Chapter Text
Gotham Academy is known as one of, if not the most, prestigious schools on the east coast. It is a place that only the richest of the rich attend due to its near fifty grand yearly tuition. But to Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, the most wealthy elite and well known socialite in Gotham, it is nothing short of torture.
When at his mothers, school with commoners wasn’t something to even be considered. His mother flew only the most highly trained tutors from the farthest corners of globe. He was a skilled genius by the time he was six.
Of course, when his mother ‘transferred’ him into his fathers possession, more than just one aspect of his strange life had been altered.
Unfortunately, both Grayson and his father had been adamant that he attend school with others his own age as a way for “socialization”. They had wanted him to make friends.
Hah. Assassins don’t make friends.
Of course he had been opposed to the idea from the start. But with both Grayson, Father and even Pennyworth fond of the idea? There was no way he was getting out of this, that much had been obvious from the start.
So, on a bright and sunny day that September, he had found himself shouldering a backpack, clothed in the academies required textiles, and walking up to the large (and frankly, quite unwelcoming) doors of the school.
The feeling of being anxious was not something that Damian was unfamiliar with, but, that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t blaming his nerves and the butterflies in his stomach on the previous nights dinner.
After all, Damian could take years of assassin training, sneak attacks, and guarding the nighttime streets of Gotham. Fourth and fifth graders? They would be handled easily.
Turns out, Gotham’s spoiled don’t take well to new comers. It had been Damians second day when he threw the first punch.
Father had been furious.
“ Retaliation is never the answer, Damian. You cannot use your physical advantages against civilians.” Yes, that was all fine, Damian hadn’t been expecting his father to be joyful at his actions. It was the next words that had cut the deepest: “ I am extremely disappointed in you.”
After a night of sniffling into his pillow to coax himself asleep, Damian vowed never to touch a classmate again.
It did not matter what the imbecile of a child had said, if it had been important, Father would have asked.
Besides, those highly uneducated neanderthals would run out of things to berate Damian with by the end of the month.
***
It was nearly November when things started to escalate.
Damian had been right (of course he had been, he is always right) and his peers ran out of insults in only five weeks. But, that did not mean that they were going to leave him alone.
They were only going to change the method in which they hurt him.
He wishes that he could say insults repeated twice and thrice did not sting as much as the first but, in truth, he could not.
“ What’d daddy Wayne do to get stuck with a twerp like you?”
“ Are you really so pathetic you scared mommy away?”
“ Fucking kid, no wonder your brothers call you Demon.” Were ones that particularly stung. And, of course, these seemed to be returning favorites.
It didn’t help that Damian was not a kid that smiled. Neither did he talk often, and when did, it was short and berating.
That was the reason his family members saw no difference in his declining mood. Not that Damian wanted them to. Hearing his father’s harsh words after the first altercation at school had been hurtful enough, surely showing his weakness a second time would do only the situation further harm.
The man would not want to be burdened by his sons issues.
Damian only ever considered saying something once, on a Thursday afternoon.
Because it was still nice out, the students were given their lunch period in the clearing behind the school.
As per usual, Damian used this time to sketch, sitting under a tree a good distance from the other kids and nibbling on a sandwich Pennyworth had made for him.
Three older students, sixth graders (if he remembered correctly), approached him.
“ Hey, Demon!” The tallest one, Spencer Fields, the son of a dirty business man, greeted. “ Whatcha do’in? Playin’ tic-tac-toe with your imaginary friend?”
The kid was relatively intimidating for only thirteen years of age. He screamed bully, having stayed back a year, he stood roughly two inches above the majority of his classmates. Thus said, he towered over fourth grader Damian Wayne.
“ What is it Fields? Did you run out of little girls to make cry?” Damian said, eyes not leaving his sketch.
“ Nah, see, that’s where you come in short-stack.” The nickname was the same that Todd often used but this one held no affection, only fiery hatred.
“ Your demeaning comments will not rile me, Fields.” He still did not give the bully the satisfaction of looking up.
“ I’ve noticed. We’re gonna try somethin’ knew today.” After a quick nod to one of his sidekicks, Damian’s sketchbook was ripped from his hands.
“ Listen here you-“ A foot to the ribs prevented Damian from finishing and another took the breath from his lungs. Given two seconds of leeway and the young Wayne could have flattened mighty Spencer with a flick of his wrist. If not for Father’s sure disappointment.
Fields’ laughter deafened Damian as another kick was sent to his gut, his half eaten sandwich threatening to make itself known.
And just as his luck went, his secluded tree was far from his teachers eye.
Finally, there was a pause before: “ We’ll be back to play tomorrow, Demon.”
Masking bruised ribs on patrol that night hadn’t been nearly as difficult as it should have been, and, ignoring the black and blue tenderness they brought the next morning, Damian succumbed himself to another day of antics and pulled on his uniform.
Again, they were given their lunch period outside and Damian sat beneath his tree. The sketchbook that had been stolen from him the previous day still had yet to be returned, so, instead he read a book. It was one Todd had lent him a few days prior.
Nothing seemed amiss until a bucket of sand was dumped atop his head.
“ See you still haven’t gone back to where you belong.” Snapped Spencer. “ Or you just waiting to join them in the next attack?”
Damian fumed, his face turning deep crimson as he flew to his feet, the nerve of that-
“ Whatcha readin’ punk?” The hardcover book was snatched from his hands as Fields pushed him back into the lingering sand.
“ Ha! The Princess Bride? You really are a girl.” Spencer smirked and Damian found himself wishing he had been reading any other book. Especially with what the sixth grader did next.
A page of literature was torn from its spine.
Todd’s book.
His brothers book. The one that Damian had only been lended, the one that had years of dog ears and highlights, the one with notes scribbled in the margines. It could not just be replaced.
“ Stop!” The word left his mouth before he could think, but he had to stop Todd’s book from being destroyed. “ Stop! Please!”
“ Oh so you do have manners?” He tore the last page with a glistening smile on his lips. “ But you should have asked earlier.”
He dropped the shell of the book into Damian’s lap and walked away with a laugh. His goons following with smirks.
Damian fell to ground, wiping the few leaked tears from his cheeks and did the best to gather the ripped and torn pages. He stuffed the remnants into his backpack before standing and trudging back to class.
***
Climbing into the backseat of the pristine car Pennyworth drove had been everything Damian was dreading.
“ Master Damian! However did you get so filthy?” Of course Pennyworth would notice. The man had the eyes of a hawk, Damian had been expecting no less.
“ We spent our lunch out in the schoolyard.” He said, as if it explained everything. As it was, Pennyworth did not push further.
The car ride was spent staying incredibly still as to not brush sand onto his car seat and add more chores to Pennyworth’s already heavy workload.
He was tired and irritable by the time they returned home.
Not to mention still covered in sand.
“ Hey demon baby, you take a dive in a sandbox?” And Drake’s comment was the last straw.
“ I’m NOT a demon!” The outburst caught the occupants of the room off guard, this wasn’t the usual show of hatred of his nicknames. This was something much more... intense.
“ I’m... sorry?” Tim tried, he hadn’t expected to cut a wire in the boy.
“ I’m not- not a d-demon.” The statement was quiet and ridden with tears but it was there and that was all the family needed to be concerned.
“ What’s this about baby bat?” Jason. Jason Todd. Todd was in the room and the crumpled pieces of his book were in Damian’s backpack.
The backpack Pennyworth was holding.
“ I’m sorry! They- they took it! They ruined it!” He was sure to be in trouble, firstly for being so weak and secondly for the book.
“ Ruined what kiddo?” Todd’s eyes flicked to the backpack and Damian’s heart rate increased.
“ No!” He squealed, clawing for the material and holding it tightly in his arms.
“ You can show us Dames. What did they do?” Damian hasn’t heard Tim call him something that even resembled his given name in a very long time, the thought was enough to make the boy look up. First at Drake, then at Todd.
“ M-sorry.” His grip loosened on the bag and he allowed Jason to pry it from his trembling fingers. The sound of the zipper opening was sickening.
The sight was met with silence.
“ Well those mother fu-“
“ What’s going on in here?” Oh.
Damian had forgotten about Grayson.