza. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and then said, "Besides, there's no guarantee it wasn't Bruce texting off her phone."
"It was signed off 'Love, Selina'," Tim pointed out.
"That means nothing," Steph said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly."
"That would mean Bruce expressed his love for us twice in one day, and that, my dear, is a statistical impossibility," Jason said, reaching over to pull the beanie off Steph's head and toss it onto one of the armchairs so he could ruffle her hair. She tossed a half-hearted punch towards him and shoved him away.
"Pass the garlic knots," she said. "I'm starved."
"I think Cass got into them," Jason said, sounding almost apologetic as he handed the last one over. Cass grinned from her place on the floor, sharing a sly look with Damian that he took to mean that yes, she absolutely had gotten into the garlic knots, and no, she was not at all sorry about it.
Damian ate his pizza in silence and listened to his siblings bicker, Stephanie included, who seemed to have the most opinions of anyone he'd ever met. They talked about whether or not the pizza was good. They wondered about how Selina was doing. And, they talked nonstop about the baby.
"What do you think they're gonna name it?" Tim asked from his place on the floor, laid out flat against the rug with his hands cushioning his head. "What if it's something dumb?"
"Like what?" Jason asked, heaving another log into the fire. It spat embers and hissed as the wood caught alight, but after a few moments the wood settled on the coals and started burning away comfortably, filling the room with warmth.
"I don't know," Tim said. "Like…McKinley."
"Are you genuinely worried Bruce is gonna name his kid after the twenty-fifth president of the United States?" Steph asked. "Rhetorical question. I know the answer."
"Damn, blondie, didn't know you knew the presidents," Jason said, leaning against the edge of the sofa.
"You know, it's amazing what they teach you if you go back to get your GED after coming back from the dead," Steph smirked.
"You didn't even die," Jason rolled his eyes.
"My heart stopped, thank you, it counts!" Steph stuck her tongue out at him. Damian rolled his eyes, drawing his knees to his chest. Those two, in a room, was just constant bickering. It drove him up the wall at the Manor, and it drove him up the wall on patrol.
Jason started shredding empty pizza boxes to throw into the fire, tearing them apart like it was nothing. Steph started braiding Cass's hair with quick, deft movements, winding the strands together neatly. Tim was still on the floor, one hand behind his head, one hand on his very full stomach, and Damian was considering slipping away and returning to his sketchbook when the front door burst open.
"It's just me!" Called out Dick's voice, and a sharp breeze filled the room, on it the promise of snow.
"Close the fucking door, Dickhead!" Jason yelled back, throwing the last pizza box and a few smaller pieces of wood into the fire, stoking it up so it would pump out heat.
"I have good news! I have great news, actually!" Dick stepped into the living room, still in his overcoat and beanie, a scarf muffling his voice a little. He tugged it down from under his nose and tucked it under his chin, beaming at all of them. "Selina had the baby! She's a girl!"
"WHAT!" Steph exclaimed, dropping the almost complete braid and turning to stare at him. "Selina only texted us an hour ago! She wasn't even pushing then!"
"Things moved real fast," Dick shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the armchair, coming to flop on the couch beside Steph. "I just got back from the hospital. I was on my way home from Bludhaven when Bruce called."
"Name?" Cass demanded, looking up at him. Dick chuckled, reaching down to ruffle her hair, messing up the neat braid.
"Bruce made me promise I'd leave that for him to tell you guys."
Steph booed this suggestion, and held her hand up for a high-five, and this time it was Jason who obliged her. Damian sat very still, deep in thought, because well –
Now everything had changed.
He had a baby sister.
This meant, of course, that he was no longer the youngest, no longer the baby of the family, and no longer the only blood heir to the Wayne family. None of these were bad things, it was just –
"When will Father return home with the baby?" He found himself asking. Dick looked down at him with soft, kind eyes, like he knew what Damian was thinking. His siblings could be so presumptuous.
"They could be home as early as tomorrow, assuming everything goes well," Dick said. He flipped open one of the few remaining pizza boxes on the table and pulled out a slice, digging in despite it being cold. With his mouth full, he said, "Alfred's there now, with them."
"We were wondering if he was ever coming back," Steph laughed, her fingers winding through Cassandra's hair to fix the braid Dick had so rudely ruffled.
Damian watched them silently, his knees still drawn to his chest. Jason was still poking around the fire, humming to himself under his breath, and Tim was still stretched out on the floor, half-dozing, hands flat on his stomach. Steph's tongue was poking out the corner of her mouth as she fixed Cassandra's hair, and Cassandra was sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath her, laughing. Dick had taken Jason's spot and was digging into the last of the pizza, and Damian watched them, and he thought to himself, I do not belong here.
When he had been younger, he had considered them to be the interlopers, the ones who did not belong. But looking at them now, the way they all comfortably sat in his father's home, the jokes they shared, the domesticity, the vulnerability –
He could not imagine that picture with him in it.
And now there was going to be a baby.
"I am retiring for the evening," he said, getting to his feet.
The others shared looks, and for a moment he expected some kind of protest, but all anyone said was "Alright, Dami. Have a good sleep."
It had come, predictably, from Stephanie, who was looking up at him with that wide-eyed expression she got when she was hiding her concern. He huffed and bid them goodnight, before making the lonely journey upstairs, to the east wing, and to his room.
Inside, he changed into warm pyjamas, and crawled into bed, putting the charcoal and sketch from earlier aside. He gave the paper a delicate brush with his fingers, staring down at the drawing. It was of a baby, in its mother's arms, cradled with the love and care that all children deserved. He had not had anyone in mind when he'd started the sketch, but looking at it now, he could see pieces in it that he was sure his siblings would remark on. The woman in the drawing had the curve of Talia's jaw, her straight nose, but Selina's short hair and lithe body. The baby's features were obscured by the blanket it was swaddled in, but nonetheless, Damian could see his nose, his brow. He frowned and grabbed the paper, and with a growl he tore it in two.
The pieces floated to the ground, and he stared down at them, chest heaving.
He didn't know why he had done that.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and burrowed down in his blankets, pulling the quilt over his head and closing his eyes, taking deep and steadying breaths to ground himself.
He had a little sister, and he didn't know what to do.
When he awoke the next morning, he was greeted by a vision of white at his window. Damian crawled out of bed and pulled back the drapes even further, to find the grounds covered in a thick dusting of snow.
"Tt," he tutted, turning and digging through his drawers for thick garments that would hold off against the cool weather. He buttoned his flannelette shirt over his black turtleneck and looked at himself in the mirror.
He looked ridiculous.
He shrugged out of the flannelette overshirt and left it, discarded, on his bed, making his way downstairs in his turtleneck and dark pants. The kitchen was full of his siblings, and Alfred, who was making pancakes.
"You slept in, Little D," Dick grinned, reaching out to pull him into a one-armed hug, rubbing Damian's head with his knuckles. Damian squirmed away, scowling, and accepted the steaming mug of tea Alfred handed him.
"Thank you," he said to Alfred. To Dick, he said, "I ensured I got adequate rest."
"Whatever you say," Jason snorted, sipping from his own mug. Damian could tell from the smell wafting off of it that it was full of black coffee. Tim, likewise, was sipping at a coffee.
Stephanie's phone chirped, and every head in the room, including Alfred's, swivelled towards the sound.
"Leaving the hospital in twenty. Expect us home within the hour. Love, Selina," Steph read aloud, tapping out a quick reply.
"When did Selina adopt you?" Jason squinted at the blonde. "Every text you get is 'Love, Selina.' I never get that."
"Maybe if you weren't such a jackass you would," Steph said primly, tucking her phone away. She winked at Damian and took a sip from her own tea.
Damian picked at his pancakes, cutting them into tiny pieces and eating each one slowly, listlessly. His stomach twisted with every swallow, but he kept going, because keeping his focus on his plate meant he didn't have to look at his siblings, who were, once more, bickering.
"I think they're going to name her something classic. Like Elizabeth," Dick said, his mouth still full. Alfred offered him a reproachful look but said nothing, wiping a coffee mug with a clean tea towel.
"It's not going to be Elizabeth," Steph rolled her eyes. "It'll be something modern."
"You're both so wrong," Jason shook his head.
"I still think it'll be something weird," Tim said.
"Like McKinley?!" Jason scoffed, punching Tim on the arm. "You're all idiots. It's going to be Martha."
"I will bet you thirty dollars right now it's not Martha," Dick said, holding his hand out. Jason grabbed it and, with a firm grip, gave it a single shake, grinning wickedly as he said, "You're on."
Damian clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to tell them all to shut up.
They dispersed from the kitchen, Damian curling up in the armchair by the fire. The girls vanished, but Jason took a seat on the couch, thumbing through his Austen novel. He was looking at Damian from the corner of his eye. If he was trying to be subtle, he was doing a poor job of it.
There sounded the crunching of gravel from outside, and within moments, the entire family had convened in the entryway. Damian lagged behind, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watching as Steph bounced on her heels and grinned up at Dick, who had slung an arm over Tim's shoulders. Damian's chest ached, but he took his place beside them, and they waited.
The door swung open, and Bruce bustled inside, a baby capsule hooked over one arm. He guided Selina inside with one steady hand, and she looked up at him with a tired smile, her face so soft and fond, Damian's heart stuttered in his chest.
With Selina Kyle, Father had found love. And now, they had a daughter.
"Everyone," Bruce sat, hoisting up the baby capsule so they could all get a look at the infant inside. "This is Helena Martha Wayne."
There was an excited gasp from Stephanie, and grins broke out on the faces of all the boys bar Damian, who pressed his lips into a thin line. He had been both Damian al Ghul and Damian Wayne, but he'd never been graced with the name of one of his forefathers. He did not even know if, had Father been given the choice, his name would have been Damian Thomas Wayne. It wasn't worth asking.
Selina was a little awkward on her feet, lacking her usual catlike grace, and her dark hair was slicked back from her face. There were dark circles under her tired eyes, but when her eyes fell on Damian, she smiled.
"Damian," she said. "Come meet your little sister."
Damian hesitated, and then stepped forward, peering into the baby capsule his father had placed on the entryway table. The others crowded around him, trying to get their first looks at the baby, but Damian planted his feet and stood firm, despite Cass trying to jostle him out of the way.
She was beautiful.
It was undeniable; she had fine dark hair that curled at the ends, around the nape of her neck, and wide, expressive eyes of the brightest blue. Her cheeks were round and pink from the cold outside, and her eyelashes curved upwards, dark and thick. She had perfect lips, rosebud pink, and Damian looked at her and felt a fierce protective something stir in his chest.
Instead of expressing this, he said, "She is adequate."
"Do you want to hold her?" Selina asked. Bruce curled one arm around her waist, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her forehead, and Damian bit the inside of his cheek.
"No," he said. "That's alright. I am going to my room." He nodded to each of them in turn. "Father. Selina."
They didn't stop him as he walked away, and somehow that stung worse, but with his back turned he didn't see the looks they shared, nor could he hear what they murmured to each other. The others cooed over the baby and touched her tiny hands, excited, but one person did not.
Cass was watching him walk away, a frown on her face.
Damian made his way upstairs, walking down the hall in the east wing and making his way to his bedroom door. He pressed his forehead against the painted wood and exhaled slowly, the air rushing through his nose, before he opened it and stepped inside, letting it swing shut behind him.
He knew he should be downstairs with his family. But he felt displaced. It was no fault of Helena's – and what a perfect name, Helena – but he felt he no longer fit in with the Waynes.
He thought, idly, that perhaps he should pack his bags and return to the al Ghul family.
It was not a matter of succession; that no longer concerned him, and it seemed childish to even think of it. It was that –
He didn't even want to admit this to himself.
It was that Helena was wanted.
He fell onto his bed and closed his eyes. Silence filled his room, and he sighed. It felt strange to be so inactive, but he still wasn't allowed to patrol alone, and his father had not been on the streets in days, due to the pregnancy and subsequent birth. Grayson had been filling in, but he had not been joining him, citing his grades as reason to stay home. In truth, it was because he had been anxious in the days leading up to Helena's birth, and had been trying to glean away every moment of his father's time he could before the man became preoccupied with his newborn child.
Damian sat on his bed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it, and then exhaling slowly. He did this again and again, until some semblance of calm came over him.
He opened his eyes, and clasped his hands together, sitting them in his lap.
There was a knock at his door, and before he could even respond, it was opening. Cassandra and Tim peered around it, and Cass pushed it open, stepping inside.
"Now you know how we felt when Bruce brought you home," Tim said.
"Not helping," Cass said, shoving him out of the door. "Go. Go away."
Tim wisely retreated, poking his tongue out at his younger brother, who rolled his eyes. Cass watched him go with a fond smile, before returning her attention to Damian.
"How are you feeling?" She asked. He snorted and shook his head.
"Fine," he replied. "I'm fine. Can you leave me alone?"
Cass pursed her lips, glancing him up and down, no doubt reading his body language and discerning that while he may not have been lying, he also wasn't telling the whole truth. Still, she disappeared, and left him to his own devices, and it was after about ten minutes of nothing punctuated only by the baby's cries travelling upstairs, as well as the inane babbling of his siblings trying to figure out what to do and Selina's exhausted voice calling out "Just give me a second!" that Damian decided he'd had enough, and was going to escape the manor.
He slipped out his window and climbed up the drainpipe outside, clambering onto the roof with less ease than it should have taken. He planted his rear end against the cold roof tile and tucked his hands under his knees, trying to glean some warmth from them, shivering a little in the dim twilight. After a few moments of what could almost be called peaceful silence, there was the familiar sound of someone scaling the walls, and Cassandra's head peeped over the gutter and looked up at him.
"Hi," she said, and she grinned at him. He did not return it, his face dour, but jerked his head towards the place beside him. She hoisted herself up and settled in, stretching her long legs out in front of her.
"Wanted to talk," she said. "Without the others."
"Fine," Damian said, rubbing his forehead. He had been expecting this, with the ease with which she'd left earlier. "Get it over with."
"Helena," she smiled, "Will never replace you."
"You are all so presumptuous," Damian hissed, closing his eyes and pressing his palms flat against his forehead. "I don't care about that."
"What do you care about?" Cass asked, and he knew she meant well, he did, but he was angry and frustrated and lonely and he wanted to lash out, but just as he opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, she thumped him in the solar plexus so hard he saw stars. He coughed, wheezed, struggling to get the air back into his lungs, and looked up at her with hate in his eyes.
"What," he said, "Was that for."
"Try again," Cass said cheerfully. "What…is the problem?"
Damian retreated, sullen. He didn't want to talk about this.
"I want to tell you something," Cass said. "I just…don't have the words."
"Try," Damian said, looking over at her. He didn't have the words, either. "I'm listening."
"We are…" Cass hesitated, and tried again. "We are…"
It was at times like this that Damian remembered that the neural pathways in her brain that were responsible for language did not work. She had, however, managed to grasp sign language with surprising ease, and that was what she turned to in this moment.
"We are," she said, and then she turned her hands toward him, thumb and forefingers together, before spinning her hands around in a circle. He blinked, slowly.
"Family," he said, and her face brightened.
"Yes," she said. "We are family."
"I know," he said.
"You are my little brother," she said, and she pulled him in for a one-armed hug, slinging her arm around his shoulders and squeezing him. He stiffened, glancing up at her dark, expressive eyes. "Nothing will change that."
"I know," he repeated, and was surprised to find the hot pinprick of tears in his eyes. He wiped his face with a fist and huffed, pulling away from her touch. She let him go, her hands falling in front of her. She signed something again, but he missed it, his vision blurred.
"What was that?" He asked, and she did it again, her thumb and forefinger extended, middle and ring flat to her palm, pinkie poking upwards. "Oh."
"I love you," she had said, and he looked down, deep in thought. He wanted to say it back, but he couldn't, so he settled for mimicking her gesture, and she beamed at him.
The wind picked up, and Damian hunched in on himself, shoulders up around his ears. Cass shivered, and reached over to tug on the sleeve of his sweater.
"Good?" She asked him, and he nodded, only hesitating a little. "Come inside. It's too cold out here."
He followed her back down the drainpipe and through his bedroom window, aware that the tip of his nose was going blue, sending himself cross-eyed trying to look at it. Cass giggled at him, and took long strides to his bedroom door, gesturing for him to follow.
They made their way downstairs, where it was unusually quiet. The others were nowhere to be seen, but Cass led him to the kitchen, where Alfred was drying a couple of mugs on a dish towel.
"Master Damian," he said warmly, smiling down at the young man. "Had enough of today's excitement?"
"Tt," Damian frowned. "I would hardly call it excitement."
Cassandra and Alfred shared knowing looks, and she took a seat at the breakfast bar, stretching out her limber legs against the bottom of the stool.
"Alfred," she said. "We're cold."
"Well," Alfred said, a twinkle in his eye, "I suppose I must make you each a hot chocolate."
"That would be amenable," Damian muttered, looking somewhere to Alfred's left.
"What was that, my boy?"
"I would like a hot chocolate," Damian said, knowing the butler suffered no fools, particularly not those that were rude. "Please."
"Did someone say hot chocolate?" Jason poked his head inside, and Damian rolled his eyes. Of course the others were still hanging about, even though there was no need for them to be here. Father and Kyle were not idiots, they could each manage something as simple as caring for a newborn, he was sure. Damian found himself missing the days when his brothers had been scattered from Bludhaven to Crime Alley, to when Stephanie had lived with her mother. The manor had been a lonelier place, then, but it had been much quieter, too, and it was starting to look like he was never going to have quiet again.
There was a thump from upstairs, and then the startled sound of a baby's cry.
Damian closed his eyes.
"I would wager we have Master Richard to blame for that," Alfred laughed, pouring milk and cocoa powder into a saucepan. Jason flopped down on a stool beside Cass, jostling her, laughing as she shoved him back. The baby continued to cry, and Damian listened as Selina's familiar languorous footsteps went up the staircase.
Three mugs were placed on the counter, and Alfred began pouring the hot chocolate into each, passing the mugs out. Damian stood in front of the fridge, taking careful sips, watching as his siblings shared furtive looks. They seemed so unbothered by all of this – but, he supposed, none of them had ever faced such a reckoning. They all knew where they belonged.
Father had chosen them, whereas Damian had been foisted upon him.
"I must excuse myself," Damian said stiffly, setting his still half-full cup by the sink. The others shared looks, but made no remark, allowing him to leave. He made his way upstairs, the bulk of his thoughts weighing him down. He stopped outside his bedroom door and listened to the sound of Selina and Father laughing.
Father's voice, deep and melodious, was singing Helena a lullaby. Damian entered his room and shut the door behind him, dropping onto his bed and rubbing his forehead.
Damian closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
"Knock knock," came a voice, as his door creaked open. Damian opened his eyes to see Selina peeking around the door, her short hair pushed back from her face.
Damian stared at her, unwilling to invite her in.
"I wanted to talk to you," Selina said, slinking her way towards the bed. She kicked the door shut with one petite foot, padding barefoot across the floor and dropping herself onto the end of the bed, a healthy distance between them. She knew better than to try and close that gap.
"I'm uninterested in conversation," Damian said, terse. Selina chuckled, leaning back.
"Listen, kitten," she said. "I know this is a big change. Helena being here changes things for you."
Damian bristled at the affectionate nickname. "Nothing has changed," he said, but even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
"Okay," Selina shrugged. "But if it did…I want you to know that I'm here. You can talk to me about it."
"There is nothing to speak of," Damian said, aware of how stiff and formal his words had gotten. On the next sentence, his accent slipped, just a little. "I have no issue with gaining a sister."
Selina looked at him, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she reached out, cupping his cheek. He flinched away from the touch, and her hand dropped, clenching for a moment.
"Damian," she said. "You're not being replaced."
"I know that," Damian closed his eyes. "I just-"
The words failed him, and he sighed, balling his hands into fists.
"I'm listening," Selina said, and her voice was so gentle, so full of care – for him – that he could almost understand why father had chosen her.
It angered him.
"What do you know about caring for a child?" He spat. "You're nothing but a criminal."
Selina looked taken aback for just a moment, before a lazy smile spread across her face. "The same could be said for your mother."
Damian recoiled like he'd been struck, and he stared at her, before his shoulders sagged.
She was not wrong.
"Father chose you," he said quietly. "He chose to father a child with you. He was not afforded that choice when it came to me."
Selina paused. After a moment, she said, "I know the circumstances of your conception and birth were not…how Bruce would have chosen to have you. But Damian, that doesn't mean he loves you any less."
Damian turned his head away so she would not see the tear slip down his cheek. He huffed, scrunching up his face in an effort to will the emotions away. Selina didn't remark on this, just looked down at the floor.
"Damian," she said quietly. "Having Helena doesn't mean I love you any less, either. I will never be your mother, but I do care for you like a son."
"Get out," Damian said.
"No," Selina replied. She reached out and took his hand, and this time, he didn't shrink away from the touch. "I love you."
Damian took a shuddering breath. He could not bring himself to say it back.
"Okay," Selina said. She got to her feet, ankles still swollen from months of carrying Helena inside her, and took an uncertain step towards the door. She stopped, turning back to face him. After a moment, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
This time, the tears flowed freely.
Selina left, and Damian curled in on himself, trying to reconcile this feeling for what it was.
Storge.
The love only a family could provide.
Over the weeks, they settled into some semblance of a routine, with the baby.
Stephanie came over during the day to lend an extra set of hands. Damian twice caught her crying in the hallway closet, one hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, tears streaming down her face. She never said anything, and he didn't, either, understanding that some things were complicated, and that for all she said she was okay, this had brought up a world of hurt.
She was good with Helena, though. She had a gentle touch, a soft expression with a sunny disposition, and she always seemed to know what to do. She was invaluable to Selina and Bruce, and they knew it, too.
Dick was not as good with the baby as he'd hoped; she cried just about every time he held her. He'd apologise profusely to Selina and hand her back, which was always met with laughter, and he'd share a sheepish look with Damian, as though he was saying, babies, huh?
Damian did not have that problem, because he refused to hold her.
Jason took over the kitchen with Alfred, preparing enough meals to feed an army, it felt like, and always making sure Selina had something to eat. In caring for the baby, she frequently forgot to bathe or eat, so Jason ensured there was always something there should she find herself in the kitchen. He roped his younger siblings in, too, handing them meals to take up to Selina and Bruce if they happened to be walking by, with the promise there would be a plate waiting for them should they return to the kitchen.
Cassandra dragged Damian down to the Cave for sparring matches whenever the baby started crying. He was unsure what she was trying to do, but he was grateful for the workouts and the chance to hone his skills against one of the best martial artists in the world. He usually got a few good hits in, but more often than not he'd be flat on his back on the mat, and his sister would loom over him, and give him a cheerful "Again."
Tim had stepped up and taken over Wayne Enterprises while Bruce was on paternity leave, so he'd leave home by dawn and frequently return long after dusk, tie askew and with dark circles under his eyes. He mumbled about quarterly reports in his sleep, which Damian knew only because he had sleepwalked, more than once, into his younger brother's room, and it had taken almost a half-hour of herding to get him back to his own bed, though how the baby's crying didn't awaken him Damian did not know.
It was the crying that had woken him now, in the wee hours of the night. Darkness cloaked him as he sat up and slid open his top drawer, digging around in it until he'd produced a flashlight. He flicked it on and climbed out of bed, jamming his feet into the house shoes he left by the door. The door swung open, and he peered down the hall, but Father and Selina's door remained resolutely shut, and the cries echoed down the corridor, filling the space with anguish.
Damian made his way down the hall, flashlight in hand. He could still hear Helena's cries echoing off the walls, filling the manor with sound. He had no idea how everyone else seemed to be sleeping through it.
"Helena," he said, stepping into her nursery, setting the flashlight down on the bookshelf by the door so the dim light would fill the room, but not hurt her eyes. "Stop this infernal racket at once."
The baby kept screaming, so he wandered closer to investigate. She was lying in her crib, face scrunched up and an ugly shade of red, chest heaving with every cry. He reached into the crib and scooped her up, cradling her in his arms, and she settled into the crook of his elbow, still crying. He traced down her cheek with one finger, and she made a startled sound, cries cutting off. He did it again, and then again, and her cries quietened down before eventually dying off completely.
"There," he said. "That's better, is it not?"
She did not reply, but grabbed at his finger with one dainty little hand. Damian shifted her weight in his arm, trying to get her more comfortably settled, and reached for the baby monitor, trying to discern why nobody else had come running at the infant's cries. The little LED on the side, which was meant to be a bright and shining green, was not on at all. He slid the back off the casing and inspected the batteries.
"They must be drained," he said to his little sister, replacing the back and setting it down on the bedside table. "Allow me a moment."
He placed her back in the crib, and almost immediately she whimpered, waving her arms in the air and kicking her legs furiously. He dug through one of the cubbies on the other side of the room, and under the baby wipes he unearthed a spare packet of batteries. He returned to the bedside table and flicked the casing open again, pulling out the dead batteries and replacing them. Helena whined, and he set the monitor back on the bedside table before reaching for her again.
"Settle," he commanded her, and she did, curling into his chest the slightest bit. Her head was just over his heart, her ear pressed to his chest. She must have found it soothing, because after a few moments her eyelids became heavy, and she yawned. He traced down her cheek with one finger again. She reached up slowly and grasped his finger in one tiny hand, squeezing with as much strength as she could muster. He smiled.
She started to doze in his arms. He went to place her back in the crib, and her eyes immediately snapped back open, so, with a sigh, he carried her over to the rocking chair in the corner and settled himself inside. Her eyes drifted shut again, and in moments she was asleep.
"One day," he told her, "I will be Batman, and you will be my Robin."
In the silence of the night, it was just them, and Damian could be forgiven for assuming that was something that would be between just them, he and his sister. But the baby monitor blinked green, and on the other end, at the other end of the hall, Bruce Wayne rolled over in bed and smiled.
