Chapter Text
He was benched.
Damian had been benched for not following orders, for doing his job.
Some dumb fuck had gotten lucky, very lucky.
A sniper had gone unnoticed until Damian saw the small reflection produced by his scope.
Damian was quick. He tackled Dick at the last moment. The leader of the drug cartel had gotten away.
Despite everything, Dick was still alive and well. That was what mattered the most but Bruce seemed unwilling to see it that way.
He was already on thin ice for a real reason so instead of being reasonable father had benched him for letting the mission go to waste.
No one was on my father's side on this. Even Jason had offered him to patrol in his turf, where Batman had no power.
The problem was that Damian didn't see the point anymore. No matter how hard he tried to be in his fathers good graces he had always been an obligation rather than a member of his family, a son .
The rest had given up on him a while ago. Only Tim, Jason and Dick were willing to treat him as a brother, Dick was more of a father than Bruce ever was. Dick has been the reason to change, to become a better person. He was the only one responsible for making him experience any sort of childhood. After Bruce was back, he made Dick step back, which ended on Dick kind of vanishing. He was allowed in the house but Bruce and him avoided each other like the plague, Father didn't leave Damian alone so he didn't have the chance to see Richard much.
He felt caged. There was nothing to do, other than train and think. Repent.
Damian wanted to be the best and the best fighters have toned muscles and tough looks.
He grew up in an assassins clan, each one of them was a great combatant. The only one that wasn't as built as them was his mother and still then she had something that made her a great asset. Her looks gave her the upper hand in some situations, like inter gathering.
But Damian didn't fit in, his upbringing had prepared him for fighting, for killing. Not for whatever his family wanted from him. He knew how to solve riddles but when life itself became a puzzle and every step was seen as an aggression with deep meaning instead of whatever it was meant to be he just couldn't solve his entire life daily. Drake had been trying to make the situation better by distracting Bruce constantly with new cases, Jason was leaving cryptic messages around Gotham just to get Bruce off his back.
The problem was that none of it was working and Damian was starting to give in and break. He shouldn't do that but he couldn't continue living like that, under so much scrutiny that in turn made him extremely anxious daily. Not even training helped and he was starting to avoid his brothers since he didn't want to be a bother so he kept to himself.
Still he hadn't been allowed to go back out to the streets. Damian felt useless and guilty, the only way to clean himself of the blood that stained his hands. He needed to suffer, to die as soon as possible.
On one of those lonely nights when his family was out on the field, when Bruce wasn't breathing down his neck. Damian decided to draw, it would help him get his mind off of things.
He was halfway done, his drawing was a bird, a blue bird, for some details he needed to sharpen his pastels until they had a fine point. He cut his fingers and watched the blood ooze out of the wound. He could stain his hands with his own blood, his dirty, full of suffering and misdeeds blood . Yet he felt better, calmer, more centered. He finished the drawing and went to sleep.
The next day was uneventful, he felt lighter with no worries at hand. Even father had seemed pleased with him and his change of attitude.
So he started doing it more, hiding the marks and stained clothes and bandages, forgoing his own skin in order to be better, and shedding his crimes onto the washing basin for a lack of a better release. He went from just needing a release once in a while to having to hide in bathrooms and tear his skin apart just to function throughout the day
His arms, legs and abdomen were now scared beyond repair. Good thing he still wasn't allowed on the streets because if he got injured and Alfred saw it he would be in trouble or at the very least required to give explanations and if he was honest with himself he couldn't give any really good reason for his actions.
He wondered if this was the sensation Todd got whenever he smoked, the calm after the storm, the energizing sensation it left in its wake. Damian was curious and willing enough to try anything, and he did. He stole a pack of cigars from an upperclassman and waited for the best moment to give it a try.
At first he felt as if all the oxygen in his lungs had left, he was drowning. But then he felt more energized and ecstatic than ever. A trick the nicotine was playing and would continue to play every time he had a hit. The cigars were gone within the week, surely he shouldn't spiral that low in a matter or days but in any case he could always back down if he wanted to. It was fine.
Damian wasn't the only one to disagree with father. Drake had taken a case that father didn't want him to try and solve. It was dangerous and seemed like some sort of ruse planned by a rogue. But Drake didn't care because the Joker was out on the streets, planning, scheming. It was better to know if this was him, with some luck he would be back in Arkham in no time.
Drake was asking him for help since father had already benched him, there was not much to lose after. And Damian agreed. He was only required to act as a look out and report who came in or exited a building but with strict orders to not engage in any fights, he was left alone most of the time which made it perfect to smoke and he needn't worry about the odor since he would reek like old pipes and sewage any way.
(In any case he would get back home and hide in his room until Drake came looking for his report, by then any trace of the smell will have already vanished even from his hands)
“Robin”
Oracle. There were no cameras nearby, he had made sure of it. It must be something else. “Come in”
“Red Hood needs reinforcements and you are the only one of us available at the moment. Bats won't know”
“On my way”
Ultimately Red Hood hadn't needed much help but after there was no more time to get to his observation task, they headed to one of Jason´s safe houses to change out of gear before dawn and finally head home. Hopefully Damian would be able to sleep for a while before it was a decent enough hour to start his day.
For once Damian had been fortunate enough for it to be a Saturday. He would have all day for himself, for his thoughts and plans, which while greatly appreciated he would rather be back to when things were better, when there were people he could call a family, his family .
All of those memories now felt like a lie, a petty reassurance to oneself to ensure he wouldn't give up just now on life.