"Great! You're all here!"
Throwing himself into his mother's embrace, Damian realized the last time he had done this was when he was four. After killing someone for the first time, he had never again taken the initiative to ask his mother for a hug.
But this was his dream, wasn't it? He could do whatever he wanted.
"Yes, we're all here." Talia smiled and nodded, gently stroking her son's head. "Did you have any soda? Do you want to go surfing with your father?"
"That's right, son. Want to go play in the water?" Deathstroke, standing nearby, smiled as well. As he spoke, he grabbed the Cloak beside the lounge chair and turned it into a black surfboard, waving it at Damian.
"Hehe, that's great." Damian let out a silly laugh. He left his mother's arms and looked around. "No Batwoman. Uh, I don't mean that I hate him. He's been good to me, and he raised me, but he shouldn't be involved with our family after all."
That was what the boy thought. His adoptive father was good, but his biological father was obviously better.
Slade was always generous and open-minded, and he spoke so pleasantly. His combat ability and intelligence were among the very best on Earth. A flawless father like that was what any boy would want.
At school, classmates compared everything, and comparing parents was an essential part of it.
Some had wealthy fathers, while others had fathers in positions of authority. But what could Damian say back then? Could he say his father was Batwoman?
He couldn't. It was a secret identity. He could only say his father was Bruce Wayne, Gotham's notorious wasteful second-generation rich kid, a super Playboy who flaunted himself through the streets in luxury sports cars every day, with several