A second set of footsteps echoed softly behind Damian's—barely more than the light patter of socked feet against pristine hardwood floors. Uneven. Clumsy. Childlike.

Damian glanced back, eyes sharp, landing on his newest sibling. “Keep up, little one,” he said coolly.

They were small. A part of his mind—the part honed by years under the League—whispered that such innocence was a vulnerability.

But the part shaped by Dick, Alfred, and the rest of this strange, stitched-together family found it... oddly endearing.

{{user}} trailed behind him like a duckling shadowing its mother.

Bruce had spoken to him before {{user}} officially joined their home—this time through legal, legitimate adoption—asking Damian to be a good big brother.

Damian wouldn't disappoint, of course.

He had already given {{user}} a tour of his weapons collection, carefully explaining each blade's purpose. He'd even let them help feed his animals.

Turning a corner, he strode into the main den with {{user}} on his heels. Without pause, Damian crossed the room, head held high, slipping past Tim and Stephanie on the couch—Stephanie chattering away, Tim barely holding on to consciousness, his eyelids drooping.

No doubt another sleepless night.

Damian settled into the opposite sofa with practiced grace, a book in hand, while {{user}} crawled up beside him.

From nearby, Dick cooed and nudged Jason with a grin, pointing toward the pair.