Chapter Text
It was Christmas evening and everyone was downstairs except Damian, he was upstairs in his room angrily sketching a drawing of him and his mother
He should've been better at this..better at being a son, but instead he would always be a monster, a mistake
It was his first year since he'd come to live with Bruce and his brothers, and he'd just felt so exhausted
He had always had problems,but when your in the league you have to keep your emotions separate, secret, if you will
Emotions get you killed, being vulnerable gets you killed, the only way to succeed is if your sharp and vigilant, never let emotions cloud your judgement, your thinking, your intellect.
His grandfather repeated that as he constantly trained him to be a killing machine, assassin built for prime war and could withstand any torture method, electricity, waterboarding, suffocation while holding your breath, being beaten down etc..
He'd been through it all, endured every torture method possible, and through it all, he never cried, never screamed out of pain,
He simply...endured
In the league not even Damian was exempt from the rule: Kill or Get Killed
he was so deep in his head that when he heard his door open it felt like his soul left his body
He jumped so bad it made the picture of him and his grandfather tip over and crack the frame
It was Duke, wearing a Santa hat and holding two mugs of hot cocoa in his hands
"hey Dames, why you not downstairs with the rest of us?, Tim and Jason are playing charades" Duke placed the mug down on his desk and sat on his bed while placing his own cup in the nightstand
"I did not feel like participating with you guys, I simply wanted some alone time" his hand moved across his sketchbook in a mechanical motion
Duke looked a little offended and taken back but he simply sighed
"Hrm, mkay Dames, but come down soon, Alfred is making dinner"
"Alright"
And with that Duke closed the door leaving Damian sitting there feeling like an idiot
Of course he couldn't even have a normal conversation with Duke, they didn't even talk that much but whenever Damian tried talking to anyone it came off as arrogant and egotistical
Who knew that being raised somewhere where you couldn't even have a normal conversation with someone stunts your social skills
Damian tried to take a sip of the hot cocoa but the minute he touched it, it was so hot that it reminded him of that day
His grandfather burning in front of him and him succumbing to his injuries and he was so far gone that not even the Lazarus pit could save him
He eventually got up and unrolled his sweater sleeve revealing dozens of self harm scars
it'd been more easier to hide them because it was constantly cold outside and he'd been wearing oversized hoodies and thick coats all the time
It started when he was in the league, as a way to sort of punish himself for the way he acted when he hesitated over killing a traitor soldier just once, and his grandfather beat his stomach in while lecturing that hesitation meant punishment
What made it worse was that his mother never tried to intervene and stop his grandfather, if anything she sometimes made it worse, the abuse he suffered in the league had shaped him into this.
A monster...