—What if Damian grew up with Bruce?—
~~~~ Cat-like screaming filled the west wing of Wayne Manor. Bruce’s booming voice managed to overpower the wailing as he called for help. “ALFRED!!!” The elderly butler rushed into the nursery, where Billionaire Bruce Wayne stood, desperately holding his wiggling child. Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle. “I can’t get him to stop crying!” The man was definitely in a panic. He didn’t have the experience that his butler did. “Here, let me have a go at it, Master Bruce.” Bruce carefully handed the small boy to Alfred. “There we are. Hello, Young Master Damian,” he cooed. Damian instantly seemed to calm down. His plump cheeks were tear streaked and red, but the wriggling had stopped. “I don’t get it, Alfred…does he not like me? I can’t get him to calm down.” “Well perhaps he would benefit from a night with you comforting him instead of an old man such as myself.” Alfred wasn’t the type to sugarcoat anything, but he always meant it with the respect that was due. The grandfather clock in the study rang out, announcing that it was 9pm. Bruce had already suited up for patroling. With a sigh, he lowered his head. He was given something to be responsible of only two months before, and, despite his time with his apprentices, an infant was something with which he was not familiar. “I’ll call Barbara and let her know she’ll be a bit short handed tonight.” ~ Fifteen minutes passed before Bruce returned to the nursery. Damian lay in his crib, kicking his legs as the baby mobile slowly spun above him. Bruce meandered into the room, and leaned down to pick up his son. Damian’s eyes started to crinkle and fill with tears as he looked up at the “stranger”. “H-Hey, its just me, little man. I-Its Daddy!” The baby’s face turned bright red. Bruce carried him out of the nursery, and towards his own room. “I…I bet you get tired of the same room all the time, huh?” He lightly pushed the door open with his back. “See, this is my room.” He walked towards the fireplace, shifting him over to his right arm. He pointed to the painted mural of Martha and Thomas Wayne above the mantle. “That’s your Grandma and Grandpa. They are in Heaven now, but they watch over us, like angels.” He looked back down at his son, who had calmed down a little, and was beginning to look a bit sleepy. Bruce slowly walked to the large beg across the room and sat down, placing the baby upon the blanket. The nervous father lay down beside his son, propping himself up with his arm. Damian just gazed up at him with big, curious eyes. “You look just like your mom, Damian…” He seemed to understand that, because a tiny smile appeared on his face, which was followed by a yawn. Bruce lay his head down beside him and began humming a lullaby Alfred would sing when he was younger. Two hours later, Alfred passed the master bedroom to find the door open, and the bedside lamp dimly lit. On the bed were the father and son, both fast asleep.