Chapter Text
It was a mistake on his part, a crucial detail that he'd overlooked, and only now was Bruce being painfully made aware of this.
In hindsight, he should have been prepared for a situation like this. As the protector of Gotham and father of five children, he should have had the foresight to know that conversations like this would only lead to pain and suffering for all parties involved.
He should have known better; he really should have, and because of that, he decided that this mistake was unforgivable.
He'd heard the boy speak before—his youngest son's alternate. Had listened with a painfully heavy heart as the boy with his son's older face casually painted the tale of his childhood with excruciating detail. Of the misery and deaths, Lord above the deaths, that he and his son had suffered through.
He should have been prepared for the possibility that whatever it was his son Dami would say had the possibility of bringing his youngest irreplaceable pain.
How naive it was of him to hope that the pain that both versions of his son had experienced was enough. That perhaps the worst had already passed and that things wouldn't get any worse for his darling boy.
Stupid of him to assume, he knew.
Bruce already knew that the rest of his children were planning something that morning. Had known that left to their devices, his children had the capability to plan and carry out seemingly impossible feats. A fact that he'd known intimately for the past decade and yet still allowed, encouraged even.
He should have stopped them. Should have pulled them aside and explained to them the need for a gentler approach with their littlest brother already aching from the pain he was in.
But he didn't.
And now everything was falling apart because of him.
Because of his mistake.
Because of his oversight.
Because he flinched.
He. Flinched.
It happened so quickly. One moment he and Dick were speaking of his current employment and then the next, his son was in tears. His littlest and arguably most sensitive darling boy was sitting heartbroken and reduced to tears because Bruce couldn't control his body's reaction.
He'd lost control of himself—of his actions and for that his son was suffering. Shrinking into himself as tears fell silently from his painfully round cheeks.
Damian looked so small like this. Too small for the once proud boy who openly shoved his way into Bruce's heart the moment he saw him. His precious boy.
Bruce had never died before but now he was certain of what that would feel like. It was what he was feeling right now. The overwhelming weight in his chest, the dizzying clench of his insides, and the excruciating way his throat seemed to close up all of which determined to drag him down.
It felt like he was being torn apart at the very seams and for a selfish moment Bruce almost wished he was.
He wished he was being punished physically. That all the hurt and the ache he was feeling on the inside would magically show on his skin because maybe if that happened, maybe his son would see how much he cared for him.
Maybe he'd see then the weight Bruce placed on his thoughts and tears.
Because apparently he'd failed in that aspect the most.
Bruce almost wanted to laugh at the irony. He'd only wanted to respect his youngest's boundaries. Merely wished to give him the time and space to get used to Bruce's presence in his life before imposing on him. He thought he was giving Damian what he wanted, turns out he was only driving his son's previous insecurities deeper.
Funny how his attempts to make his precious boy more comfortable only served to drown him in his misconceptions and false beliefs.
Bruce had felt many different types of pain before. Had felt the worst pain a parent could ever feel with his second's death. But seeing his youngest shrink in on himself beside him brought a different kind of pain to him, a pain that made it hard to breathe and threatened to choke him.
It was something he never wished on even his greatest enemies.
But nothing less than what he deserved.
There was silence after Dami left them. His children had been reduced to a rare silence as they stared. Bruce could only imagine what was going on in their minds. His beautiful and hardened children, how he wanted nothing more than to wrap them all in his arms and assure them that everything was going to be alright. But he knew they wouldn't appreciate his empty words; they never did.
Unsurprisingly, Dick was the first to leave. Shooting up from he seat, he ran out of the room with a hand pressed hard against his mouth as if fighting the urge to vomit. His oldest has always been more sensitive than his siblings, always in tune and trying to connect with the others, even as they shy away from him.
Cass was the second. Silent as she had always been, she hurried out to follow her brother. No doubt worried for Dick as she herself struggled to grapple with what she'd come to know.
Jason was next. Eyes flickering between Bruce and Damian before falling to the floor. His hands twitched on his sides, no doubt itching to get a hold of something, but settled on curling them into tight fists. His second eldest looked like he wanted to say something. He probably did, but as always, he didn't, and so did Bruce as he watched him leave.
Tim was the last to leave, and up until then, he'd been staring at his hand, which Dami had earlier touched. Silent as he always was when deep in thought as tears slowly gathered in his eyes. He looked away before they could drop and stood. He doesn't look at Damian as he did so, but Bruce could tell that he wanted to. His third mumbled an excuse before finally leaving.
In the end, it was only he, Damian, and Alfred that remained in the dining room. Though Alfred had, at this point, taken to leaning against the chair that Dami had occupied earlier. His face was hidden, but Bruce would tell by the tremble in his shoulders that he seemed moments from shattering as the rest of them were.
So that left Bruce with his son.
His youngest, who up until that dinner had been silent for the entire day. He was still seated beside him, picking at the loose skin on his fingers. A habit, Bruce noticed, that would occur during stressful situations. Something that was becoming more and more frequent these past few days.
Without thinking, Bruce reached over to take his hand in his. Being sure to cover his entire hand with gentle pressure to stop him from breaking skin without hurting him. His son seemed startled by this, though he was quick to try and hide it by looking away. Bruce's heart ached as he watched, but at least his youngest didn't try to pull away.
A win in Bruce's book, though, albeit a small one.
It was a step in the right direction. The first of hopefully many. A sign that maybe it wasn't too late to fix things with his boy-
“I'm sorry.”
What?
Bruce's thoughts came to a screeching halt. Were his ears deceiving him? Was he really hearing his youngest son, his darling littlest boy, apologize to him? For what reason?
“Damian-”
“For disturbing dinner,” Wait. “I am aware of how much you look forward to having dinner with your children, and I-” What? “I wish to apologize for my improper behavior.” No. “I am prepared to accept whatever punishment you see fit for this disruption.”
No.
Without thinking, Bruce stood from his seat and snatched Damian from his own to gather him in his arms. Distantly, he could hear Alfred’s gasp as the chair that Bruce previously sat on fell back to the ground. He could almost hear the lecture on the tip of Alfred’s tongue, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Bruce clung to his son. His heart pounding in his ears as he wrapped his arms almost painfully tight around his boy. His small and precious boy. He almost wanted to sob.
He used to dream of having moments like this. Moments where he could just gather Damian into his arms whenever he felt like it, without making Damian uncomfortable. It was one of his greatest desires since he first found out about Damian. But having to hold Damian like this, after he'd apologized for his ‘improper behavior’?
He would very much prefer to be stabbed clean through than feel this type of pain ever again.
And Damian… Damian said it slowly, too. As if he were afraid of how Bruce would react. It was almost like he expected Bruce to be furious at him and send him away. Maybe he did if Bruce were to go by Damian's earlier reaction.
Good Lord, his son was expecting him to punish him. He was expecting Bruce to hurt him.
He was-
Bruce felt sick. Had he failed his son this much that Damian would think this of him? Had he truly allowed his son to have this misconception? How long had Damian thought that Bruce was going to punish him for something as little as this? For simply acting as a human and feeling?
Please don't tell him that he'd already failed his son this much.
Please.
“I love you, you know that, right, Damian?” Bruce asked desperately, shifting his son in his arms to get a look at his face. His heart sank to his stomach when his littlest boy refused to meet his eyes. “Right, Damian? You know that I love you, right? Son? Please, you know that right?”
No.
“I would never punish you for feeling, for crying, for anything like that. You know that, right, Darling? Damian?”
Please.
“And I know that I flinched, but I didn't mean to. I don't hate your smile, I love it. I love it when you smile, when you laugh, when you pout. I love you. I love every part of you. I know that I don't say that, but you know that, right, Darling? You have to know that I love you.”
Bruce was desperate, no, he was past desperate by then. He was hysterical. His eyes were filling with tears, and he was shaking, but Damian… Damian wasn't answering him. He wasn't even looking at him. He was just there, perched on his hip, hand clinging to his sleeve, and looking away.
“Son-”
“Master Bruce, why don't I take Master Damian for a moment?” Bruce swore that he felt his heart stop for a moment as Alfred appeared beside them. “You look like you're about to-”
“No!” Bruce screamed as he all but crushed Damian into his chest. “You can't take him; I can handle him. You can't-!”
“Master Bruce!”
But Bruce wasn't having it. He shook his head, burying his face into the top of his son's head. He wasn’t going to let go of his son. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Not after learning of the horrors his darling boy had gone through.
He was so young. Just ten years old and yet he’d already gone to so much. Both as Robin and as his mother's son.
And to think that what Bruce knew wasn't even close to half of it.
“At the very least, sit down, sir. It would do you and Master Damian if you collapsed.” Alfred said, already pulling a chair for him to sit on.
Bruce swallowed and bobbed his head. Alfred was right. He needed to sit down and get it together. He was no use to his son if he was hysterical and out of control, and his darling boy needed him.
His son already wasn't in the best of conditions due to the poison he'd ingested earlier that day, and though Dami had assured him that his son would be alright, he didn't want to take his chances. It was better to be safe than sorry with his darling's delicate condition.
It was also the reason why he'd spent almost the entirety of the day around his son. Which he wasn't complaining about. It was the longest he’d been in his darling son’s presence in the entire three months that he’d been staying with them.
Already, Bruce was mourning the time he’d lost. For months, he'd held back from his desire to pick his son up and cuddle with him. He thought that it was for the best. Believed that he was giving Damian what he wanted.
His son had boundaries, Bruce thought himself back then, and it was clear from the start that he didn't appreciate being touched. So he held back. The last thing he wanted to do was to accidentally smolder Damian and make him uncomfortable in his own home, as he did with Dick a few years ago.
Yet somehow he still failed. In typical fashion, he'd only realized his mistake when it was staring him in the face in the form of Dami pointing out his darling son's insecurities to him.
Some detective he was: blind to his loved one's pain, and useless when they needed him the most.
Truly, he was the world's greatest detective.
“I'm sorry,” Bruce whispered, pressing a kiss on the top of Damian’s head. Damian froze on his lap, “For what it's worth, I do love you, my son. I apologize that I haven't made this obvious to you sooner.”
As expected, Damian doesn't respond to him, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't move. His baby just sat there as he had earlier in the cave. Bruce's heart broke all the same.
Eventually, Bruce was able to calm himself and gather the strength to stand. By then, Alfred had long left to check on the others, giving him the privacy to carry his son back to his room. He didn't know how long had passed since his children left, and the manor had fallen into a sullen silence. It was like the manor knew of the depressing event that had happened hours before and was grieving with him.
The rest of his children were most likely in their rooms, if not outside patrolling the streets to let off some steam. He would need to check up on them later just to make sure that they were doing alright. For now, Bruce was taking Damian to his room to rest.
A part of him still ached to take Damian to his own room as he did with his other children during stressful times. He could probably get away with it, too, considering Damian's current mental state. It wasn't like he would protest; he'd been pretty compliant with pretty much everything that Bruce subjected him to since that morning.
Still, Bruce didn't want to push it. He didn't want to trample on the boundaries his littlest son expressed. Didn't want to push for more than what his precious boy would be comfortable with, just because he knew that his boy wouldn't say no to him.
So he doesn't.
Bruce carried his son back to his room. Damian was silent as he expected, almost doll-like as he set him on his bed. Not even a minute after he’d let go of his son and Bruce was already aching to cuddle with him.
He would later. After he checked up on his other children. Heaven only knows the guilt they must be feeling after what they heard earlier that day.
On that thought, he should probably look for Dick first. Knowing his eldest, he was probably beating himself up, considering the responsibility he felt over his younger siblings. His little boy had stepped up after Jason died. He’d become more available, more amicable for the sake of his siblings.
Something born out of guilt and not actual want. At least for the first couple of years after Jason’s passing. But they were getting better. Bruce himself was getting better.
Even before he’d adopted Dick, Bruce had never been the best at dealing with emotions. He was well aware of his tendency to bottle things up and deal with them on his own instead of speaking about them with other people.
A thing that he was trying to change. Small steps, as his previous therapist said. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it would take a lot of time to change what he was used to, his words, not Bruce's.
Maybe he should go back to Dr. Simmons again. That wouldn’t be such a terrible idea, Bruce thought to himself as he began to tuck Damian in, though it would be a challenge considering that the man had almost deducted his identity as Batman.
Then again, there was patient confidentiality and it wasn’t like Dr. Simmons would violate that. Not even the Joker himself had gotten Dr. Simmons to speak about his sessions with Harley Quinn that one time Joker decided to kidnap him. And if Bruce’s memory served him right, the man had even managed to make Joker cry that time.
So maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go back to him.
Bruce’s lips twitched at the memory as he leaned down to press a final kiss on Damian’s forehead. He whispers a quick goodbye and a final I love you to his son before turning to leave. But as he was closing the door, he heard it.
“You don’t need to lie, I know you’re having a difficult time holding affection for me.”
And Bruce froze.
He doesn’t know how long he stood there for but by the time he was able to force himself to move, Damian was on the other side of the door.
“I wish to thank you for letting me stay though I am not the easiest to tolerate.” Damian, his precious little baby said, then as if to further twist the knife, “Rest assured that I will keep my alternate’s words in mind to lessen my burden on you and your family, Father.”
Damian closed the door.
And Bruce stared. He looked at the large mahogany door that stood between him and his boy and just stared. His son thought that he was just tolerating him. Tolerating him as if he hadn’t heard Bruce’s panic, his despair when he found him poisoned earlier that day. As if he hadn’t felt Bruce’s hugs and kisses just minutes ago.
It would have been easier to accept if his boy had stabbed him, if he had pulled a gun out and shot him in his chest. He would have welcomed it. Preferred it even to the words his son muttered before closing the door in his face.
This is what true torture was like, Bruce realized. Not the broken bones he received for failing missions in the League or the fear of rejection he faced when returning to Alfred after his travel, but this.
His youngest son and the second one he’s failed. Not because of a clown or any of the rogues that roam Gotham, but because of his inability to communicate with them.
He failed, and there was no one else to blame.
He-
Bruce tripped over his own feet. He was about to land face-first on the ground when a pair of hands caught him. He reached over to grasp the person’s shoulder to pull himself, and suddenly found himself standing face to face with the source of his youngest son’s despair.
Dami.
“Mr. Wayne! Are you alright?” Dami asked him, eyes wide with concern as he ushered him to take a seat. He checked him over, using a similar technique to Talia’s, and Bruce had to physically restrain himself from flinching once again. “Mr. Wayne?”
In the short span that he'd spent lost in his thoughts, he'd somehow stumbled into Dami, who was in Jason's reading nook. He was losing it. If he wasn't sure of that before, now he was.
"Mr. Wayne?" Dami’s head was in a tilt, and Bruce forced himself to nod. He had to pull himself together before he accidentally hurt the boy who had his youngest’s face. “Yes. I-I am.”
Dami looked over at him for a moment as if trying to see if he was lying before he visibly softened. He was relieved, Bruce realized, as any of his children would have been if they were his shoes. Albeit his children would be less trusting of his words since Bruce didn’t have the greatest track record for not hiding injuries.
He must have a great deal of trust in his father in his world. Something that Bruce would have taken pride in if he didn't know of the pain Dami was subjected to under his father's nose.
“I’m glad. What was that about?” Dami asked. Bruce must have made a face because he quickly added, “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, I didn't mean to impose.”
The regret Bruce felt was almost immediate. “No!” He shouted, Dami doesn’t flinch but it’s a close one. “I’m sorry, I- you’re not imposing Dami.” He paused, fighting the urge to take Dami’s hand in his. “It’s just a rough night, you know?”
Dami nodded; his eyes were so kind that it made Bruce want to weep. He didn't deserve to have those eyes directed at him. Not after the pain he'd inflicted on his youngest. “I understand. Leslie and Alfred reacted the same when I told them about my poison tolerance.”
Leslie and Alfred. “Do I- does your father know about your tolerance?” Bruce asked, and already there was a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Dami pursed his lips like he was thinking of how to answer him. Then after a moment, he nodded, “I believe he does, yes. I’m sure that it was part of the files Mother sent to him about my medical records.”
Medical records, his alternate probably knew because of medical records, Bruce almost wanted to scoff. Already, Bruce was starting to feel even more disappointment in his alternate self than he already was. “You didn’t speak with him about this?”
Dami shook his head, “He doesn’t like to talk about my time in the League.”
This time, Bruce wasn’t able to keep his bitterness from his voice. He scoffed, “Of course he doesn’t.” Because, of course, his alternate self didn’t want to talk about the League, he was just the same as he was.
For the longest time, Bruce had avoided talking about the League to his children because of the ugly memories it brought up. He was sparing himself, but what use was his comfort when his youngest was directly being affected by it?
Bruce took a mental note to go over his experience in the League with Tim to properly document it. Maybe with Jason and even Cass, too. Though he would need to see if they were comfortable with that.
With Jason, he would need to be more cautious, considering they were still working on their relationship. Even now, months after their last fight, Jason was not comfortable having Bruce around his spots that much.
Speaking of which, what was Damu even doing here?
He must have said that aloud because a sheepish look appeared on Dami’s face, “I wanted to see if this was the same as my Jason’s nook. I was actually thinking of updating his area since he outgrew the one I made for him for his last birthday, but seeing that older him has the exact same nook he has, I’ll start thinking of other birthday gifts for him.”
“Give him the First Edition of Jane Austen’s books.” Bruce said almost instantly, his mind jumping back to the time he’d gotten his sweet boy those books. He almost cried that time.
Dami snapped his fingers, “That’s a good idea, I’ll add that to the list.”
Bruce smiled because, of course, he does, how couldn’t he when this teen—his baby, his mind whispered—looked so proud of himself. Without thinking, he leaned over and pressed a kiss on his forehead, “Adorable.”
Then he stilled, and Dami did too beneath him.
Bruce jerked away, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt his cheeks heat up. Right, how could he forget? This boy—this child—was not his. He shouldn’t have done that. He probably made Dami feel uncomfortable. Damn. Damn his life and his life choices. What has he done?
Never in his life had Bruce wanted so much as to jump off a window. What was he thinking?
“Dami-”
“Mr. Wayne-”
They spoke at the same time.
Then looked away.
And Bruce was, well, he wasn’t panicking. He was just thinking of a logical way to play off his mistake as normal. Not that there was anything weird about kissing his son’s forehead. Except Dami wasn’t his son; he was from an alternate world and was an older version of Damian.
Damn it all, it was just like that one time he called Steph 'Sweetheart’ after she was dosed with Fear Gas or that one time he called Alfred ‘Dad’ with a concussion.
Not bad, but awkward.
As if that were any better.
Bruce buried his head in his hands and breathed. He was going to apologize, he wasn't going to overreact, and most importantly, he was going to get himself together. Dami wouldn't judge him…. hopefully.
He could do this. This was just a boy who, unfortunately, looked like his son. Dami would understand the mix-up. He would.
With his resolve strengthened, Bruce looked back with an apology already on the tip of his tongue and stared.
Ace?
That's right, Dami was no longer beside him but on the floor giving Ace, his ever-so loyal hound, belly rubs.
How Ace even got there without Bruce hearing him, he doesn't know. He was compromised, and he could already hear Alfred using it as an excuse to ban him from patrolling the next few nights.
Dami giggled as Ace then stood on his hind legs and licked his face. “Hello to you, too, boy.”
“Dami?” Bruce said carefully, eyes wide with barely concealed wonder as he watched his son's alternate interaction with the family pet. He'd never seen Damian interact with Ace before, though if this was how his alternate interacted with Ace, then maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea getting his littlest boy a dog of his own.
If he wanted one, of course.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne,” Dami said, scratching that particular area on Ace's back that he loved. “I couldn't help myself, he's just too adorable. Look at him!”
Bruce nodded, though personally, he thought Dami looked more adorable than Ace that moment. He couldn't help but picture Damian in his place: laughing as he played with his pet. Calm and relaxed, something that Damian rarely was in the manor.
“You're a natural with Ace. Do you have any pets of your own in your world?”
Dami made a thoughtful sound, “A few,” He said after a while. “Most live in the manor, and some are with Mother.”
Perfect.
“Can you tell me about them?” Bruce asked, maintaining a curious tone and not at all an eager one in his voice. Might as well take a page from his children's book and ask him.
“I have- had seven pets.” Dami's hand slowed, his scratches slowed, and immediately Bruce felt like he'd done something wrong. “The first and second ones are with Mother since they're too big for the manor, and the rest are gifts from you.” He paused as if thinking something over. “Except for Medea.”
What kind of pet has Medea for a name?
“She's a Reticulated Python, a gift for my eighteenth birthday.” He added as if reading his mind. It appeared as though receiving animals for birthday gifts was a normal occurrence in his world. “Aside from her, I have a tuxedo cat named Alfred, and yes, he is named after Alfred Pennyworth. He doesn't mind. A cow called Batcow, and a turkey called Jerry.”
“That's-” a lot of barn animals, Bruce wanted to say, but before he could, he recalled the number Dami mentioned earlier. “That's only six, I thought you said you have seven pets?”
“Had seven pets.” Dami corrected, “Though technically I only ever had six since one of them passed before I got Medea.”
Bruce made a soft noise, he inched towards Dami noticing the shift in his demeanor. “Can you tell me about her? If you don't mind.”
“Him actually.” Dami swallowed, hand reaching over to pet Ace's head. “Titus was a Great Dane and he was my first pet from Father. The first-ever gift Father gave me. He passed away the night before I turned eighteen.”
Oh.
Bruce swallowed, his hard curling into a fist as he reminded himself not to pull Dami into a hug. “I'm sorry.”
Dami nodded slowly, placing a kiss on Ace's brow as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He probably had with a different dog. “It's alright, I manage.”
“Do you visit your other pets often?” Bruce asked after a while, his mind wandering to his son's supposed pets, “The ones in your mother's custody?”
Maybe Damian had pets at Talia's, too, if Dami had them. Perhaps Bruce would even arrange something with Talia, considering those were his son's pets. He and Talia didn't agree on a lot of things, but maybe they could on this one for their son's sake.
“Every three months-”
Wait-
“As per their custody agreement.”
What?
“What?” Bruce more-or-less shouted, “Every three months?!”
Dami just bobbed his head, not at all fazed by his reaction, as if he's seen it before. “Yeah, every three months I'd go and spend a week with her and then come back to Gotham.” Then, after looking at his face, he added, “They agreed on it.”
“Why would- She hurts you!” This time, Bruce shouted, not at all caring if someone else heard him. All he could really think of were the scars that littered his son's body.
His son's body, his ten-year-old son's body, was filled with scars. Some scars older than anything that should be on his body. And Dami was saying that his father, Bruce's alternate self, had allowed him to go back to her.
What was his alternate self thinking? Was he even thinking at all? Why on God's green earth would he allow his baby to go back to her every three months for a week straight? Was he insane? What-
“Only as much as you do.” Dami hissed, and Bruce flinched. What did he mean by that? His alternate self was hurting him? What?
“Mr. Wayne!” Bruce's eyes flickered up to meet Dami's. Dami sighed and reached over to grab his hand.
“She loves me.” He said slowly, as if that made everything better. As if that excused everything they put him through-! “In her own way. It isn't as bad as you think it is. At least, not always.”
And Bruce just stared at him. Waiting for an explanation. Something, anything, that will help him understand because how, how can this version of his son go through so much and not hate her? How can he say that she loves him when she's already hurt so much?
“I know my upbringing wasn't ideal-” Understatement of the damn century, Bruce thought to himself. “And I know I have scars to prove it, but Mother, and even Grandfather, had their moments.”
“I know it's hard to believe, but they weren't always hard on me. Especially Grandfather, ” Dami insisted as if he could feel Bruce's disbelief. “They could be cruel at times, but also so kind to me, so loving.”
“There were times when Grandfather would pick me up on his shoulders and carry me around the palace to help me see my surroundings better. Times when he would give me the best parts of his meal, not because they were poisoned but because he knew that I liked them.”
“He would even peel me fruit sometimes and hand-feed it to me.” Dami laughed, and Bruce did too because the idea of Ra's al Ghul, Leader of the League of Assassins, peeling fruit and hand-feeding his son was so unbelievable that he had to laugh.
“He would tell me stories of his adventures, the creatures he'd seen, and the wonders there used to be. He would take me up to rooftops and point to the stars and tell me their stories.”
“He even gave me my first pet. When I was three, he gave me a dragon egg from Northern China." Wait, did he just say a dragon egg? "Said that if I found a way to hatch it, it would be mine, and I did! I did, and I called him Wiggles in front of the entire League, and Jido threatened to kill anyone who laughed at the name I gave.”
“Jido loved me, and Ummi? Ummi chose me.”
“Despite my flaws, my mistakes, Ummi loves me.” Tears started to well in Dami's eyes, but he ignored them, “She chooses me every day, even when it's hard. Even when by choosing me, she chooses death. Over you, over the League, and even over Grandfather, she chooses me. And I have no doubt, and if she were given a choice to pick between herself or me, she would choose me. She already did when she sent me to you.”
Bruce swallowed thickly. A part of him wanted to doubt what Dami was saying, but a greater part of him couldn't. Of course, Talia would choose their son over herself. He'd seen her capacity to love before and had even been on the receiving end of it for a good while. But that didn't erase the hurt she'd inflicted on their son.
It just made it worse.
“Mother doesn't know how to be soft," Dami said, squeezing his fingers to regain his attention. "She doesn't know how to love without making it hurt, but I don't blame her for it.” Dami swallowed, frantically blinking away his tears. “I love her and Jido all the same, despite their mistakes, despite the scars they left on my skin as I love my father—your alternate.”
Bruce tensed, “Despite the flinches, the dismissal, and the times where he couldn't even look me in the eye, I love him. Even after the times I doubted whether or not he wanted me, if he even loved me, I loved him. Foolish as it may be.”
“I love them, all of them, and I wish you would give your Damian the grace to love them even when my father didn't.”
Dami looked desperate, and once again Bruce felt sick. Because here was another version of son, his baby, pleading with him. Reasoning with him to give his baby grace, to let his baby love his mother and grandfather.
What's worse is that Bruce wouldn't have even considered all this before this very moment with Dami.
Was… was Dami even seeing him and not his father?
Was Dami picturing himself in front of his father, pleading with him to understand, to not judge him for missing the people that hurt him? The people who love him just as much as they hurt him.
“And I understand,” Dami continued, pulling Bruce from his increasingly distressing thoughts. “Your wish for Jido and Ummi to be purely cruel. I do too sometimes, selfishly.”
A tear slid down from his eye. “I wish that they would just hurt me so bad and leave me for dead so that I can hate them, turn my back on them, and continue on with my life without wondering what I could have done to make them kinder to me, to love me more than they already do, so that they could love me. Truly love me, without making it hurt.”
“Because maybe if he did, Father wouldn't have allowed for another to take my place as his Robin.”
Bruce's heart dropped to his stomach. No. Not with this version of his son, too. Don't tell him that Dami truly believed that, that he truly believed that his father could replace him as Dick, Jason, and even Tim had.
Though it wouldn't be surprising, Bruce's mind whispered to him, the other version of him had already hurt this boy—this child—so much, why wouldn't he do that?
But still, he didn’t want to accept that. Because Bruce wouldn't, he never could, never will even think of replacing a child of his. And he refused to believe that this was a so-called quirk of his world. It wasn't. It couldn't be.
No version of him would ever willingly replace their precious child with another.
But Dami didn't know that. He never would if Bruce didn't say anything because this alternate version was too cowardly to say it.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that,” Dami said with a sniff. He released his hand and looked away. Almost immediately, Bruce wanted to take his hand back. Wanted to hold him like he would to his children later. “It's not fair to dump this all on you.”
He swiped at his cheeks as if wiping away tears and moved to stand up. “I should go, I'm really sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Wayne. I-”
“Wait!” Bruce grabbed his wrist, and Dami stopped in his tracks. He tensed beneath Bruce's touch as if he was bracing himself for an attack. Bruce swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. “Just wait.” He rasped out.
“Sir?”
“It’s not like that I-” Bruce said desperately, because Dami had to understand. He needed to know. “I don’t know your father, and I don’t want to overstep, but Bruce Wayne would never do that. You have to believe me, Dami, I-he-we would never even think of replacing you with anyone. Even if Tim is Robin, that would never change how much we feel about you. How much your father loves you. Truly loves you.”
An unreadable expression flickered on Dami’s face. “Mr. Wayne, Robin’s dead,” Dami said plainly, the expression on his face teetering between disbelief and rage. The sadness and the pain that was on his face was replaced by something so similar to Dick’s when he first found out about Jason.
Bruce stilled, he could feel his eyes growing larger as grief washed over him for a boy he didn’t know, but a boy that was still his son. “-Tim barely even made it out alive, and you expect him to be Robin?”
Dami sounded insulted, angry, but Bruce could only think which of his alternate sons died at the hands of the Joker. Which had his alternate failed to protect. “Is it Jason then?”
“Jason’s a child.” Dami hissed. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to punch Bruce, and Bruce wouldn’t have even blamed him if he did. This was a bad idea; this was practically torturing this child with the memories of his dead sibling.
Then Dami did something unexpected and laughed. Bruce almost flinched at how much he sounded like Talia. It almost felt like he was in the League again in front of her as she laughed at how blind he was. How oblivious he was to the facts she was painting in front of him that he couldn’t see.
“Do you think I’m upset because Father gave another boy Robin?” He said a moment later, an air of false calm surrounding them. Bruce forced himself to nod, “Mr. Wayne, I’m not upset that Father made someone else Robin, I’m upset because he set another child on the path to become like me.”
“I’m upset because it took me threatening to kill his son to make him understand!” Damian snapped, but Bruce didn't flinch.
He didn’t believe it. Not one bit of it. He couldn’t believe that this obviously sweet and caring boy in front of him was confessing to threatening to kill his siblings. Dami wouldn’t do that. His reactions to the idea of hurting his siblings before proved that.
He was most likely leaving out details to get a rise out of Bruce. To challenge the notion that Bruce set to loving his Damian and Dami by extension. “No.”
“No?” Dami sounded confused.
“No,” Bruce repeated, harsher than he intended, but Dami doesn’t back down from him. “I don’t believe you. You would never hurt your siblings, I know you wouldn’t.” He stepped closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Something that he’s wanted to do for his own child but never did.
“What happened? Who did you threaten to kill?” Bruce asked, keeping his tone gentle as he met Dami’s eyes. His own heart clenched at the disbelief in Dami’s eyes. It was as if he couldn’t believe the softness Bruce was offering to him. The bare minimum that his own father didn’t appear to have given him. “I won’t be mad, I promise.”
There was a pause, as if Dami didn’t know how he was going to continue before-
“Myself.” He whispered after a while, and for all Bruce’s training, nothing could have prepared him for this answer. “I held my katana up to my throat and said I’ll kill myself if he makes Jason Robin.”
At that moment, something inside Bruce snapped, and before he knew what he was doing, Dami was already in his arms. He was shaking, Bruce distantly realized, not that-that matter. He couldn't care less about what was happening to his body when this child, his child, his mind corrected almost hysterically, had admitted to having tried to kill himself.
Not because of any plot or even illness, but because of Bruce. Because his alternate self was actively hurting Dami's siblings, and this was the only option Dami saw to spare them from the pain he'd gone through. The pain that his father was ready to subject his children to.
Then a startling thought came to the forefront of his mind: how young was Dami when he did that?
Dami was young now, Bruce thought to himself, fingers curling on the sweater Dami wore. At the age of nineteen, he was roughly the same age as his second-oldest and most certainly thinner than his eldest. He was far too young to be bargaining with his life. Too young to be forced to take over responsibilities that the Bruce in his world should be handling.
How young was Dami when he held his katana to his neck?
Was he even a teen back then?
How-?
He heard a quiet sniff from the child in his arms and pulled away to wipe away his tears. Bruce cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I'm sorry,” Bruce said after a while, his voice cracking. “I'm so sorry.”
Bruce repeated it like a mantra. Like it would somehow be enough to cover his would-be son's wounds and heal them. It wouldn't. No matter how much he wanted it to, his apologies had no magic and would not erase all the pain and suffering this boy had gone through.
Dami had already gone through unimaginable horrors brought by Bruce's mistakes, but Damian has not.
Damian, his baby, he could still save. He could still spare from the pain Dami had gone through.
Damian and the rest of his siblings, Bruce decided, would not be subjected to the horrors Dami and his own siblings were.
“How can I be better?” Bruce whispered to the small boy in his arms. Just as old as his second yet still a baby all the same, his baby, no matter what world he may be from.
“Don’t let them become like me.”
Dami whispered, his desperation and sadness so evident in his voice that it sent a wave of tears into Bruce’s eyes. It was a simple request, but Bruce heard all the things he knew this version of his son wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to.
‘Don’t let Dick become the stand-in father for your children.’
‘Don’t let Jason live doubting your love for him.’
‘Don’t let Cass believe she’s the weapon they forced her to be.’
‘Don’t let Tim waste his early life away working in a company that he’s too young for.’
‘Don’t let Damian break himself to be the son he thinks you want.’
“I won’t,” Bruce whispered back, heart breaking inside his chest. He heard all his would-be son wanted to ask of him and swore, “I promise you, I won’t.”
He would be better, Bruce swore to himself. Tightening his arms around the boy who shared his son's face. The boy that his baby would become if he didn't get better. A boy so bruised and hurt, and yet smiled through it all even when he shouldn't need to. His boy. His darling, precious boy. In his mind, he couldn’t help but curse his other self.
How could he allow his boy to become like this?
How could he fail his son this much?