Chapter Text
It’s always been like this, at least from what Damian could remember.
Father had always been estranged. Not physically, of course, his mother dropped him off at their door when he was one. Damian still spoke to her over the phone, but she kept her distance. Still, somehow, he always felt closer to her. He knew father tried, he was pretty sure he loved him. But somehow he felt as though that cold gaze never softened for him, unlike when he spoke of any of his adoptive siblings.
I mean, Damian couldn’t really blame him. In childhood Damian was…difficult to put it nicely. tantrums were frequent, over minor things mostly, but most of the time whatever he would whine about wasn’t really what was distressing him. He just wished father would comfort him, even discipline him. but, alas, here he is in an empty house.
It’s not like he didn’t try. Once he was 13, he learned the way of learning Father’s approval. Be quiet, obey, be polite even when someone doesn’t deserve it, don’t fight Drake, and stay out of trouble. He felt as though he had been everything a father could ask for in a son, or at least that’s what his teachers and peers said. Student body president, captain of the soccer team, a good amount of friends (Did he really like them? Not really, he knew they were just using him and he hated their idiocy, but father had always told him to be more sociable), and the top student at Gotham Academy, assumed to be valedictorian. He had also tried to win his acknowledgment through Robin, but that was quickly shut down. Grayson said it was because father “loved him” or whatever, which he knew deep down was true, but with no connection to the vigilante life, he felt as though he was a fish out of water.
Sometimes he does consider discussing these issues with someone, probably Grayson or perhaps Duke (the only one still in the manor), but he’s come to realize how minimal his problems are. While his main concerns are how he’ll keep his position as student body president by next year, not fighting Christian fucking
Windsor, and getting father to look him in the eyes, his family is concerned with saving the world and all of them have, you know, dead parents. In the grand scheme of things, he really has no impact in the world. He could die tomorrow and the world would carry on, father would, and his sibling probably would. There would possibly be an assembly, since unfortunately even in death he most likely couldn’t escape this cursed institution. Maybe he should accept that, due to these facts, Father will never truly hold him in high regard, but a part of him yearns for some kind of attention outside a simple “good job” when he gets straight A’s on his repost card for the nth time (still was the highlight of his day).
“Wayne…Mr. Wayne!” ,his math teacher, Mrs. Abbot (most student called her “Mrs.A-Bitch” behind her back) snapped him out of his current reflection on his life, “Could you please tell us how to find the missing side of triangle D?”
Damian looked at the board, quickly blurting “Oh! Uh, write down the formula, Cos(20) = A/80. Then cross multiply. Then to get the A alone, divide Cos(20) on both sides.”
Mrs. “A-Bitch” looked him up and down, “Correct as always Mr. Wayne, but please refrain from spacing out in class. You know in the real world-“ Damian tuned her out. Stuck up egregious cunt wagon.
He began to draw a small sketch of Mrs.Abbot in his notebook, more a caricature, as he continued to tune her out. After all, he could do all of this in his sleep. It would’ve been peaceful, if Christian fucking Windsor would shut the fuck up. Damian isn’t one to wish death, anymore, but he’s pretty sure Christian could drop dead right here right now and Damian would drop to the floor laughing. Now he didn’t bother Damian personally, due to being a “Wayne” or whatever, but he did spend his free time laughing obnoxiously loud with his group of senseless friends with no future, trying to butter up to Damian when he had the chance, and making fun of or making obscene comments about the girls in class. And in this moment, he was being both obnoxiously loud and throwing pencils at a girl in the seat over to damian. Typical. Now, Damian didn’t completely remember everything that had happened, but all he knew is one second he was finishing up his caricature, a pencil was thrown at his head, and the next thing you know he’s holding a chair over Christian who’s on the floor crying. Shit.