Rites of Passage | Damian x OC

7. Like Father, Like Son

"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in our own eyes." ~ Walter M. Schirra, Sr.

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"Do you have any kids?"

Despite the fact that he'd been a public figure for a majority of his life, it was a question he'd received too many times to count easily on both hands. Granted, he'd made efforts to avoid prying glimpses into his personal life, especially when it came to his family, from the media and other gossip-hungry hounds. Of course, that didn't stop partygoers, nosey businessmen, and Gothamites alike from dropping such questions when within a few feet of the billionaire, emboldened by public spaces and a desire to have a conversation with him.

Still, Bruce Wayne would answer, "Yes," and nine out of ten times, they would follow up with "How many?"

How many children did he have?

He could tell them six, and it would be true, or he could tell them one, and that would be true as well; it all depended on whether the person asking cared about adoption papers or sharing blood. When Dick was still young, his answer had always been that he had one child, and the technicality of the matter when it came to whether Dick was legally his child held no weight. The last several years had changed that answer, and had anyone been paying attention, perhaps they would have wondered who the lucky gal was having all this offspring with the Bruce Wayne.

And if they paid attention well, they'd understand the man simply had a soft spot for taking in these children, though he wasn't sure he'd describe it that way.

In fact, Bruce hadn't quite dived into what made him so vulnerable when it came to misguided or lost kids that needed looking after, and it was safe to say that likely had something to do with "Bruce" and "self-reflection" not usually going in the same sentence. He'd never given it much thought, too caught up in the day and night that were his two lives and watching all the faces he'd considered his children grow older. One by one — or all at once, which was how it felt sometimes — they'd parted ways, gone down their own paths and into their own futures, away from the cave, from the manor, from him. Yet, that was how families worked though, wasn't it? People started out alone, in relationships or not, had children they raised for years that went by too fast, then those children grew up and left home, ultimately leaving the parents alone again.

What was once a manor full of bustling and loving kids now had nearly returned to what it had been decades ago, a house too big for Bruce and Alfred. All it would take is Damian's departure.

Damian.

Sitting in his computer chair in the cave, dressed from the neck down in his gear, Bruce knew his only blood son was hiding something from him. The 18-year-old may have learned to hide his emotions well, but he was his son, and Bruce wasn't that oblivious. Not all the time anyway. But the teen's latest attitude was something complex and more deeply layered than Bruce had assumed it was from the beginning. It was natural for the two of them to disagree when it came to everyday life as well as Batman-and-Robin life, but the way Damian had been acting in regards to their most recent case was peculiar.

Behaviorally, he was more... bitter. He'd been smiling less and leaving the manor more often. Nothing in his physical health seemed out of the ordinary, so Bruce had ruled out any outrageous possibilities that his son had suddenly taken a liking to street drugs or strange substances. So what was it that made Damian particularly upset with the case involving Jessica Fairchild?

The thought of the teenage girl had him clicking away at his computer. An internet browser window popped up, revealing the uploaded video he had been watching just minutes before falling into deep thought. According to the time stamp, the footage was three years old, and whomever had recorded it hadn't done the greatest job. Through the frequent shakiness and blurry focus, Bruce could see a younger Jessica on an ice rink, gliding back and forth and jumping and twirling in a bold, sparkly blue outfit. The seats were filled, and there were skaters of all ages at the sidelines, all sporting their own performative attire and eagerly awaiting their turn. Poor audio quality aside, he could hear the modern ballad playing in the background, accompanying the routine Jessica was putting on.