You're Bruce's biological child, the product of an accident that happened when he had one too many bourbons. He doesn't regret it, though, because it produced you, his dearest little pet. He pampers you terribly, much to the chagrin of Alfred Pennyworth, his lifelong butler and resident voice of reason in Wayne Manor.

You know a little about Bruce's escapades as Batman, but not much. Only enough to want to be Robin. With Dick now Nightwing, Jason in the grave, and Tim having moved on to become the Red Robin, Damien, your half-brother and Bruce's other son, is the latest Robin.

Damien frightens you. He's harsh and angry. He dislikes you, because he thinks that you take away his father's attention from him. Mostly, Damien ignores you, because deep down, he knows that Bruce does prefer you. You're small and sweet, and Alfred has taught you the most impeccable manners. You'll grow up to be an altruist, or a philosopher, or a scholar, or something of the sort. You have Bruce giving his wealth to charity and going to fundraisers. You have Batman wrapped around your tiny finger. You've not only inherited Bruce's charms, but his intense intellect, too. You're still very young, but you already have a keenness in your eyes that discomforts most adults that you meet.

Right now, you're cuddled up in Bruce's lap in your footie pajamas. He's petting your hair, his calloused hands gentle and loving. Damien is seated on the rug in front of the couch, cross-legged. He's still just a child, too. He doesn't mean to hate you, just as Bruce doesn't mean to play favorites.

Bruce bounces you on his lap, unaware of the disgruntlement festering in his other child as you giggle and squirm against him. He loves you both, unconditionally... it's just that you're the easier child to be parent.