Description: The ease of their family and the lack of discourse and growling almost makes Bruce Wayne jealous. His son has managed to create a family that works and fights together, and he can already sense and see an incredibly strong bond between he and Cyra. The closest Bruce had ever gotten to one of his Robins was with Dick, and Dick lives miles away in Bludhaven and they rarely talk anymore. Even better—Damian has a wife, and one that loves him and is currently brushing her fingers through his hair.

Words: 3648

Notes: Hey I don't know why but I love this series please make Damian have a cute family i love him. Also, please call them the Damfam. Thank you and goodnight.

_

"Thank you for your assistance," Damian breathed formally and awkwardly, adjusting his tie and sparring a few unfriendly glances at the girl as she stomped off snootily into the bustling crowd of gala-goers. He shivered uncomfortably—he could still feel and imagine the phantom touches of her hands on his arms. I hate it when people touch me, Damian thought irritatedly. You smiled and set your hand on his arm as you began to speak. Damian smiles, a true, forced but a Damian Wayne "I-don't-like-smiling-but-I'll-do-it-for-you" smile regardless, not even the "billionaire's son" smile either.

I hate it when most people touch me, He corrects himself.

"No problem. I figured that kind of stuff would happen with you, especially because you're such a pretty boy." You teased, scanning the area in the subconscious manner that your training had drilled into you. When your gaze returns to his face your eyes light up. Playfully mocking, you do that stupidly attractive thing where you put your hand on your waist and smirk at him,"Woah, Dams. You must be really happy to see me if you're smiling."

The smile evaporates from Damian's face. For a moment you believe it's your comment, but then his widened eyes cloud with seriousness. You follow his gaze across the ballroom. In the path his eyes create is two teenagers. Both unnerve you.

One is only slightly shorter than her taller counterpart, with slick, pixie-cropped locks of raven hair, skin the color of honey-dipped caramel, and beautifully sharp eyes. Their color is astounding, possibly the purest [E/C] you had ever seen, even purer than the same shade you see in the mirror every night. But their color is not what makes you uneasy, but the emotion held within them. This girl does not just act like she knows she can do everything, but knows she can, and you believe her. Her face is a face of contradictory and contrast; the soft curve of this girl's cheekbones creates a thin but harsh shadow beneath them, her visage heart-shaped. Hard heart-shaped. She is built like a lithe soldier, or possibly a spy hidden beneath that black dress.

Her companion is so similar in looks you know that they are blood-related. They both share similar skin-tones and sharpness, like two shadows of knives come to life—utterly gorgeous knives. His lanky but somehow muscular arm emerge to push up his half-framed glasses. These glasses cover another marvel. His eyes confuse you just as his sister's did, for they seem to be a dozen different colors in the light. When his head upturns they are spun gold and orange silk, when he faces the crowd they are brown, but then the moment he hides them behind his incredibly messy bangs they are green. You know by his body language he shares a similar mindset with his kin... but this time, he rules the chess board and conquers any machine. He smiles at you across the way. His eyes shine with something magical.

"Where is father?" Damian asks. You cannot seem to hear him.

They radiate something you understand better than anyone as a time-traveler. These children are not from this time. They were not born today or yesterday, but tomorrow. You find your signature shape-shifting butter knife slipping out from the depths of your own dress. You glance at Damian, but only briefly; you cannot lose sight of them."Damian, I think we might have some unwanted visitors." You told him.

Damian caught your wrist before you could approach the two children, making sure to hide your weapon between your close bodies." I know." He said. Your gaze clashed with his,"You know them?" You guessed. Damian gave a swift nod, too quick to be deciphered. He opens his mouth to explain, but it is then that gunfire cuts through the classical music floating above the crowd. Screams harmonize with it. The crowd immediately blends into a flurry of desperate colors, and by instinct you see Damian reach for his hip—the place where his utility belt and sword are most commonly, but not now.

That same instinct to protect, to take action, alights in Damian's mind like a match striking a pile of wood damp with gasoline. But the power he holds within himself subdues the feeling. His eyes keep to the girl and the boy.

In the few seconds it takes for Damian to shove you behind the protective barrier of a flipped buffet-table, you search the crowd for those two. You do not find them at first due to the flush of motion, the bowl of peace stirred by whoever fired that gun, but when you do you are once again concerned. They both stand there. They are pillars in the chaos, still and looking up and around for the source of the terror. Unafraid. They knew this would happen.

Damian scans the crowd for his father, and sighs when he discovers Bruce Wayne head locked in the arm of one of the many gunmen now surrounding the room. Everyone involved in this battle suddenly stands solid and still, as if life had been paused. The two teens stay towards the entrance of the room but don't leave. Bruce growls but does not fight his binds for obvious reasons.

"We have to do something." You told Damian. Damian shook his head to your surprise, searching the faces of his father's captors as he spoke. He nods to the teenagers,"No we don't. Watch them."

Just as Bruce began to negotiate, the two objects of your attention reel into action. One of the gunmen shouts something out, but he's abruptly cut off.

The girl marches down the aisles of tables with the weight of her mission guiding her, strengthening her, breathing her in and spitting her back out. There is nothing else on her mind but saving Bruce Wayne and ridding the massive ballroom of any conscious gunmen. You decide you are rooting for her when she starts to take off her high heels as she walks.

Before the gunmen can yell out, she smiles at him and raises her formal footwear,"Hey, do a girl a favor and hold these." She said sweetly, before abruptly hurling both shoes at his face. The caps of the bottom of her heels are so sharp his skin is cut. The distraction works and she punches him with an unexpected amount of force.

With the takedown of one of their own, the gunmen find their target and start to empty to their magazines. Damian's breath hitches beside you. But this girl, with the grace of a bird in spring, flips out of the way as the fire follows her. With the attention drawn on his sibling, the boy emerges.

You nearly mistake him for Jason in a costume change, because... well, who else on Earth wears a giant red helmet? But you know that it's the boy because Jason always uses guns, knives, or the like, and yet the young man tears what looks to be a handful of marbles of from his suit-jacket and lets them fly. In mid-air they split apart, a shrill sound releasing and instantly shattering the dangerous steel weaponry. Appalled by the boy's feat, the now gunless men stumble and rub off their burned hands.

When he swings in, all you can see is Jason. With every punch he throws he uses the power of his anger instead of just his normal strength. In slow motion you watch him land on two men, pouncing off of their bodies and straight into the most solid uppercut you've ever seen. You're taken away from the scene by the crash of silver and glass.

The girl uses a tablecloth to stun a trio of men, in the same way Bruce uses to stun his cape. The white material swirls and settles on the ground around her like an angel's wings. But you know now that she is so much more than just an angel, for the moment they are all distracted and it seems like the two men approaching her from behind may defeat her, she jabs her elbows into their noses with barely any force. And yet five men lay groaning or unconscious beneath her feet. And that's just the ones she took out in that moment.

She leaps onto the round tables dotting the ballroom and begins to traverse them like platforms on an obstacle course. In her strength you see Damian and Bruce accompanied by something foreign. It is in the way her presence demands attention, her bare feet falling with earth-shattering precision and vigor, hopping nimbly from opponent to the next. One after another drop.

The man holding Bruce must have only been in it for the money Bruce could give him (and is a newcomer to Gotham, because everyone knows Bruce Wayne and Batman have ties), as the moment he starts to notice his men dropping like flies—at the hands of two teenagers no less— he attempts to knock Bruce out (Bruce fakes unconsciousness), and begins dragging him towards the closest exit. You notice the gunmen looks at both teens fearfully, but something in his eyes trembles when the girl targets him.

Suddenly, the two siblings stop wherever they are, raising their chins to the sky and listening with perked ears like wolves hearing the call of their pack. You follow their gazes to the large window. The moon is enveloped by a shadow that grows in size, but the moment the glass shatters you realize that it was no bird or wolf—but a bat.

Batman. Yes, Batman, flies through the window at top speed, landing solidly on his side atop the longest dining-table in the room. The table in which Bruce and his captor stand at the end of. Batman slides down the slope of the table at top speed on his side, and Bruce manages to break free just as this imposter crashes into the captor.

With one swift and mercy-given blow, the head gunman is knocked out.

Batman stands to his full, towering height, taking two utility belts from his shoulders and raises them. He looks toward the taller boy first, exclaiming,"Red Hood!" The red-helmeted boy catches the utility belt, solidly locking it around his waist. He takes his grappling gun from off of his hip with a not of thanks.

You look at Damian questionably as the Batman raises the second belt. Already prepared, the girl raises her hand. Batman calls her name anyway,"Robin!" The second the belt is in Robin's grasp, she clips it together around her waist and produces a pair of gloves from one of the pockets.

Between the seconds it took for these moments to occur, Robin, Red Hood, and Batman have grouped on one side of the ballroom floor, facing the remaining enemies. Batman and Robin's fighting stances match, but Red Hood instead aims his grappling hook at the ceiling.

"Looks like you started the party without me," Batman smirked.

Robin, the girl, holds a trio of batarangs in her now gloved knuckles. She glances at her possible mentor behind the white pupils of her mask and smiles,"Yeah, you missed out on all the fun, baba. What took you so long?"

"I bet he saw a petty street thief stealing some lady's purse and stopped to help," Chimes Red Hood smartly. His voice is distorted by a device in the helmet."That's just how he is." Without flinching, he shoots the grappling gun toward the ceiling. The wire whips as it is uncoiled, and then the metal teeth snap around the golden light of the chandelier. He tugs once harshly, and the room is shrouded in darkness, nothing but the long, fractured light of the moon through the broken window supplying anything to see in. The chandelier crashes and the gunmen shout out in surprise. The following sounds of ass-kicking are prominent.

"It was actually—" Batman grunts and something splinters, probably a table as a person is tossed into one. His voice is eerily familiar,"—a liquor store robbery. Nothing I haven't handled before."

"At least tell me you got the classic Mike-N-Ike's I like!" Robin exclaims. Bone cracking trails her voice. She's close. So is Red Hood, as when he fires something—a gun that sounds more like a blaster from Star Wars than the booming kick of a pistol—it lights the area with a miniature purple firework. You can hear the laughter in his young voice when he says,"Oh, whatever, kid! The Willy Wonka Bottlecaps are so much better!"

"Kid?" Robin echoes. You can see their shadows, how he boosts her into the air, watching her fly and bring down an enemy with her. Robin continues,"Richie, I'm old enough to drive the Batmobile without Dad yelling at me."

"Pops doesn't yell at you either way." Red Hood responds smartly again. He sounds like Jason as well. Batman clicks his tongue, and with the noise, everything connects in your head. Your hand lurches for Damian's. He squeezes.

There's a final deafening cry of pain with the paired thump of an unconscious body falling. Red Hood looks up, the lights in his eyes glowing like a blue-eyed cat's in the darkness,"My scanner's say that was the last of them. Now we just have to find gramps." His voice fizzled oddly with the scrambler in his helmet.

"Taken care of." Another voice enters. The minute it hits your ears your stomach jolts, and then connection and energy suddenly swirling at a doubled rate in the air must be felt by the voice too. She looks in your direction with a grin, and pulls Bruce along with her into the middle of the floor. Your future self enters the scene with the amount of flair you would assume she would have.

"Beloved." Chimes Batman gratefully,"Where were you? You're even later than I am."

"I was taking care of all the back entrances. This guy had a bunch of exits in place and I took out all of em'." The older woman smiled. She strides past Bruce and looks over the two children. She rubs her sleeve over a scuff mark on the Red Hood's helmet, and he cocks his head to the side like he's smiling,"Smart."

"I know." She smirked. She nodded at Robin and offered her a pack of Mike n' Ikes,"These are for you, baby. I got you your favorite too, Richie." She extended a box of Bottlecaps to the Red Hood, and both teenagers snatch them up and cry out excited "thank you!"s. She waves them off with a motherly smile.

"Nothing for me?" Batman smirked. The woman snickers, and the two share a brief but sweet kiss."Nevermind." Batman responds a little dreamily. He flashes a grin—not a Bat-grin, but a normal grin that seemed very dad-like,"Thanks."

In the moonlight, the figures gather, and suddenly all of their faces, masks, ears, and helmets are illuminated by the forearm communicator on Batman's wrist. You pull Damian up from your hiding place and he leads you to Bruce's side, who stands in the ghostly blue light of the device, brushing off his suit.

"Thank you for that," Bruce says, just as unnerved as you would expect. Police sirens can be heard somewhere in the distant streets of Gotham city. Your home, Damian's home, Bruce's home, and the Batman's home.

Damian questioned,"Father, are you alright?"

"Fine." Bruce nodded to his sixteen-year-old son and you, before glancing toward the group standing before all of you."Cyra," He said, looking to Robin. She waves casually,"Hey, gramps."

"Who are these people?" Damian asked, and Bruce echoed his words in a more demanding tone.

Cyra takes off the domino mask she wearing, glancing at the others among you with the eyes you now realize she gets from... you. Red Hood takes off his helmet to reveal the same sharp and honeyed face you'd focused on before. But now that you're closer, you can match teh shape of his jaw and his lips to the Batman's.

"Oh, don't act like you haven't figured me out yet." Batman snickered when he remained unidentified. He hooked his thumbs beneath the nose of the cowl and tugged it over his head, laying it over the trench-coat-like collar of his suit.

As it slid off, the first face that appeared made Damian's breath catch in his throat. As far as faces go, this one was a good one. It was undoubtedly handsome, incredibly sharp, well kept, and worn with frown lines that had begun to fade. Also, incredibly battle-worn. Very, very battle worn.

Damian Wayne, future Damian Wayne in his late thirties and yet still looking like a European model, flashes a signature bat-smirk,"...Father."

_

The commotion enters the Batcave in the most startlingly normal way possible for anything involving time-travel and Damian Wayne.

"I don't have a crush on her!" Richard Wayne, or "Richie" as the other three future-family members keep calling him, exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air and almost hurling his helmet across the room.

Damian—older Damian, who you've all decided to call "Dams" to avoid confusion—snorts, pulling his cowl off and shutting the driver's door to his Batmobile. The locks click behind him automatically and Dams strides forward to join the dray, trenchcoat fluttering behind him,"TT. And I thought I raised a better liar. Richard, you have failed me."

"Yeah, what Baba said. You suck at lying." Cyra echoed. She smirked, peeling off her domino mask and punching her brother in the arm. With a teasing grin, she snickered,"Lara Kent. Still can't believe you'd ever fall for one of the supers."

"Um, says the person dating an actual villain!" Richie fired back. Cyra scowled, and she looked so much like Damian you have to double-take,"Hey! My Jessica is not a villain. She just happens to steal from people sometimes. It's a Catgirl thing."

"Ma, help me out here. I do not have a thing for Supergirl." Richie defended, pointing to himself with both hands.

Your future self—or Batmom, which was a common term that no one laughed at—gave her son a shake of her head. She gently pats his arm,"The first step to acceptance is denial, little wing. Don't worry. I think she likes you too."

"If she doesn't, I'm telling the world I'm Batman." Dams announced. He bounces up the steps to the Batcomputer with Cyra eagerly on his tail, laughing at his statement,"Oh yeah. If she doesn't have a thing for him, I'd be a little concerned. I mean, she flew across the world because she thought he was in danger..."

"She did that?" Richie said softly. Cyra laughed and nodded, while Dams mumbled something about being "related to Jonathan Kent" and "hell no".

They collect around the Batcomputer, Dams settling into the center console's chair, Batmom leaning against it, Richie crossing his arms over the back, and Cyra perching on the arm and half-resting on her father. All jumbled together as an almost-complete set, they seem right. Dams and yourself are happy and smiling even if only slightly. Cyra and Richie have such similar faces and bodies that everything fits into place.

The ease of their family and the lack of discourse and growling almost makes Bruce Wayne jealous. His son has managed to create a family that works and fights together, and he can already sense and see an incredibly strong bond between he and Cyra. The closest Bruce had ever gotten to one of his Robins was with Dick, and Dick lives miles away in Bludhaven and they rarely talk anymore. Even better—Damian has a