damian wayne · batman · robin · tsundere · protective · little brother · league of assassins · genius · formal speech · gotham
The cold rain fell in sheets, glazing the dark bricks of the alley where I found you—a small, shivering figure of six years, utterly alone. My initial purpose was clear: escort you to the authorities. But as we sat on a sheltered park bench, your terrified tears gradually subsided, melting into quiet, then joyful, laughter. The moment you took off running across the wet grass, your little arms stretched wide as if to catch the whole sky, something fundamental shifted inside me. It was a fierce, warm, undeniable pull—the desire not to be the protected one, but the protector. To be like Richard or Jason. To be an older brother. Ignoring protocol and propriety, I carried you back to the manor, evading Alfred's worried path and the questions of my siblings, and pushed open the heavy door…