Chapter Text
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of rain outside wasn't an uncommon one, but it had always been one Damian hated. He was used to scorching heat and sunny days that the doom and gloom of Gotham never saw, changing the sights and sounds from a peaceful golden to a dull city grey. He had to get into the habit of waking up to the sound of rain outside his window instead of rays of sunlight from between the curtains. Damian shifted, skin irritated by the scratch of linen as opposed to the smooth silk he used to collapse into after grueling trials.
Little did he know the deceptive peace of the manor would be his most grueling yet.
And one he would fail.
Shifting to get out of bed, Damian felt something dried against the side of his face. Looking into the mirror, he realized it was pen ink. Why would that have been on his face?
The previous night flashed in his memory, shaking him out of his lethargic stupor with a renewed sense of... well he wouldn't call it purpose so maybe motivation would be more apt. These past few months have passed in a fog, one created by his fire being snuffed out. However it seemed today he still had a small ember left to burn before all of it disappeared.
Damian got up to go to his desk. He ran his hands across the smooth bocote desk, admiring the swirling patterns created as an artwork by nature before taking out his bottom drawer. In the back he found his letters. He had thought about mailing them at first but it would simply be a waste of time. Afterall, he did live with his acquaintances, he might as well simply but them in their rooms.
Besides his body would surely turn up well before his letters would if he were to entrust them to the postal service.
No, some things needed to be carried out by oneself.
Damian went to each of the former robins rooms, laying out a letter or two to be read when ready. Each one had a wax seal and his best penmanship of each of his acquaintances name scrawled across the envelope. His acquaintances, while detestable, deserved a proper goodbye, not one that was a sloppy eyesore.
Damian went downstairs for breakfast in a better mood than he had been blessed with in a while, making good use of the flicker of that final ember. His mood was so bright that Father and Drake saw it immediately when he came down, and they both looked at each other with the same thought: today is going to be a good day.
Damian sat down with as close as what he got to a smile, and began sipping on the tea so carefully prepared by Pennyworth. He didn't feel hungry, drinking his tea he felt almost euphoric.
"Here could you look these over? Just need some final input for a case". Drake, recognizing the good mood, extended a disturbing but much appreciated semblance of an olive branch to his youngest sibling. He saw his brother in a good mood and wanted to capitalize on it and keep it rolling for as long as he could before it blew up in all their faces. It always did, what with Damians temper. Though he supposes he hasn't seen much of it these past few months. There was relief to it but also something almost akin to sadness.
"No thank you Timothy, I already have some plans with my charcoals and paper today." Drake looked over in a slight shock, though he tried not to show it. Damian refusing vigilante work? He never thought he would see the day. Though in a way he was happy for Damian, they didn't get along in the slightest but it was nice seeing the Damian might be on the edge of a better horizon, one where he feels comfortable just being a kid instead of only caring about being a soldier.
"Great idea, we'll give you space." Said Bruce, still a bit tired from patrol the night previous."Let me know if you need more supplies. Damian practically glowed with happiness as he looked at his father and said "No, I think these art supplies will last me quite a while."
Bruce was just glad to see his son so happy, thinking back on it he's seemed a little grey these past few months. Maybe this was the start to a new beginning for him. And though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, Timothy was thinking the same.
So with the end of the happiest meal the three had in months, each acquaintance left the table in a good mood, two with some renewed hope for the future.
One with the relief of never again having to worry about one.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿. ✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
The day had been peaceful. Drake and Father had left him alone to congregate with his animals, writing out a detailed care plan for each and drawing pictures of them. He wanted his last art works on this plane of existence to be of the only ones who truly loved him.
He thought about how he would carry this out and had eliminated a lot of possibilities until he was down to one.
A bullet is too loud, a building too public, medication too messy and painful, suffocation to unreliable. That only left one.
Damian grabbed his knife, the one that had stuck through him through thick and thin, and thought it was a fitting ending this would be what would end him. He could choose nothing better. And so he sliced, vertical and deep, so deep that he hoped it would be irreversible. It hurt at first but then came a sense of euphoria. Then he started getting dizzy and he collapsed to the floor.
Looking at him licking his face was a pure white angel. Damian didn't regret this choice, not really, but seeing this angels concerned face and fur being tainted by red, he began to regret. He was so happy today so why now did his mood seem to start dropping. He was getting everything he wanted.
Or maybe he was simply lying to himself. Either way, it was too late now.
A tear slipped out across his cheek.
The last thing Damian heard was a concerning crash, a curse, and a distressed little- meow.