Wayne Manor - The Grand Foyer - A Rainy Tuesday
The Manor was quiet. The repairs were coming along nicely. The grandfather clock ticked rhythmically.
I was dusting the portrait of the Wayne ancestors, enjoying the peace.
CRASH.
The peace lasted exactly twelve minutes.
The front doors didn't open. They were blown off their hinges by a shaped C4 charge.
I sighed, lowering my feather duster.
"I just polished the brass on those hinges," I muttered to the empty room.
Through the smoke, a figure walked in. She was flanked by two Man-Bat commandos.
Talia al Ghul.
"Miss al Ghul," I said, stepping into the light. "I believe we established during our last kitchen encounter that you are not on the guest list."
"Stand down, Demon," Talia said, holstering her weapon. "I am not here to fight. I am here to make a delivery."
The Boy
Bruce Wayne appeared at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a robe, alerted by the explosion. Tim Drake (Red Robin) slid down the banister, staff in hand.
"Talia," Bruce said, his voice hard. "Where is the stolen data?"
"Destroyed," Talia said. "My father is broken. The League of Assassins is in a civil war. It is no longer safe for the Heir."
"Heir?" Bruce frowned.
Talia stepped aside.
From behind her cape, a boy stepped forward.
He was small, perhaps ten years old. He wore a miniature version of the League of Assassins uniform, complete with a hooded cloak and a katana strapped to his back. His skin was bronze, his hair jet black, and his eyes...
His eyes were Bruce's eyes. But filled with a murderous arrogance that Bruce had never possessed.
The boy looked around the Grand Foyer. He sneered.
"It is... smaller than I expected," the boy scoffed. "And dusty."
"Who is this?" Tim asked, lowering his staff.
"Bruce," Talia said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Meet Damian. Your son."
The Silence
The ticking of the clock seemed deafening.
Bruce gripped the railing. "My... son?"
"We shared a night in Cairo," Talia reminded him. "You remember. I kept him hidden. I trained him to be the perfect warrior. To lead the world."
She pushed Damian forward.
"But now, he needs a father. He needs to learn the one thing I cannot teach him."
"Restraint?" I guessed.
Talia glared at me. "Survival."
She turned to leave.
"Talia, wait!" Bruce shouted.
"I have a war to fight, Beloved," Talia said, signaling the Man-Bats. "Protect him. Or I will burn this city to ash."
She vanished into the rain.
The Introduction
Damian stood alone in the center of the hall. He looked at Bruce. He looked at Tim. He looked at me.
"So," Damian said, crossing his arms. "You are the Batman. Father."
"Damian," Bruce walked down the stairs slowly, as if approaching a bomb. "I... I didn't know."
"Obviously," Damian rolled his eyes. "Mother said you were a detective. You should have deduced it."
Damian turned to Tim. He looked the teenager up and down with utter contempt.
"And who is this?" Damian asked. "The stray?"
"I'm Tim. Robin."
"You are an impostor," Damian stated. "I am the blood son. I am the rightful heir. You are holding my cape."
"Excuse me?" Tim bristled.
"Take it off," Damian commanded, his hand drifting to his katana. "Or I will cut it off."
"Okay, little guy," Tim laughed nervously. "Let's calm down."
SHING.
Damian drew his sword. He moved with terrifying speed for a ten-year-old. He lunged at Tim's throat.
Tim barely blocked with his bo staff. CLANG.
"Whoa!" Tim jumped back. "Bruce! Your kid is trying to kill me!"
"Damian! Stand down!" Bruce shouted, rushing forward.
Damian ignored him. He spun, aiming a kick at Tim's knee.
"I will purge the weak from this house!" Damian screamed.
The Nanny
I moved.
I didn't block Damian. I didn't strike him.
I simply appeared behind him, grabbed the back of his collar, and lifted him into the air.
Damian flailed, his legs kicking uselessly.
"Unhead me, servant!" Damian roared. "I am the grandson of the Demon's Head! I will have you flayed!"
"You are certainly noisy," I observed, examining the struggling child. "And you have mud on your boots."
"Put me down!" Damian swung his sword backward.
I caught the blade between two fingers. With a gentle tink, I snapped the steel tip off.
Damian froze. He looked at his broken sword.
"That was a Hanzo blade!" Damian gasped. "Priceless!"
"And this is a Persian rug," I countered. "Also priceless. And currently muddy."
I lowered him to the ground but kept a firm grip on his shoulder.
"Master Bruce," I said calmly. "It appears we have a new resident. Shall I prepare the guest room? Or a cage?"
Bruce looked at the boy. He saw the rage. He saw the training. He saw a mirror of himself, distorted by the League of Assassins.
"The guest room," Bruce said softly. "Next to mine."
Bruce knelt down.
"Damian. In this house, we don't kill. And we don't attack family."
Damian glared at him. "He is not family. He is a placeholder."
"He is your brother," Bruce said firmly. "Respect him."
Damian huffed. He sheathed his broken sword.
"I am hungry," Damian demanded. "Bring me sustenance. No carbohydrates. I require protein for muscle density."
He looked at me.
"Go, servant. Fetch me ox blood and raw quail eggs."
I smiled. My eyes flashed red for a microsecond—just enough for the boy to see it.
Damian flinched. He recognized the aura. He had been raised by demons, after all.
"We are having Alfred's lasagna tonight, Master Damian," I said, leaning down. "And you will eat it. With a fork. Or you will go to bed hungry."
Damian stared at me. A challenge.
"You are not human," Damian whispered.
"No," I whispered back. "I am the butler."
I stood up and clapped my hands.
"Now, chop chop. Wash up. Dinner is in twenty minutes."
Damian hesitated. He looked at Bruce, who was watching him sternly. He looked at Tim, who was nursing a bruised wrist.
He looked at me.
For the first time in his life, Damian Wayne wasn't the scariest thing in the room.
"Fine," Damian muttered.
He stomped up the stairs.
The Discussion
"He's a monster," Tim said, rubbing his wrist. "Did you see how he moved? He's ten!"
"He's been trained since birth," Bruce said, looking at the stairs. "Talia weaponized him."
"He tried to kill me, Bruce."
"I know, Tim. I'm sorry."
Bruce walked to the window, watching the rain.
"I can't send him away. If I send him back, he becomes Ra's al Ghul's successor. He becomes a killer."
"He already is a killer," Tim pointed out.
"Not yet," Bruce said. "He's a child. He can be saved."
He turned to me.
"Sebastian. I need your help. I can teach him to be a detective. I can teach him ethics. But I can't watch him twenty-four hours a day."
"You wish for me to be the nanny," I deduced.
"I wish for you to be his handler," Bruce corrected. "He respects power. You're the only one here he can't physically bully."
"Very well," I sighed, picking up the broken pieces of the front door. "I have tamed hellhounds, Master Bruce. I suppose a ten-year-old boy is within my skill set."
Upstairs
Damian sat on the edge of his new bed. He pulled a hidden dagger from his boot.
He looked at the door.
"Servant," Damian whispered to himself. "Demon."
He stabbed the dagger into the mattress.
"I will rule this house," Damian vowed. "I will break the impostor Robin. I will surpass the Father."
He looked at the lasagna I had left on the nightstand.
He poked it suspiciously.
"But first... I will eat."
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