Chapter Text
There is a truly unfortunate occurrence that has befallen me today. I looked around and found that there was not a thing for me to do.
Damian Wayne – Al Ghul. Damian Al Ghul – Wayne. Looking over the scribbled and smudged over page Damian could not write either of these abbreviations out and truly say that it was accurate to who he was. No matter how you looked at it one name had to come first and one second. There had to be a primary name and a secondary name. It used to be simple. He was an Al Ghul. He then was a Wayne. Now though – He was neither.
He was both.
Labels were of high importance to Damian Wayne. How else was he to define his worth and the worth of others without them?
He used to always know what label he fell under. It was simple. He was the Demon’s Heir. He was Damian al Ghul. After every activity, every test, a label would be ascribed to him – failure or victor. It hurt when the former was put next to his name but the euphoria when the latter was put next to it made up for it all the same.
Looking back, he sees the cruelty in a way he never did before. He understands that the punishments and expectations were extreme to say the least. But one mercy the league always afforded him was that of certainty. There was never a moment he was unsure of where he stood. What his role was and who he should listen to.
He was great, mother was greater, and grandfather was the best. The rest were worthless, peasants before royalty. Humans before deities, before demons.
He confided in this to Grayson once, early on, a small glimpse into his mind. Grayson thought it a cruel way to think of the world. But looking now, Damian thinks his current existence is much crueler.
He has no place. Father is back, Grayson has gone to his own apartment, reclaiming his freedom in Gotham, and the rest of their scattered family swans in and out of the manor whenever they feel like doing so.
Family used to be a very defined concept to Damian. He knew who his blood was and how to wade through the expectations it brought, thick and sweltering. Father does not feel the same and neither does the rest of his strays. If Damian was being honest with himself too, he has come to the realization that it isn’t that simple for him either. Its was complex, so much so that even if he devoted the rest of his life trying to understand these ties that bind, he would still be just as confused and just as trapped.
He loved Grayson and he loathed him. Respected father but could never reach him. Drake was a mirror image but far less scarred. Todd seemed like an unfortunate prophecy most days. Brown was weakness personified but somehow never broke. Cain an inverted image. Gordon shattered and put back together again, jagged edges only making her more dangerous than before. And Thomas a light that could never seem to be put out, a leader at his core.
He had learned to love each in his own way the same way he learned exactly why he despised each. He was a prince, but in a place where free will was a rope long enough to create a story of his own imagination, he seems to be the only one who only managed to ever hang himself with it. He was free as a bird to make all of his own decisions but would always be caged because his instincts were so skewed. His migration pattern never taking him along the correct path the others travel down so naturally. Either going the wrong direction or barreling straight into another of the flock.
The punishment was never severe, not truly, but that only made it all the more suffocating. The silent disappointment weighed down on him more than the violent reproach he had learned to grow used to. The open affection so heavy compared to the light sparse moments of silent love and adoration form his mother. After a life of barely being able to breathe properly he was finally freed, but found he was suffocating from all the fresh air. The oxygen seemed to attack his lungs while the others were simply able to breathe it.
He’s not allowed to be simply a weapon anymore, but he had always been better at being a tool than being a person. Tools knew their purpose and completed it with confidence. Being human was so much more confusing than being the demon he was raised to be. But despite how much Damian had changed, there was one thing he still knew to be true-
There is nothing worse than being a burden.
Damian has found that’s exactly what he has become.
He remembers his days with Grayson. They used to be the best. Now, he’s nothing but average. Not allowed to patrol, not proficient enough to assist the family socially in this inferior and convoluted society. He was like one of those vases sitting in the manor collecting dust until Alfred came by to care for it for a brief moment before he was on his way to more important household matters.
He didn’t want to be a demon anymore. He doesn’t want to be human anymore. What else is there?
He’d simply rather be nothing.
With his final thoughts on the matter organized, Damian moved with a purpose he hasn’t had in quite a while, a renewed vigor in his actions. He picked up his pen and wrote, “Dear my detested acquaintances….”