Work Text:
Bruce's fist pounded against Damian’s bedroom door, shaking him out of his trance.
“Damian! You said 5 minutes, it's been 10! We’re all waiting on you!” He called out, exasperated.
“One minute!” Damian yelled back with a slightly shaken voice. He ripped his eyes away from his bare chest in the mirror and pulled the itchy white turtleneck over his head. He finally opened the door and Bruce sighed in relief, grabbing his arm and rushing him down the stairs.
Bruce and Damian came down the stairs to find the living room in a state of disarray. Richard and Jason were squabbling over who would sit in the chair for the family photo, shoving each other in an attempt to sit on it. Steph was holding a camera as Tim yelled something at her about “The angle being wrong”. Cass was clearly trying to escape through the window without anyone noticing, and Duke had just gotten back from daytime patrol and was attempting not to pass out while standing upright.
Alfred started separating everyone and ordering them into places for photos. Damian, being pretty much the shortest, was placed in the very front.
------------------------------
The photo had been placed on quick order the second it was taken, and the next day the large portion of blank wall in the main hallway was filled. The photo was huge and golden-framed, depicting the entire family stone faced in a regal sort of way.
It didn't take long for Damian to grow a hatred for it.
The only thing he could focus on in the picture was himself. Something about him felt out of place, in a way. He looked so stupid. It infuriated him for weeks, torturing his eyes every time he entered the manor with no real explanation. Eventually, he had enough.
“Father, you need to take down that horrible picture in the main entryway.” Damian chided at breakfast one Saturday morning.
Bruce frowned. “Why's that?”
“It is…disturbing. And infuriatingly bad photography.” Damian sighed.
Alfred, the man who had taken the photo, raised an eyebrow. “I'll have you know that I took a photography course in school, master Damian.”
Damian flinched. “That's not what I meant. The photography is well done, I just…I don't know. It isn't right.”
Bruce looked at Damian. “Well, we aren't taking another one. It was a miracle we got everyone here to do it in the first place. Plus, we don't have anything else to put there, kid. You’re just gonna have to suck it up.”
Damian sighed and scowled into his omelette.
----------------------------
Damian was running out of ideas, so he went to the place where everyone who's hopeless always goes.
Jason's apartment.
Knock knock knock
The peephole in the door slid open. An eye came up to the small glass circle and glanced down to Damian. Then, the door swung open.
“Damian?” Jason mumbled groggily, clearly having just woken up. “What are you doing here? What are you wearing?”
Damian glanced down to his black jeans, shirt, belt, and gloves. “Spy clothes–don't worry about that. I have a job for you.”
Jason sighed “Listen, kid–”
“I have money.”
Jason's annoyed look turned into a grin and he moved to let Damian enter. “Welcome in.”
--------------------------
Damian sipped a soda from Jason's fridge, finishing his proposition. “So…that's about it.”
Jason leaned against the counter. “So, you want me to get past all of Bruce’s alarms, break into the manor, and destroy a photo? Why can't you just do it?”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Because…I'm already on fathers bad side lately. I'm not going to dig myself a deeper hole.”
“And why should I?”
“Because I'm offering you 40 dollars.”
Jason pulled away from the counter and crossed his arms. “Damian, can I ask you something?”
“I'd prefer you just–”
“Why are you doing this?”
Damian frowned. “Coming to you?”
Jason shook his head. “No. Why are you trying to destroy this thing in the first place? I mean, seriously. It sounds like you're super caught up in this thing, but…why?”
“...I don't know.”
Jason stared at him. Damian glanced away, avoiding eye contact.
“I…suppose, I may not like the way I look in the picture.”
“But why?”
Damian crossed his arms. “...it's not just in the photo. lately…I haven't felt right. I guess.”
Jason nodded. Damian felt himself tighten, then it all began to pour out of him.
“I do not know what is happening. Something–...Something is wrong with me. I can't handle seeing myself in any pictures. I can't wear any of my old clothes without feeling ill. I just feel so sick and–and wrong and…”
Damian paused to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. Jason reached out and put a hand on his back.
Damian struggled to blink back tears. “I think I was born wrong.”
Jason frowned and paused for a worrying amount of time.
“Damian, how about I drive you home?”
Damian nodded and they headed out to the car.
----------------------------
They had sat in the silence of Jason's Toyota for a long time. It was beginning to get awkward. Finally, Jason spoke.
“Kid, you know…” he paused, looking for the right words to convey what he wanted to say. “You know I have your back, right? We all do. We’ll support you in anything, Damian. Don't be afraid to reach out for help if you need it.”
Damian gave him a confused look and nodded. The silence continued after that until they arrived at the manor.
“Thank you.” Damian said in a quiet voice, opening the car door and stepping out. “Goodbye, Todd.”
Jason nodded and drove off, leaving Damian at the front gate of the manor. He took a moment, just standing in the cold. Something Jason had said shook him. “Don't be afraid to reach out for help”. What did he mean? Did he think there was something wrong, too?
—----------------------
Damian opened the large manor door, wincing to brace for the alarms. Luckily, they didn't go off. His father must have forgotten to turn them on for the night. Or–he was beginning to trust him more. Unlikely. Damian crept up the stairs and entered his room. He quickly locked the door, looked around, and opened his phone.
He opened google and hesitantly began to type the question that had been etched into his soul for so many years, locked away by fear.
What does it mean if I want to be a girl?
That night, Damian Wayne fell into a rabbit hole of Reddit posts and Buzzfeed quizzes. So many words and terms and horrifying realizations poured into his mind. Damian's question was finally answered. He knew why he felt so disconnected whenever he looked in the mirror, why he hated the broad look of his shoulders and the sharpness of his jaw. He knew what was wrong.
He knew he wasn't a boy.
She knew she was trans.
But he had to be sure.
With the wave of realization came another wave–a tsunami of doubt.
From a Reddit post Damian had heard that some trans people got a kind of happiness called “euphoria” from dressing as their correct gender; so, he, feeling sort of like a creep,
snuck into Cassandra’s room and borrowed a top. She was out of town, so she really wouldn't mind. She wouldn't even know. At least–that's what he kept telling himself. This would be a tried and true test. If he got euphoria he would know he was trans. If he didn't–then he wasn't. Simple. He probably wasn't, anyway.
So Damian tried on the top.
He looked over himself in the mirror on his closet door, grinning like an idiot. Something in his heart was pounding–telling him that this was right. All his life he had felt like he was a square peg trying to jam itself into a circular hole, unaware that he had the choice to try something else. This realization gave him an intense swell of joy, but also so much fear.
What would they think?
What would mother think–god, what would father think?
How could something that felt so right be viewed as so wrong by so many people?
So he threw off the top, He deleted his search history and he climbed into bed to sleep it off.
----------------------------------
At breakfast that morning Damian didn't speak a word. He just ate his breakfast, not daring to even look at his father in fear of starting a conversation.
It went on like that all day. Damian didn't speak to anyone. He could feel the worry beginning to well up in his family, especially when he said he didn't want to go to patrol, which was unlike himself.
He was worried that if he began to speak, all the things he didn't want to say would pour out of his mouth. He wanted them to. He wanted to tell someone, anyone–but the fear of being ostracized and kicked out was too much.
That evening, Damian sat out on the 3rd floor’s balcony. His need to say something became overwhelming. Before he could manage to stop himself the name tumbled out.
“Jonathan.”
In less than a second Damian’s friend Jonathan Kent was flying over him, wearing that stupid grin he always was. His face deflated when he saw Damian's expression.
“Damian? What's wrong?” he asked, lowering himself to sit next to him on the railing.
“I need to tell you something.” Damian said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
Jonathan just nodded and kept looking at him. His eyes were now digging into the side of Damian’s head.
“I…”
He hesitated, tearing up. “If I tell you this…you are going to hate me.”
Jonathan frowned, taking his hands into his.
“Damian, you’re my best friend. After all we’ve been through–I mean, a lot– we’ve saved the world like 3 times– I could never hate you. Whatever it is, we can get through it together.”
Damian shook his head. “You say that now, but…”
Jonathan squeezed his hands. “Tell me.”
Damian sighed, attempting to steady the heavy pounding of his heart.
“I think–I think I might be transgender, if you know what that means?”
Damian braced himself for the yelling–but it didn't come. He brought his eyes to look at Jonathan–and was met with a smile.
“So like…you’re a girl?”
Damian nodded. “I'm pretty sure.”
“Oh thank god, I thought you were gonna say you killed someone or something. Damian–that's…that's completely fine. So are you like…going by a new name now?”
Damian grinned, and for the first time, initiated a hug.
---------------------------------
The conversation with Jonathan had gone way better than Damian ever could have expected or dreamed of. They agreed that until Damian was out to everyone that when the two of them were in private Jon would use she/her pronouns and her preferred name.
It felt amazing, but…it wasn't enough. At home he was still referred to as a boy. As Damian. Every time he was mentioned it felt as if he were stabbed in the chest.
And the photo–the horrible, miserable photo was still up.
The already humongous picture felt larger every day that went by– taking up more space in the hallway. Suffocating.
One night, after patrol, Damian was sent back to the cave early due to a large gash on the side of his leg. Alfred had sewed it up and he was sent upstairs to bed. He left through the secret turning bookshelf, which led directly to–
–The main entryway. The family picture.
For some reason, that night it stung more than usual. Maybe it was the tight Robin uniform, reminding him of every boyish part of his body. Maybe it was Bruce comforting him with his injury on the car ride home, calling him “Buddy” repeatedly. Whatever it was, Damian had been pushed to his last straw.
It started with the faint pounding in his chest, then, his body began to shake ceaselessly. His vision blurred. And then, his hands were moving. They moved up, up to where the photo was. He felt himself gripping the glossy paper, grabbing at his frozen face in the picture. He jerked backwards and a rip echoed throughout the hallway. He looked down at the piece in his hands and tore at it until it was shredded on the wooden floor. His knees weakened and he fell to the ground, curling up against the wall.
He sat like that for who knows how long, sobbing and hyperventilating until Alfred eventually found him.
“...Lad?” Alfred asked, slowly approaching.
Damian looked up slightly to glance at him, then quickly slid away, curling further into himself.
“Damian–”
“DON'T!” Damian cried. “Don't…don't call me that.” He mumbled quietly, regretting it immediately. “Sorry, I just..I just need father.”
Alfred nodded “I'll get him.” and walked away.
A few minutes later Bruce Wayne rushed in, still in his entire suit besides the mask, which he was holding in his left hand. He was clearly worried, and the worry intensified when he saw Damian's state. Alfred had told him of Damian's distress when called his name, so Bruce decided not to say anything. He just sat down next to his son, looking at the shredded family photo.
“Is there a reason…for this?” He asked softly, moving his eyes to Damian.
No response.
“Son–”
Damian curled up tighter.
“...I'm worried about you, kid. You've been so distant lately.” He gestured to the picture. “And now…this? What is this about?” He paused for a moment, waiting for Damian to say something. When he didn’t, Bruce continued. “Look…whatever it is, I'm here to listen. You can tell me anything, okay? I'm your father.”
Bruce looked away, going silent.
“You wouldn't understand.” Damian murmured finally.
“I can't say I will, kid. But I can't try until you tell me.”
Damian thought, for a second, back to the car ride with Jason. What he had said. “We’ll support you in anything, Damian. Don't be afraid to reach out for help if you need it.” He was scared, so scared, but he had to be brave.
“...I've been looking into it for a little while and…and I think I might be…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I think i'm transgender.”
A look of shock came over Bruce's face. “Is that why…Oh. Oh. kid–...” He pulled Damian into a tight hug. He continued speaking after pulling away. “I am so sorry if I made you scared to tell me. I will always support you, kid. Always. Who am I to get angry at my kid for realizing who she is?”
Damian looked at him, shocked. She smiled and sobbed harder.
Bruce looked at the large picture behind them again, smiling. “I think we need to take a new family photo, honestly. I can't believe it's missing my daughter.”