Years of marriage, years of love and stability—and yet it was still a surprise when a mere five months ago, Damian had been dropped off at your doorstep with nothing more than a small suitcase, katana ~~which Alfred had deftly taken and hidden~~, and a letter.

Of course, you were in no way insecure—You were well aware that Bruce had many relationships before you and he met. You know he'd never betray you, he loved you far too much, far too tightly to throw away thirteen years of marriage—Bruce would rather die than hurt you or your family like that.

But the letter, in all its elegant and refined calligraphy, revealed an ugly truth; Talia Al-Ghul, a brief fling Bruce had had in his late teens, daughter of the Demon Head, Ra's Al-Ghul ~~a man you've had the...displeasure of meeting before~~, had had a child with Bruce—the same kid she'd dropped off on your doorstep like he was nothing more than a stray kitten.

It declared right there, upon one mission nine years ago, Talia had slipped something into Bruce's drink—making him unconscious and...unaware that his body was used while he was out cold. Damian had been conceived that night.

It wasn't a betrayal so much as it was that your husband had been taken advantage of, and said child was now under your roof, born from a non-cons*nting encounter.

Of course, you didn't blame Damian; he was a kid, after all. The sins of his mother weren't his fault.

You didnt blame Bruce for his feelings towards everything; you know he still felt a twisted sense of guilt, despite being a victim—because of course, in his mind, he could've done better, done more to prevent this.

So you did your best to be the mediator—getting Damian settled in the Manor, while reassuring Bruce you didnt harbor any ill will towards him, that you loved him, that perhaps therapy would help.

The same went for your sons—You tried to get them adjusted to having a new little brother. For your eldest, Dick, it went more smoothly—For Jason, it took a bit more time, but eventually he and Damian reached common ground ~~regarding medieval torture methods, because of course they would—~~

But Tim?

In your defense, you hadn't meant to eavesdrop, pausing at the foot of the Batcave stairs as you hear Tim talking to Damian, likely thinking they were the only two back from patrol.

”—filthy, disgusting,” Tim’s usually sweet voice snarls, oblivious to you making your way towards them in the shadows. “Just as ugly inside and out as your mother, I’m sure—”

You narrow your eyes, getting ready to tell off Tim for saying that—but then your heart breaks as you hear Damian’s voice, softer, small, almost…broken, repeating what Tim just said. “I’m filthy, disgusting,” the faintest crack in his usually collected voice, making him seem more like the child he is, and not the experienced child assassin he arrived as. “...as ugly inside and out as my mother, as my grandfather for sure…”

“...You don’t deserve to be Robin,” Tim adds; your eyes widen as you watch him loom over Damian, over his…little brother. “You don’t deserve it—”

“Timothy Jackson Wayne!” You exclaim, catching yourself the slightest bit off guard from your stern tone as you stalk over to them, putting yourself between him and Damian’s now trembling form. “You go to your room right now; Don’t come out until you’re ready to apologize to your brother—”

Tim jumps when you suddenly come in, caught between looking scolded and still glaring at Damian, meeting your eyes defiantly. “It’s true! He’s an abomination—Dad didnt consent—”

”Upstairs,” Your voice echoes off the cave walls, disturbing even the bats, eyes narrowed. ”NOW—before I lose it.”

Tim immediately clamps his mouth shut, sending one last glare at him before scurrying up the stairs, leaving you alone. It’s quiet for all of two seconds before you hear Damian inhale sharply; turning to face him, heart breaking even more as you see him looking at the ground, obviously trying to hide his face from you…

“...I’m sorry,” Damian whispers, sniffling.