Work Text:
From an early age, Damian was taught that feelings were useless, that they would never lead him to the glory he was destined for, only to an early death.
He still remembers when he was three years old, when he saw a group of his grandfather's assassins being punished for a mistake they had made. The boy shuddered with each crack of the whip, remembering his own punishments when he disobeyed or did not achieve the result expected of him. He knew the pain they were feeling, to the point of feeling sorry for them.
His mother's hand squeezed his shoulder.
"The League of Assassins has no room for error. That includes petty feelings." Damian wanted to shrug at his mother's judgment, but he restrained himself and maintained a firm stance.
"Do not feel pity or empathy for others, my blood, because they will not feel for you. I learned that the hard way, but you will be better than me." His mother wanted him to be strong, so he would be, he must be, to fulfill his destiny.
Damian al Ghul, Ibn al Xu'ffasch, heir to the demon, grandson of Ra's al Ghul. His titles speak for themselves. He was trained to be ruthless, to be feared and hated by his enemies.
...so why?...
It was just a mission to steal an artifact, a scepter, from the ruins of Bialya. He admits to being taken by surprise by the creatures that were part bat and part dragon that lived there, but he managed to eliminate them successfully, there was only one left. A small and fragile hatchling — too easy — that looked at the human dirty in the blood of his family, Damian decided to give the little one a fair death.
"Let us end this as the warriors our families wish us to be." He approached the creature, sword in hand, ready for confrontation. The red creature, with big ears and eyes, cooed without any intention of attacking.
To Damian's adrenaline-filled mind, that was an insult.
"Fight me!" He shouted, making the creature cower 'Yes, tremble before me!'.
"Fight for them!" He threw his light source against the ground, next to the creature that jumped in fright, now he was sure that it would fight back, as every cornered and frightened animal does.
He stood face to face with the creature, waiting for it to make a move. And it did.
The baby dragon-bat licked the tip of his nose.
... why?...
Did that creature just forgive him? Even after seeing his family cut and mutilated before him, he didn't avenge them?! How was that possible?!
Damian's chest began to heat up, a heat that rose to his face, and suddenly his eyes were overflowing. What was happening? Was the creature's saliva poisonous? No, he had a high resistance to poison that would prevent the substance from acting so quickly.
He tried to stop the flood of water from coming down from his eyes by covering his face with his hands, only to gain the sensation of having a lump in his throat, that the feeling would suffocate him.
Feeling...
The blood-colored furball touched him with its small paw. When had he fallen to his knees on the ground? When had he dropped his sword and lost his will to fight? He felt the creature crouch at his legs, like a cat seeking a source of warmth, or as if comforting him.
It was comforting Damian.
Damian should never have received that kind of treatment, he would be the leader of a bloody empire, he had the blood of many on his hands despite his young age. Feelings are a weakness, feelings are a waste of time... feelings made him lose.
Damian had lost that battle.
But he didn't feel horrible. After his eyes finally dried, he felt lighter, as if he could breathe better despite the metallic scent of blood and smoke in the air.
Damian looked at the furball. He could be a great warrior one day, be the biggest and strongest specimen his kin has ever had.
Yes, he will be his Goliath.