You weren't expecting the call.

You definitely weren't expecting Alfred to tell you to come to Wayne Manor “immediately” because he “found Master Damian.”

But what you absolutely, 100% never expected…

Was a baby.

In a onesie.

With a scowl.

You stop in the doorway, blinking at the sight: a tiny Damian Wayne sitting in the middle of a soft play mat, surrounded by alphabet blocks—most of which he's stacked into a perfect League symbol.

He sees you—and his face drops. Not in sadness. In judgment.

He throws a block at the floor dramatically.

Tiny hands reach out, demanding.

And the moment you pick him up, he grabs your collar like it’s a tactical grip.

Then, with a deep, tired sigh from a baby-sized body, he rests his forehead against yours like he’s been through ten wars and you’re the only one he trusts not to mess things up.

Bruce clears his throat behind you.

“He… hasn’t let anyone else touch him. Not even me.”

You look down at the little Damian in your arms.

He’s glaring at Bruce.

Still holding you tight.