Chapter Text
Gotham Academy was one of the most prestigious high schools in the area, if not the most prestigious. It was a tough school to get into, one that was selective about their students and who they let into their esteemed student body. Only the smartest of the smart got in – or the richest of the rich.
Damian Wayne tried not to scowl as he walked onto campus for the start of sophomore year. Around him, people stared and whispered, some even bold enough to call out his name in greeting. He ignored all of it. He had no patience when it came to these people, the children of the socialites of Gotham. They were all rich kids who bought their way into a good education and would do nothing with it. His scowl deepened.
He barely had the patience to deal with them when he was at galas when they were all dressed up in finery instead of the ridiculous uniforms that the school made them wear. Being stuck in a building with them for seven hours wasn’t something he ever looked forward to. He’d learned to hate it last year. This year would be no different.
Between the bumbling idiots who had no idea what the teachers were saying, the people who only wanted to be his friend because they thought it’d get them something, and the countless girls and boys that flirted with him due to some misconception that lead them to believe he wanted a partner, high school was about the last place he wanted to be.
If it was his choice, he wouldn’t be here at all. He already knew more than anyone his age – or anyone quite a few years older than him. He could easily pass all these classes without so much as sweating. The whole thing was ridiculous. If it wasn’t for Father’s insistence that he attend he wouldn’t be here at all.
Personally, he thought his time would be much better spent learning things he didn’t already know and perfecting his fighting, but Father disagreed. Apparently, this was good for him. Something about socializing with people his age and learning how to interact with people in a normal way. The only reason he was actually here was that he could see the merits in keeping up the normal guise of Damian Wayne so that no one would find out that he was Robin.
Not that Damian was normal. Even if he wasn’t Robin, he was nowhere near normal. He was the son of Bruce Wayne and heir to all that came with it. He had been trained since birth by the League of Assassins. Hell, he had died and come back to life. None of that screamed normal.
Yet here he was. Walking to class. Doing something so mundane that it was beneath him. Hating himself for it.
The bell rang – a sound he had come to hate last year and planned to continue hating for the next three – and he picked up his books and headed for his first class of the day. English. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be entirely idiotic.
He pushed the door open, finding that the class was already almost full. All eyes spun to him. Some people gaped, while others called out his name telling him to come and sit with them. He ignored them.
Without meeting a single pair of eyes he walked over and slid into a seat next to the windows, pulled out a notebook and pencil, and absentmindedly started to draw.
He heard some people mutter about how rude he was being while others whispered excitedly about him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d seen nearly two-thirds of these people before and had talked to a little less than half. They should be over this by now. It made no sense for them to be shocked he was here or surprised that he doesn’t talk to any of them.
Though apparently, that wasn’t going to stop the girl – Hallie Wong, he was pretty sure – from sauntering up to him with a vapid smile on her face.
He knew all too well where this was going. Sighing he closed his notebook and leveled her with a flat, bored stare. She stopped in her tracks, the smile faltering. Just when she pushed it back onto her face the bell rang and the teacher walked in, saying, “Alright everyone, sit down.”
Hallie frowned but walked back over to her seat. Damian didn’t spare her another look, just opened his notebook and continued to aimlessly doodle as the teacher took roll.
Then the teacher started to lecture on some Shakespearean play that he’d read when he was eight, so he tuned him out fully and focused on the picture that was slowly forming on the page in front of him.
It was only when he heard someone all but shouting at another kid that he looked up, his eyes alighting on a brown haired girl with sharp gray eyes and a nose dusted with freckles – a nose that was scrunched up in disgust as she argued with a boy who was looking down his nose at her.
As soon as he understood what they were arguing about – somehow this boy was trying to convince the class that Macbeth was actually justified in killing Duncan – he immediately agreed with the girl. The mere notion that Macbeth was right about killing Duncan made his skin itch.
He nearly opened his mouth to say just that, but before he could the girl nearly spat, “So you think that it’s completely justified for Macbeth to kill Duncan, a good and just and kind King who he had sworn to protect, all because some witches told him that he would one day be King even though they obviously had ulterior motives and there is nothing pointing to the fact that they’re actually prophetic? That’s really your argument? You could have at least thought of something better than that.”
The boy – Liam Henley, the son of some half-rate lawyer – just stared at the girl in silence for a good thirty seconds. So did the class. And by the way the girl’s face was slowly turning red, she was becoming more and more aware of that fact.
Damian frowned. He had no idea who the girl was, he’d actually never seen her in his life, but she shouldn’t be embarrassed. She was right. If this kid was actually trying to convince them that Macbeth was justified there were better arguments, even if the whole idea was idiotic.
Liam straightened up in his desk, as if suddenly able to process her words in his stupid brain. His hands balled into fists as he spat, “What do you know? You’re just some dumb rich girl who has probably never read a book in her life.”
Damian watched as the girl’s face turned red – whether in anger or in mortification he couldn’t tell – as she glared at him and struggled to find something to say. Damian waited, expecting a spectacular response because she had such a look of hatred in her eyes that told him that she cared about this book and knew as well as he did that this kid was wrong. From the previous comment she’d snapped, he knew she could put this kid in his place if she wanted, but all the girl did was drop her head and glare angrily at her desk.
Liam smirked victoriously and something in Damian’s stomach twisted at the sight, both that smirk and the defeated slump on the girl’s shoulders, and before he knew what he was doing he said, “She’s right.”
For the third time that day, every head snapped to him. He didn’t look at any of them. He just leveled his gaze at Liam, who looked so very pleased with himself, and said, “There’s no way that you can spin the story to justify Macbeth killing Duncan. It was a cold-blooded murder. There was no motive behind it other than ambition and greed, which are nowhere near reasons and are definitely not excuses. And even if there was a reason, murder is murder. It’s inexcusable, no matter what.”
When the boy just gaped at him, no doubt having no idea what to do when faced with someone like him, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to find something to back up what he had said. Damian tried not to sneer in the boy’s face. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Unless, of course, you’re trying to convince us that it’s okay to murder someone as long as it benefits us.”
The boy’s mouth snapped shut.
Before anything else could happen, the bell rang. The teacher, who had kept quiet during the entire incident, didn’t say a word as they filed out, voices clamoring over each other as they talked about what had just happened. He simply stayed seated in his chair, levelly looking at the boy in front of him.
The boy all but ran out of the class. Damian tried not to feel too satisfied at the sight.
As he stood up and walked out of the room his eyes slid over to the girl. And held. Gray and green met, and for whatever odd reason Damian’s stomach did a little flip. Damian tried not to frown. Was he hungry already? He’d eaten breakfast, hadn’t he?
The girl was still looking at him, eyes wary. Calculating. The same look he gave people when he was Robin while he assessed whether they were a threat or not. Keeping his face blank Damian sent her a curt nod and walked out of the room.
No doubt the entire school was going to be talking about what had happened. The things he did tended to spread faster than even he could follow. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to speak up.
The girl’s face flashed in his head when she’d looked defeated, then Liam’s victorious sneer. His hands balled into fists. No, he was happy he’d spoken up. The little prick needed to be told off, and he was all too happy to be the one to do it, even if it was going to start a whole gossip ring about him within the first hour of school starting.
Shaking his head Damian headed for his next class.
----------------------
Tessa Morgan was mortified. She’d been at school for a grand total of forty-three minutes before she started to argue with a classmate. All she had wanted to do was lie low throughout sophomore year, just like she had last year, but what was the first thing that she did? Argue with a classmate. Loudly. In front of everyone.
And to make everything worse, Damian Wayne, the Damian Wayne, had practically defended her. That wasn’t lying low. That was as good as standing on a table and singing the national anthem as loud as she could. That was screaming at the world hey, look at me. No doubt the entire school would be talking about that by lunch.
If she was lucky – which she never was – the tale would be spun with only Damian Wayne talking. It would be Damian Wayne who argued with the person. Damian Wayne who had told the person they were wrong and got him so angry that his face turned red. If she was lucky the name Tessa Morgan wouldn’t come up at all.
Too bad her luck tended to suck.
Sighing Tessa adjusted her bag on her shoulder, resigning herself to an awful first day. The best she could do at this point was keep her head down and focus in all her other classes. You know, do what she had said she would do. Sit in class. Take notes. Learn. Get good grades. Stay low. It really shouldn’t be that hard.
It had just been that damn person. She didn’t understand how anyone could think that Macbeth was justified. In what world was someone justified in killing another person just because it would help them? Damian had hit the nail on the head when he’d shot that at the kid.
Tessa frowned. Why had he defended her? It’s not like he knew her. Maybe he thought the boy’s idea was as ridiculous as she did. Or maybe he just liked arguing with people. Honestly, she had no idea how Damian Wayne’s brain worked, and she probably never would.
Like, why had he looked at her as they were leaving? And what had that look meant? And the nod? Was it some show of solidarity? Or was he just trying to be polite because she had been staring at him?
She hadn’t meant to. It was just that she’d been so confused that she’d looked at him, and once she looked at him she couldn’t stop because Jesus that boy was beautiful. Who even looked like that? Between the messy black hair, clear green eyes, a jawline that could actually be carved from stone, and skin that looked perpetually sun-kissed, he had enough good looks that it could be spread between three people and they’d all still be the most beautiful people in the room.
Tessa shook her head. Enough. Enough thoughts about Damian Wayne. She had no need to get involved with him or all the attention he brought. In fact, she’d be happy to stay very far away from him.
That’s what she’d do. Stay far, far away from Damian Wayne and out of trouble for the rest of the day. She’d lie low and focus and work hard. Yeah. She could do that.
Squaring her shoulders Tessa walked into her next class–
And came face to face with Damian Fucking Wayne.
The world hated her. It was the only explanation. The world just hated her.
Their eyes met, and fuck he was still gorgeous. Why couldn’t he be ugly? That’d be so much easier. Then she wouldn’t want to stare at his face all day. At his eyes. She could stare at those green eyes for hours.
She tore her eyes away and walked over to the opposite side of the room from him and took a seat, very purposefully keeping her eyes facing forward throughout the entire class.
Apparently, he didn’t share the same feeling.
She could see him, out of the corner of her eye, looking at her every once in a while. So much so that she could barely focus. She wasn’t even sure what the teacher was talking about – something about ancient China, maybe – and was instead watching him out of the corner of her eye and counting every single time he looked at her. When the bell rang fifty-odd minutes later, she had a grand total of seven times. He’d looked at her seven different times.
She wanted to punch something. Why? Why did she have to argue with someone? Why did she have to get the attention of Damian Wayne?
That was literally the opposite of what she needed. She didn’t need attention. All she need was to ace her classes and be top of her grade so that she could get a scholarship that would let her get the hell away from Gotham. That’s all she wanted. She didn’t need Damian Wayne looking at her and distracting her. No sir, she didn’t need any of that.
And honestly, she could have dealt with two classes with him. History and English were her favorite subjects, her best subjects, so she could deal with being a little distracted in them. She could probably never show up to them and still ace it. Two classes were fine. But it wasn’t two classes. It was four. Four fucking classes.
In most of her six classes she’d barely seen the same face twice, but she just happened to have him in four of them. And he kept looking at her throughout all of them.
Every single time she felt herself stiffen and lose focus. It was like when he looked at her he suddenly became a magnet and every last shred of her attention slid over to him and she hated it. Like goddamn, she should be better than this. She shouldn’t let a damn boy distract her this much, and yet here she was, first day of school, barely able to hear anything her teachers were saying because Damian Fucking Wayne kept glancing at her.
It got less and less as the day went on, but she still saw him do it. Again and again. Messing with her focus. Making her watch him instead of listening to the lecture. Tessa sighed, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder as she walked home. She was going to have to get a handle on this.
Because school? She had to do well. She had to stay on top of her work and ace her classes and be the best in them. It was her ticket to college, her ticket out, and not even Damian Wayne was going to mess that up for her. No matter how perfect his stupid face was.
Slinging her backpack around to the front she dug in the smallest pocket until her hand latched onto her keys. She was going to make herself some tea, and put on her pajama’s, and read a damn book for an hour until she felt normal. Yeah, that’s exactly what she needed. Tea and a good book. Inserting the right key into the door she listened to the click of the lock turning and pushed the door open.
She froze, hand on the door.
Before her stood her dad, a half-empty bottle of what looked like whiskey in his hand, leaning heavily against the wall even as his eyes blazed at her. He wasn’t even supposed to be home yet. He was supposed to be at work. Her heart picked up, slamming against her ribcage as she watched him.
“Tessie,” he slurred. With one finger he motioned her to come forward. She did, leaving the door open behind her. Just in case.
As soon as she was within his reach, he swung. She turned in time for his fist to slam into her backpack instead of her chest. Her heart beating harder she turned to run, but before she could a hand latched onto her backpack and pulled her backwards, throwing her to the floor.
She landed hard, knees barking in pain. That was going to bruise.
“How was your day at school, Tessie?” Dad asked, clumsily kicking at her.
She rolled, barely missing the boot aimed at her ribs, and got to her feet. She had to move. Had to get out of the house or get to her room. But he was standing in the way of the door, and the stairs were directly to his left, so either way, she’d have to go through him.
She cursed, heard pounding. She didn’t need this. She’d already had a crap day, she didn’t need her dad–
He swung, the glass whiskey bottle arching towards her, and she moved fast enough that it hit her arm instead of her head.
Glass shattered, and biting, burning pain flared in her arm. She could feel the glass in it, feel the whiskey making the cuts burn. Tears sprang to her eyes. No matter how many times it happened, she would never get used to that pain.
Her dad laughed, the broken whiskey bottle still in his hands. A much dangerous weapon now. Heart pounding she ran towards him, ducking the bottle aimed at her and reaching the stairs.
Something slammed into her back and she crumpled forward, gasping. Another bruise. Didn’t matter. She had to get to her room.
She ran, up the stairs and into her room, her dad’s drunken laughter her chasing her up the stairs. She slammed the door and locked it, heart thundering, her entire body shaking as she slid to the floor.
For five minutes she sat there, listening and praying that her dad wouldn’t come up the stairs. That in his drunken state he’d forget about her now that she was no longer in his sight. That she was safe for the rest of the night.
When she heard nothing but the dull drone of the TV playing downstairs, she finally let out a shaking breath.
Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck today. Fuck life. She didn’t need that. She didn’t need anything. All she had wanted to do today was go unnoticed, and she couldn’t do that at school or at home.
A tear streaked down her face. She wiped it away, a bitter laugh echoing from her lips.
A sting of pain went through her arm. She looked down to find her upper arm covered in blood and three separate pieces of glass sticking in her arm. Looks like she was going to be wearing long sleeves for the next week or two.
Shrugging off her backpack she walked over to the bathroom, thanking whatever horrible being that was watching over her that she at least had that. Wetting a washcloth she cleaned up the blood surrounding the cuts. And then she pulled out her medical kit and grabbed the tweezers inside. As gently as she could she pulled out the pieces of glass.
She hissed, and blood gushed, but it came out easily, and ten minutes later that had quite a bit of swearing in it she had her arm cleaned and bandaged. Quite honestly, it was good that the pieces of glass were big. Better than having to dig around in her arm for all the tiny pieces of glass. And luckily, none of them had been bad enough for stitches.
Sighing Tessa pulled on a loose shirt and rinsed out the one stained with blood. She’d get the stains out tomorrow. Or later tonight. Right now though, she was going to lay on her bed and read a book and get away from all of this. Escape for a while.
So that’s what she did. She grabbed a book, one in a different world with people so similar and so very different from herself, and fell into it. She read it until her eyes hurt and she forgot where and who she was, until she fell asleep with it on her chest and dreamed that she was somewhere else entirely.