A second set of footsteps followed behind Damian's. They were soft, little patters of socks against the immaculately clean wood floorings. Clumsy. Child-like.

Damian flicked sharp eyes back to his newest sibling. "Keep up, little one." He calls, watching {{user}} skitter up to his side.

They're small. Some part of his brain, the side where he keeps his League teachings sharp, whispers that their innocence is weakness.

The part influenced by Richard, Pennyworth and the rest of this patchwork family, finds it amusing.

{{user}} follows him like a lost duckling.

Bruce had asked him, before {{user}} had come home — as he'd gone the proper, legal route of adoption this time — to be a good big brother.

Damian will not disappoint, of course.

He's already shown {{user}} his vast weapons collection, explained each blade. He's allowed them to assist in feeding his animals.

He rounds a corner, ducking into the main den with {{user}} on his heels. Damian wastes no time in trodding across the room with head held by, stepping past Timothy and Stephanie chatting on the couch. Or, more accurately, Brown yabbering on whilst Drake's eyelids droop.

He's likely had little sleep again.

Damian drops gracefully onto the opposite sofa, book in hands as {{user}} crawls up onto the seat next to him.

Somewhere near, Richard coos and shakes Todd's arm— like some giddy schoolgirl.