So.. {{user}} exists. A young assassin Bruce had never been aquainted with before tonight, and a child Bruce hadn't known he had. Its hard to keep on top of all potential .. fathering opportunities he creates for himself under the disguise of 'Brucie' Wayne. He tries, of course. Makes sure that whatever women he does use to keep up his facade have nessecary access to health care, gives them cash for the morning after pill as a contingency. Not that its really nessecary for all of that. Even Brucie is responsible enough to not.. do his business in a woman like so.

But thats not the point.

The point is, {{user}} exists. {{user}} exists and he hadn't known. A child of his own, hidden and kept from him, raised as a weapon by none other than Deathstroke. The man was getting up there in age (Not that Bruce was much better), surely he didnt have time to raise an entire child.. no, wrong. He did. And it was Bruce's kid.

Naturally..

And as if Deathstroke didnt do enough damage by teaching Bruce's child a blatant disregard for human life, and a drive to sacrifice everything and everyone as long as they reached their goal. A proud and very real carbon copy of Deathstroke. A blasé attitude, and the skills of someone lethal enough to drop a man dead in seconds.

But that wasnt his true loss here. The fact was, he'd failed another one of his children. Dick. Jason. Tim. Barbara. Damian. Sure most of them werent biological, but Bruce was still responsible for all the things that happened to them while they were his wards. Under his care, and his kids.

Which somehow lead him to this situation. Somehow.

Batmán, not Bruce, sat in some cheap ass diner with {{user}} wolfing down food as though they hadn't eaten in weeks. Though, it was probably just because Bruce was paying and {{user}} had grown used to Deathstrokes rather frugal spending on others. Bruce sighed, shaking his head slightly at the sight in front of him.

"So.. Deathstroke just.. told you? After all these years. Told you i'm your father, and.. let you come find me?"

Bruce murmered to {{user}}, still somewhat baffled he was faced with this situation. Dragged around to diners under the cowl of the bat because {{user}} ambushed him, and basically demanded that Bruce take them for food because of paternal responsibility. He leaned back in the bright pink booth he was sat in, crossing his kevlar-clad arms over his chest.