Chapter Text
Damian Al Gul had never had a friend before-- Let alone a friend his age. In fact, the only people he had ever met that were his age, he had killed eventually. It was part of his training. He wished he could say he regretted it. But he had long forgotten their faces by now. He had killed too many people to remember -- but still, sometimes he wished for it. Maybe even to feel the "warmth" of love he'd heard so much about.
His mother and grandfather alike would lecture him on getting too close to others, though. “It's a weakness.” They both said.
“and that's how your mom failed.” His Grandfather continued, the same cold gleam in his piercing eyes. “She let her emotions and feelings for others control her. It was a mistake, trusting her to kill Batman on her own. You are a mistake.” He finished. It felt like a slap in the face. He was never meant to happen. But he had. So he had to work extra hard to prove himself. It wasn't fair. But then again, when was life ever fair?
Another slap in the face was the constant reminding of who his dad was. One of the best superheroes in the world, he was told, who everyone in the League of Assassins despised and aspired to finally become good enough to kill. Damian for once, actually felt hesitant if he wanted to kill someone. He was expected to kill him. It'd give him confirmation that he would become the next heir to the League after his grandfather. It would make his whole life exactly the best it could be. ...But, it was his dad. And if he met his dad.. would he feel love? Like so many others felt for their parents? Maybe someday.. he could meet him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd feel love. Damian tried to keep his curiousity about the matter under control, but one time, he slipped, Damian asked his mother about him.
“About father, was he.. was he kind?” He asked, quite timidly.
“Very.” She said, a hint of sadness in her eyes, just for a split second, before they snapped back to their usual viciousness. “Kindness is weakness. He is very weak.” She added, almost saying it more to remind herself instead of him, but then she glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead.
....
He had made a mistake. He rarely made mistakes, but he had. He hesitated. His job was to kill a small girl, only around 4. She was crying, snot and tears rolling down her face. She was begging for her mom. Just for a second, he stared at her. If he felt love.. would he cry for them in his final moments too? If she loved someone, her mother, than her mother must have loved her too. She probably had a whole family who loved her. And would mourn her if she died and- No. He couldn't think these thoughts.
Then he sliced her head off, cursing himself for almost feeling pity for her.
“I'm sorry, it was only a small mistake-” He had started to apologize after he had returned from his mission. It was better if he had apologized before he got called out for it. Because he knew his Grandfather would find out eventually. He always did.
“Al ghul's don't make mistakes, Damian.” His Grandfather's voice boomed. Damian repressed the urge to shiver.
“Yes, Grandfather.” He said, staring intently at the bloodstained marble floor.
His punishment was no sleep, and training all night. His mother was in a sour mood, having basically been punished for Damian's incompetence, forced to train him and stay up all night as well.
“You're distracted.” She said, kicking him in the side. He had tried to dodge, but his body felt groggy. He fell to the ground. She didn’t do it very hard, he noticed. It would still bruise, but it was better than broken ribs./p>
“No, I'm tired.” He corrected, getting back up.
His mother's expression softened. Not enough for anyone else to notice but him. He knew her too well. “Go to bed. Half the night is punishment enough. I'll just- I'll talk to your Grandfather about it.” She hissed.
“Thank you, mother.” He bowed his head slightly and then walked to his room.
As soon as he got to his room, He collapsed on the cold floor. He felt a knot build in his chest. He was tired. Tired of being here. He wanted to see what his father was like. He wanted to be able experience emotions too, freely. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to feel love. He wanted to be loved. Just like that little girl he had killed was. He pushed back the sobs in his throat. He had never felt this way before killing before. Well, that was because he had never really thought about the people he killed. Well, the people he killed never cried out for their mothers. Like he wanted to do right now.
No, al ghuls didn't cry. Still, he had to close his eyes to keep the tears from falling out.
He looked up, refusing to look at his clothes stained with others' blood, instead choosing to look at the marble floor. That's when he saw it. The bright moonlight reflecting on his floors. Out, he had to get out. He didn’t know his dad personally. But he knew who he was. That was all he needed, just a chance to see what living normally was like.