As always, thanks to my beta, BookJunkie. This is for you!

Bruce would be the first to admit that he was not emotionally sensitive. Alfred would even say that he had all of the emotional awareness of a rock. But he was trying to be better. That was why when he saw the pained look in his youngest kid's face as he watched the news, he took a seat beside him rather than pretending he never saw it.

"What's wrong, Damian?" Bruce asked, voice pitched low, meant to be soothing.

Damian did not answer. Not right away.

But Bruce was patient. So he waited.

Damian was a serious kid. Rash as the kid could be, he thought his words through before giving voice to them when it came to matters close to his heart. After a moment more, Damian broke the silence.

"Do you think I'd - I'll become like him," he asked quietly, eyes never leaving the screen. Bruce looked at the television from the corner of his eye. It was set on CNN, talking about the bombing in London. The bomber was a Muslim man. He'd yelled the name of his God before he detonated himself. In a stadium full of people.

Damian was of Chinese and Arab descent.

Bruce felt his heart fall at the question. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Damian's shoulders, pulling him close. Damian let himself be tucked in to Bruce's side, which showed how deep his turmoil was.

"You won't," Bruce answered as firmly as he could.

"How can you be so sure?"

Damian was a confident kid. Some would even call him arrogant. He never hesitated to voice his opinions out loud, even when no one asked him. But at the moment, there was no trace of his confidence left. Damian's shoulders were slumped, his voice quiet, eyes wary. And there was nothing Bruce hated more than seeing his son like this: cowed. He should not live in guilt or fear, regardless of the color of his skin or the faith he believed in. No child deserved to live like that.

"It's nature versus nurture, Damian," Bruce started before he went on to explain that the way someone was raised could change that person's natural tendencies. That all people had the capability to do good and bad things, regardless of their race or religion. That just because Adolf Hitler was German, it did not mean every German had a tendency towards genocide.

Damian nodded his understanding. Even so, doubt shadowed his eyes. At this point, Bruce could think of only one person who could convince Damian that he was not a bad person. Bruce liked to think he was an independent person. He took pride in it. But he could push aside his pride to ask for help when it was for his child.

"Wait a moment," he told Damian as he took out his phone and dialed Dick.

"Bruce? What's the problem?" was the first thing Dick asked when the phone connected. On the screen, his oldest son looked troubled.

"Tell Damian that he won't become a terrorist when he grows up," Bruce answered curtly.

It was a testament to how much Dick understood him and to the dynamic in the family that instead of asking what the hell he was talking about, Dick simply said, "Okay. Give him the phone."

And Bruce did just that.

"Grayson," was Damian's deadpan greeting.

The moment Dick saw Damian, his face lit up. "Heya, Little D!" he greeted cheerfully. Then he dove right into the problem. "You aren't going to become a terrorist," he said sternly, though not unkindly.

"How do you know?" Damian asked, frowning deeply. "My mother and grandfather are..." he did not want to say the word aloud, so he turned the phone around, making sure Dick could see the news on television. "They're like that man!" he did not even try to hide the disgust and hatred he felt. "Spreading death and terror…" there were unshed tears in his eyes. Before they could fall, he wiped them off roughly with the back of his hand.

When Dick spoke, his voice was soft. "Damian, please look at me."

Damian turned back the phone so it faced him once again.

"Do you know that my grandfather was, is, a Talon?"

"Yes."

"Yet, here I am."

Damian was quiet. "But you're different. You're... inherently good."

"I'm not, believe me." Dick chuckled softly. Before Damian could argue, he continued, "The thing is, Damian, no one is inherently good. Just because someone is good doesn't mean they never have bad thoughts. Believe me, they are just as tempted to take the easy path even when it's not the right one."

"You are?" Damian asked.

"Of course," Dick nodded decisively. He looked away, seeming lost in memories. He took a deep breath before he faced Damian once again and continued. "After I watched my parents fall to their death, I wanted to kill Zucco," he admitted quietly. "If Bruce hadn't taken me in, you bet I'd have killed him."

"You would have?" There was a deep frown on Damian's face now.

"Oh, baby bird... After their death, if it'd been my grandfather, or the Court that took me in, I'm sure I'd be a different person altogether."

Damian was quiet, mulling over what Dick had just said. Bruce could see the moment Dick's words sank in. The fear and worry in his kid's eyes were gone, replaced with determination. "You won't let me become my grandfather?" It was a question, but it sounded more like a statement.

Dick answered it nonetheless. "A snowball has more chance in Hell," was his firm answer.

Bruce was watching his youngest kid closely so he saw the moment his face cleared up, as if a burden had been eased off his shoulders.

"Personally," came Dick's cheery voice, "I'm more afraid you'll get Bruce's bad habits."

"You need to be more specific, Grayson, for Father has many," Damian said wryly, though a small smile he shot Bruce showed that he was merely teasing. Bruce choked on a laugh before he pretended to scowl and swatted lightly at the back of Damian's head.

"The adopting strays habit," Dick said, blue eyes glinting with amusement. "I mean, not that I'm not grateful Bruce tends to adopt orphans left and right, but I'm afraid he won't ever stop."

"And what makes you think I... inherit this particular tendency?"

Dick let out a laugh. "How many pets do you have, Damian?"

"Not that many!" was Damian's quick answer. "Titus, Alfred the Cat, Batcow..."

"No, not that many," Dick agreed, "so far. Bruce started his adopting spree with only me, too. You're only what, 11 years old, and you've already taken in 3 strays."

"I get it." Damian glared at Dick. "I've more chance of having Father's 'bad habit' than becoming like my grandfather."

"You got that right, baby bird." With that said, Dick winked at Damian conspiratorially and ended the call.

Damian gave Bruce back his phone. "Thank you, Father."

"Damian, you know I won't let anything happen to you either, right?"

Damian was quiet for a moment. "I suspected. But it's nice to have that guess confirmed."

"Cheeky brat." Bruce ruffled Damian's hair affectionately.

"Like father, like son?" Damian asked with a grin on his face.

Bruce chuckled. "Like father, like son indeed."

End.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please don't yell at me for trying to write about sensitive issue. This idea wouldn't leave me alone. If I portrayed something wrong or wrote something insensitive, please tell me about it. Nicely, if possible.

I have tumblr with the same name, (I know, creative, right?). You can say hi, give me prompts (please!) or read pieces of my incomplete writing that I'm just too lazy to finish.

Standard disclaimer applied.