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Classes for Damian were an absolute breeze. He passed by each of them with high nineties and perfect hundreds. “With flying colors,” Grayson would say. The other half, the socializing half, was harder. Damian wasn’t exactly socially adept- Growing up with Mother, Ra’s, and assassins at every corner would do that to you. It wasn’t like a lack of socializing messed with his grades or anything- If he was terribly bad at it, he wouldn’t get a D. Or an F. If that was how school went, Damian would be banned from patrol at every corner.
Gym class involved a healthy mix of socialization and classwork. Damian had a solid B. He could do teamwork, sure, but not when it involved thirteen year olds. (Yes, Damian was also thirteen. So what? It wasn’t like he acted like one.) Thirteen year olds weren’t worried about fighting the day’s crime, they were worried about boyfriends and girlfriends and winning the day’s sport.
Today’s sport was what Damian considered borderline torture.
“It’s basically tug-a-war,” one girl in his class said. Her name started with an S, from what Damian remembered. She was only in one other class with him, and she never stopped to talk to him. Well, there was one time, but it was just to question about a rumor some of the boys were spreading about Damian.
Thirteen year old boys are cruel. Fourteen year old boys are worse.
That was true, yes. It was basically tug-a-war. A four way tug-a-war with four different ropes that pointed to four different corners. In each corner was a ball that you had to grab to win. Essentially, you had to drag three other children behind you to grab some random ball. The only good thing was, instead of gripping the rope, you had a belt around your waist to connect you to the other players. Damian could use all four of his limbs without a problem.
“This is going to be easy!” one boy barks out. Damian’s going against him when the most recent round finishes. While Damian’s only just nearing four foot ten, (he’s short an inch or two, isn’t he? It’s been a while since he’s been measured), the boys his coach has pitted him against have hit preature growth spurts. Five foot atrocities . He would’ve at least thought that his coach would pair him with people of the proper weight class. “Especially since we’re going against our class’ resident terrorist. ”
Damian’s blood boils.
Ever since the class learned of 9/11 and the terrorist attack on America, their grade’s population of bullies switched all their tactics to using Damian’s past against him. Granted, they didn’t know about Damian’s connection to the League of Assassins. They knew about the color of his skin.
That was enough.
And that repeated comment was just enough to tip Damian off. He’ll win this stupid game if it’s the last thing he does today.
The game ends- Amanda Dyna won it, an admirable foe, had the coach allowed boys and girls to go against each other. Damian steps up when he’s called, along with Kyle, Brandon, and Jake. Plebeian names for unremarkable plebs. He scoffs. This’ll be entirely easy.
Their coach- Damian should refer to him as Mr. Rinfield, but Rinfield is such an stupid name- buckles them up to the straps. It’s just the one, it digs up into his stomach as he fiddles with it’s length. Oddly enough, this is the one torture technique that he’s never done before.
“On all fours,” Rinfield calls.
Damian settles down into a runner’s stance, digging one foot back as far as he can and keeping the other leg tucked against his chest. He counts to three, pulling in his breathing enough until it stills. The other three lower themselves into that one bear stance- hands and feet on the ground, the rest of their bodies arched like a cat.
The moment Rinfield blows the whistle, Damian forces himself forward with all of the energy that he can manage to spend. He grins, a nasty kind of thing, when the three boys behind him shriek as their yanked behind him. It feels easy, especially when Damian’s hand reaches out for his ball. Just as his hand hovers over the ball-
He’s yanked back so hard, his lunch boils up to his throat, threatening to spill from his lips. He swallows it down with a yell.
( Mother’s hand is on his wrist, yanking him towards her as she fumes. Damian can almost see the smoke that billows from her lips, a dragon’s rage bubbling over. He falls down with a cry. Mother pulls him back to his feet.
“You are an al Ghul! Stand up and quit crying!” )
He blinks back the memory and tries to gather his bearings. Around him, his classmates scream for his opponents to win. No one cheers for Damian. It fuels his frustration further. He jolts forwards, forcing Jake to slam to the ground- being the one opposite Damian. Kyle and Brandon, on Damian’s left and right respectively, both make a dash for their own corner at the same time. They both end up sliding to the ground. It’s kind of funny. Cartoon-logic wise, at least.
Damian takes this as his chance to rise back up to the ball. He’s inches from it, this time, when Kyle yanks him to the left. Then he’s pulled back by Jake, then to the right by Brandon.
He bites down a shout of frustration as his entire body shakes.
The clock continues to tick, but all four of them are at a stalemate. Damian’s hands end up clawing pitifully against the polished floor. He doesn’t have enough to anchor himself down. He’s lacking in both weight and size. That, and the fabric of his joggers and sweatshirt slide against the floor better than what his classmates wear. He’d long since been granted permission to wear longer clothes, rather than the classic gym shorts and t-shirts. It’s both to hide his scars and keep people from asking questions, and to protect the Wayne’s biggest secret.
But, seriously. Damian’s a Robin. He’s trained with the League of Assassins to become one of the world’s best killing machines. Why is this of all things so hard?
Another yank and Damian crashes onto his side. His bruised ribs- long since sore from patrol- protest the action. There’s nothing Damian can really do for them, so he resigns himself to curse internally instead.
( The night’s worst crook pushes Damian down, delivering a kick immediately after. Damian screams a pitch too high- something deep in his chest cracks as he curls around himself. Batman is nowhere to be found. Damian is on his own. Damian is weak. Just as the crook reaches down for him again, there’s a flash of black and blue pulling off a complicated flip.
Grayson.
He tries not to sob in relief. )
Damian sucks in a breath and takes this as his chance to take in his competitors. Kyle’s lost his shoe, a small fact that makes this whole torture sport a little easier to do. All socks make for terrible ways to anchor one’s self down. Brandon’s starting to lag. Damian can’t get a good enough look at Jake to really tell his condition, though.
He rolls over onto his butt, pressing the palms of his hands and the bottoms of his sneakers down into the floor. He starts to scoot back, inch by inch, to conserve energy. It pulls Jake back again. With the pressure on his stomach gone, Damian starts to pull in deeper breaths. This tactic gets him applause from his coach.
It also gives his opponents the same chance to breathe. All three of them take this chance to bolt back towards their corners, relighting the stalemate struggle.
Damian’s pulled back down again, skidding against the ground. He takes this as his chance to roll up his sleeves. Bare skin is a better anchor. Besides, no one’s really looking at him right now. They don’t even really care. With his forearms pressed against the ground now, he starts to army crawl to his corner.
With every few inches he gains, he’s pulled back two more. The pressure on his stomach grows near unbearable.
He ends up making the mistake of reaching out for the ball to early. His fingertips tap the yellow ball, and then he’s pulled back as Jake takes his turn to inch towards his corner. Damian throws a glance behind him. Kyle, for some reason, is standing. His arms windmill as he tries to regain his balance. Again, it’s comical in a cartoony way. Grayson would be laughing his ass off, had he been here to witness Damian’s struggle. Really, the whole family would be laughing, Todd especially. Father would stand off to the side, strongly disappointed-
Focus.
Damian gains an inch. Brandon’s resorted to curling up into a ball, every so often reaching out to crawl his own way to victory.
Jake is centimeters away from his goal.
This is going to be easy! Especially since we’re going against our class’ resident terrorist.
His arm reaches out.
Our class’ resident terrorist.
His hand ghosts over the ball.
Damian focuses all of his energy into propelling himself forward, abandoning the army crawl to scramble forward instead. He’ll let those boys win over his dead body- He’ll give them the satisfaction of beating him when he returns to his prison six feet under- He’ll-
Damian has to win this.
He can’t let Jake beat him.
“Look at Wayne go! ” his coach cries out, voice rising over their classmates, just as Damian’s knee twinges with the threat of giving out.
( He’s running, away from a villain that he can’t fight all on his own anymore. His entire leg is stained red, he’d be screaming had Mother not beat it out of him. Batman’s en route, but Damian fears he won’t come fast enough. The rooftop is quickly coming to an end-
Damian leaps off of it before he can rethink it, and he slams into the dumpster below hard enough to force a cry from his lips.
It’s Drake who finds him, two hours later. )
Jake lets out a rage filled shriek as he’s pulled back all over again. Damian lets his frown curl back into a smirk. He doesn’t let up as he moves forth. The Wayne family has no room for cowards and quitters. Damian won’t let himself become one by being bested by a thirteen year old!
( He collapses onto the mats as Father heaves above him. “Again!” he barks.
Damian stands back up. )
Four more steps.
( It’s his birthday. Mother knocks him to the ground, but Damian rolls away before she can knock the sword against his throat. With his locked up rage, he screams , and slams the butt of his sword into her gut.
“YIELD!” )
Three, and Brandon makes his way to his feet.
( Grayson and him swing through the darkened streets of Gotham- Batman and Robin, back at it again. They’re beaten and battered and bleeding.
Damian doesn’t care. )
Two, and Damian’s foot slides back.
( Damian Wayne stands back up, and Robin takes his place every time.
“We’re Robins,” he says, once, “we don’t back down.” )
One-
Damian’s hand curls around the ball and his coach blows the whistle.
Victory.
( “So,” Grayson asks, at dinner. “How was school today?”
Damian’s picking apart his salad, with dazed half interest. “I believe our coach attempted to torture us,” he says. “But I won.”
When Damian looks up, he gets a perfect shot of Grayson’s hundred-watt smile. “That-a-boy,” he says. “I’m really proud of you for that.”
That feels like victory.)