Chapter Text
Damian knew he wasn't wanted. Not in the League of Assassins. Not in the Wayne family. Not even at school.
“Damian, can you give us the answer for question twelve?” Mrs. Macy asks, raising an eyebrow in his direction. Damian can feel the eyes of his classmates burn into his skin as he answers flawlessly.
“Know it all,” he hears one of the kids behind him mutter, earning a giggle from her friend. He rolls his eyes, but makes no other signs that he cares about the girl's comment, despite obviously sitting close enough to hear it.
It’s been like this for nearly a month. Damian begins to stand up as the bell rings, and he fights a wince as his chest screams at him to stop moving. Last night's patrol had been rough. Some small-time gang had somehow gotten their hands on Scarecrow's Fear Toxin, and both Todd and Grayson had gotten rather large doses. Everyone had been so focused on them, they didn’t even realize Damian had both sprained his wrist and gotten bruised ribs. He of course had done everything correctly; not wrapping his ribs too tight, breathing deeply to prevent issues with lungs later on, taking pain pills and iced them, as well as the necessary treatment for his wrist. He couldn’t put it in a brace, since it would draw too much attention, but he did wrap it, wearing long sleeves and a coat to hide it, as well as gloves. Everyone had just assumed he was keeping warm from the chilly Gotham air. After all, it was approaching winter.
Damian walks quickly in the hall, watching his surroundings with trained ease. It wouldn’t be the first time someone shoulder-checks him while passing. Though he was loath to remember it, one of the older kids—a Junior, most likely—had sent him sprawling to the floor last week, after practically shoving him, and he was hesitant to repeat it with his injuries, however minor they were.
After all, he was the heir to the Demon, and he shouldn't be so dramatic.
He wasn’t sure when the whole school had decided it hated him. At first, people had wanted to “get to know him.” He knew that was a lie. He didn’t need to eavesdrop on Mason Marksman telling his friends how ‘beneficial it would be to his dads company to have the Waynes in their backpocket,’ to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t him they cared about, it was what he could do for them. And he refused to let himself be used like that.
He didn’t blame them for not caring about him.
He made it all the way to his last period before something happened. Art was a sort of safe haven, though he’d never admit it. Just like how he’d never admit he was so focused on the new project they were working on—a painting that was supposed to represent something you loved—that he didn’t notice Haily, the same girl with the rude comment from before, “accidently” trip next to him with a palette of paint. It went flying from her hand, right on to his project. And just like that, Titus, Alfred the cat, and all his other animals were gone, and in their place stood a splotch of red.
“Oops,” Haily said. It sounded almost sorry enough to be believable. “Oh well, at least now you won’t have to show that piece of shit at the art show! It was… hm, what are the words you like to use? ‘An Utterly Horrendous Monstrosity?’”
Damian took a breath in, held it for three seconds, then let it out. She was just a kid. And while having parents that didn’t love you enough to teach you proper manners didn’t mean you could act out, as he learned from Grayson and Father, she was still just a kid, and he wouldn’t hurt her. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her a lashing with his words, though.
As he opened his mouth to do just that, the bell rang. What was the phrase Grayson used? Saved by the bell, he thought.
Sighing, he decided he would just re-do the painting at the manor. He involuntarily winced at the thought of going back. Father had been livid with him. After all, it was his fault they were hit with Fear Toxin. The gang that had gotten their hands on the Toxin were distributing it through the vents and underground sewers. They were holed up in a warehouse, and had the entire thing rigid. Damian had seen an opening, and despite his Fathers orders, took it. He had nearly gotten hit with the Toxin himself but both Todd and Grayson had moved in front of him, taking it themselves.
Damian managed to disable the gang members, rendering them unconscious, but the damage was done. He had asked Pennyworth to drive him to school early this morning, and everyone had been exhausted last night, but there was no avoiding the lecture that was sure to come any longer.
He was a coward for avoiding it in the first place.
Sure enough, as soon as he got to the Manor, Father was waiting.
“You could have gotten them killed, Damian! Do you understand that? Your recklessness put the entire mission in danger!” Damian wasn’t sure how long the lecture lasted, but enough to make the pain medicine start to wear off.
“I thought I trained you better, though the League trained you better, but here you are rushing off without thinking things through!” Damian is careful to keep his face neutral, to not give anything that could be taken as weakness away. Apparently his emotionlessness sends the wrong message.
“Do you even care? Do you care that you put your brothers in danger? Do you care that you could have jeopardized the entire mission?” Of course I do, Damian wants to say, but he doesn’t dare interrupt his Father.
“Uh, Sorry B, but Demon Brat ain’t my brother.” Todd interjects. Damian wasn’t sure why he was still here. He understanded coming back last night, with the Toxin in him and all, but he would have thought he left by now.
Eventually, Father gets tired of yelling.
“Go to your room. I’m benching you from being Robin until you prove to me that you can use your head without putting others at risk.”
Damian tries not to flinch. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. So what if being a capable vigilante was the only reason they kept him? I mean, so was everyone else, but they were different. Father loved Grayson, he loved Todd, he even loved Drake. But Damian wasn’t chosen like them. He was practically thrown at Fathers feet, and Father was too morally driven to just throw him back out. That meant he could work Damian, longer, and harsher, and he didn't have to feel guilty about hurting the people he loved.
I’m benching you from Robin
Damian wanders up to his room, careful not to slam the door so as to not anger Pennyworth.
I thought I trained you better.
He turns on the shower, waiting for it to heat up.
Demon Brat ain’t my brother.
But when he steps into it, it’s far too hot. He gets in anyway.
Do you even care?
It hurts, but he showers quickly, and when he steps out, his skin is red, and he can feel the heat radiating off of it. Probably a mild first degree burn, but it doesn’t matter. It can’t be good for his injuries, and they hurt like hell, but it doesn’t matter.
He changes into his pajamas, though it’s still hours away from night but he doesn’t plan to leave the Manor, so it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t matter.
Hours pass,
Half-heartedly, he pulls out his homework, starting on the first question. His movements become robotic as he works, his thoughts constantly wandering.
By the time he returns to the present, his homework is long done, and dinner is over. He hears Pennyworth knock on his door, and he quickly goes to open it. By now his skin is normal, no longer the angry red, so he doesn’t try to hide it as he opens the door.
“Master Damian,” Pennyworth greets, “I have brought you dinner. I would also like to check you over for injuries, seeing as during last night's excitement I failed to do so.”
Damian nods, moving to let Pennyworth in. He knows he can no longer hide it as Pennyworth checks him over, though he still winces when Pennyworth raises a disapproving brow to his wrist and ribs.
Once it’s over, Pennyworth pauses before leaving. “Master Damian, forgive my intrusion on the matter, but if I may say, do not be too hard on your father. He is only worried for your safety.” He doesn’t think you can handle being Robin. “Do not worry, you will earn back his trust soon enough, Master Damian.” He doesn’t trust you. You failed him
You failed
Failure
Coward
Demon
Brat
Useless
Damian tries to block the thoughts out as Pennyworth leaves. But he can’t help but think back to the last month. He skipped dinner six times to nurse an injury he obtained at school
No one noticed.
He trained himself nearly everyday to the point where it hurt to move, and no one stopped him.
No one cared
No one cares about him.
You nearly killed your brothers. You're a burden.
He closes his eyes. Takes in a breath. And he grabs his school backpack, emptying it. He knows how to survive. It’s nothing new. He packs light, grabbing only essentials. A toothbrush, toothpaste, clothes, the list goes on. He’s tempted to bring a picture of himself with Drake, something Grayson had all but forced them to do, but decides against it. He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t deserve it.
Then, silent as a mouse, he opens his window. He knows how to get past his Fathers security. Soon enough, he’s on a bus in Gotham, with a simple but efficient plan; run and never look back.