Work Text:
The firm knock came to Bruce's door in quick succession. He looked at the time, well past 12pm so it must important.
"Come in." Bruce orders.
The door opens, revealing Damian.
Damian, Bruce's sweet boy whose existence he had no idea of. Damian, Bruce's little bat who was as prickly as a cactus when he first arrived. Damian, who has been with his family for a year and a handful of months (2 years 8 months) and Bruce can't imagine never knowing him, never loving him.
The son marches to stand in front of his father's desks. Bruce puts down the pen and takes a second to analyze his son's posture, preparing for whatever mood Damian is in. His eyes still, mind coming to an abrupt stop when he sees Damian's droopy posture.
"Is there something you wish to say, son?" He says softly.
The boy bites his lip, a slight-of-hand movement but one that Bruce can see all the same. He rises from his behind his desk to close the gap, gently leading his son to one of the couches in his study.
When father and son sit next to each other Bruce speaks again.
"You can tell me anything, Damian. What's troubling you?"
Damian nibbles on his lip some more, parsing through his thoughts as he searches for the right words.
"Am—" His voice cracks and he swallows to gain his composure. "Am I wrong?" He says.
Tears swell in Damian's eyes, and Bruce feels his heart sink.
He curse himself and thinks, how could he have missed this? Could it be, this whole time, he's been letting his son be mistreated? God forbid- mocked??
Bruce wants nothing more than to take all of his son's pain away. He pulls him in close, hoping to take the spiritual and emotional weight off his son's shoulders as he wipes teary eyes.
"Wrong? Whatever do you mean?"
"The others they-" Damian sniffs. "They call me demon brat."
"I don't understand, my heart, what's wrong with the nickname?"
Damian bites his lip with a whine.
I'm fumbling. Bruce thinks. There's something I don't understand and I'm messing up.
"Sweetheart," Bruce pulls Damian's lip from between his teeth. "There's no need to hurt yourself. Take a deep breath and collect yourself."
Damian huffs and puffs. Bruce rubs his back, trying valiantly to comfort his son. Soon, his sons breathing becomes controlled and the tears come to a slow stop.
"There we go, my heart. I don't understand what has you so upset, can you explain it to me?"
Damian sniffs. "None of you have my heritage," he starts. "They don't understand what the title Demon means to mother and grandfather. You wouldn't either."
"What does it mean, sweetheart?"
"It means honor!" Damian roars. "To grandfather and mother it means to be powerful!
"It's- it feels-" Damian struggles to find his words.
"You feel insulted when your brothers call you demon." Bruce articulates for him.
Damian nods. "Demon brat doesn't feel like an honorable nickname, but rather an insult upon my lineage. Upon me.”
"I'm so sorry, baby." Bruce pulls Damian closer, into his lap so he can be tucked safely into his arms.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek he whispers, "What would an honorable title be? I'm sure we can talk to your brothers"
"No, we can't." Damian buries his head into the crook of his father's neck. "It's embarrassing."
"Anything that makes you feel less than the people around you is not embarrassing." Bruce says sternly. "We will talk to your brothers, maybe not now but it is on the agenda. Until we do, how can I make my heart feel better?"
Damian pouts. "If you'd allow me to, I'd like to cuddle."
Bruce smiles, standing fluidly. He has his son's legs wrapped around his waist, already making his way to his room.
"I'll always allow you to share my bed, my heart."