Damian silently walked into the never ending halls passing by countless paintings and sculptures. His hands were in the pockets of his red hoodie, the only thing keeping him warm from the freezing rainy night. His hair was damp and he was beyond cold, but he was in no mood to return back home where pennyworth would be waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate.
His mind was racing with rage and anger. He's been taking up the mantle of robin for three years now and to be honest, things felt much simpler when he was an al-Ghul before than a Wayne now. Back then all he focused on was training to be the head of the league of assassins, to rule the world; and now he was hell-bent on righting the wrong doings he did, justice not vengeance.
Being Robin was harder than it looks, taking down bad guys was one thing, but the ethics and rules that came with the mask and having Batman as both your mentor and father was a whole different thing. Earlier that night while he was fighting Firefly together with Batman, Firefly managed to burn an entire family leaving nothing but ashes. The next thing he knew, he was a second away from stabbing Firefly in the heart with his katana. If it weren't for Batman, he would have stabbed Firefly to his certain death; but no matter how much good he would be doing for the world by erasing a villain from the face of the earth, it wasn't the right thing to do, it went against everything Batman had ever taught him.
Damian felt like breaking some bones, but he couldn't, he wouldn't. He took another deep breath as he eyed the halls of the still Gotham Art Gallery. Somehow this place always made him at peace, gave him closure, and made him stop thinking about the life behind a mask even for a short moment. As always, the gallery was empty, the people of Gotham never really had an appreciation for art. He stopped in front of a wall, a painting of a young woman with brunette hair on top of a tree branch, smiling; and a young man with black curly hair at the bottom of the tree, looking up at the woman caught his eye. A mole adorned the young man's features, armor plates covering his shoulders and a short blade tucked beside his belt.
"A forbidden love story between a warrior and a princess huh?"
Damian's head turned around in surprise, he hadn't noticed her presence at all. He was sure the entire floor was empty except for the sleeping security guard. His emerald eyes met warm, light brown ones, somehow his cold glare wasn't threatening enough to have the girl flee back to wherever she came from.
"Diarmuid was a warrior to the king he served, Fionn. At the night of his king's betrothal feast, he met Grainne, princess and to be crowned queen once she was married to Fionn. Grainne had no intention of marrying someone who was older than her own father, and then she met Diarmuid. Diarmuid refuses to run away with Grainne out of loyalty to Fionn, but relents when she threatens him with a geis. Eventually, he falls in love with Grainne and they escape deep into the woods." Damian was amused that this girl with shoulder length caramel brown hair was standing next to him talking about an ancient love story that never made any logical sense. She was around his age, petite and she barely reached his shoulders.
"After many adventures, Diarmuid's foster father Aengus negotiates peace with Fionn. Eventually, Fionn organizes a boar hunt and Diarmuid joins. Diarmuid was fatally injured while delivering a fatal blow to the boar. Fionn, who has the power to heal a person by simply letting them drink water from his hands, went to the well to get water to heal Diarmuid; but he lets the water slip twice from his hands, and when he returned from the third attempt Diarmuid was already dead. A sad and tragic story, is it not?" she turned her head around to meet his emerald ones, gazing at his damp hair then back to his stern facial features.
"it is simply an ancient Irish mythology, magic healing abilities do not exist." It was the first time he spoke, his icy gaze directed at the delicate painting. She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the young boy next to her, taking in his mature and strict voice for the first time.
Technically Damian knew magic healing abilities did exist, in fact he's been dead and brought back to life, but explaining to a mere stranger of half the things he's been through would just be a waste of both time and energy.
"Maybe magic doesn't exist, but the story of Diarmuid and Grainne has inspired people around the world. I believe that their story provides a message that is 'you never really know the true nature of someone' Damian's gaze was directed back at the painting, trying to form his thoughts into words.
"It's kinda rare to see someone my age appreciate art, much less voluntarily visit the art gallery. Most kids my age are more interested in playing Pokemon video games or action figures." She spoke up, her fingers delicately tucking her caramel locks behind her ear.
"Do not lump me together with those childish, ignorant fools." Damian said, arrogance lingering in his tone.
"Then what do you do in your free time?" she asked raising an eyebrow.
Train. Research criminals. Find evidence. Track criminals. Hunt them down. Knock them down and put a Batarang into their- "I read books and occasionally paint." She perked up and had a wide smile on her face.
"You paint? I'd love to see your paintings and creations! I've always loved art but somehow I have better luck at robbing a bank than pick up a paintbrush." Damian was slightly taken back. Slightly. This was the first time someone actually showed interest in his work of art. Sure he was busy with all the crime-fighting, but he would always find time for painting. In fact, painting was one skill he was extremely proud of other than his fighting skills, intelligence, agility-
"You're cold." Damian was indeed surprised when he felt his icy hands touch something warm. His right hand was intertwined with the girl's left hand. Her fingers were warm and slender, her touch burning into his skin. Just when Damian was about to push her hand away and proclaim how absurd she was for touching someone of his social status; she let go.
She went to work on untangling her white wool scarf from her neck and was just about to wrap it securely around Damian's neck when a strong hand grabbed her, stopping her mid-way.
"What do you think you're doing?" Damian asked, his tone offensive and his grip tight.
"You seemed cold...and it's raining outside. Plus you look like you've been in the rain for hours. Your hair and sneakers are all wet." She spoke up, innocent eyes looking back at his.
Was this girl really going to give a random stranger her scarf just because he seemed...cold?
She proceeded to securely tie the scarf around his neck, all thoughts of uncertainty vanished as she finished tying the scarf and moved a few steps away from him.
"I know it's not much but I hope it keeps you warm, even if it's just a little." Damian looked at the scarf, then back to the girl, then back to the scarf. He held the edge of the scarf in his hands, it was made out of a cheap and low-quality material, honestly, he would have never have worn such a hideous piece of clothing.
"You're giving this to me?" Damian asked, unsure if the girl before him actually understood what she was doing.
She nodded.
"...I'm just a stranger to you. What is the purpose behind your actions?" Damian asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Surely in Gotham people would only think of themselves and feed on the weak. That was the way how Gotham worked.
"Purpose? There really isn't a purpose...am I supposed to have one? You just seemed cold, and I happened to have a scarf." She replied innocently, she did not understand what kind of motive she should have by giving out an old scarf she was wearing.
"But I'm just a stranger you met. You don't even know my name."
"I don't need to know you to care about you. I don't need a reason to help someone in need. Plus, we talked and I know you paint; so that doesn't mean I don't know you." Damian was dumbfounded. He had met crazy psychopaths and cold-blooded villains, but this petite girl had him in awe.
"Apparently, you're downright stupid and weird. A trait that only idiots possess." She frowned and raised her eyebrow. Somehow the boy next to her wasn't only arrogant, but he was also rude.
"Kaori! Where the hell are you! The rain's finally eased down and-"a man with brown hair and a black trench coat shouted until he saw the petite girl.
"Daddy!" the girl exclaimed happily as she rushed to her father's side.
"c'mon kiddo we're going back home, finally I get to spend the night with you instead of locking up criminals behind bars." The man said with a faint smile as he held onto his daughter's hand.
Before the girl could walk out she whispered something in her father's ears, causing her father to look back at Damian. The girl ran back to where Damian stood, looking at him in the eye.
"Tell me your name." she exclaimed.
"...what?"
"Your name. You have one right?" she asked.
Damian was slightly hesitant at first but he complied.
"Damian. Damian Wayne." He answered confidently.
She smiled back at him.
"Well, Damian. Now that I know your name, we're not strangers." She answered before heading out of the door with her father, leaving Damian to comprehend what had just happened.
He held the scarf closer to his face, taking in the scent of peaches. Who exactly had he just met? As he felt warmer by the second, he decided that he would indeed return home and take up on that offer of hot chocolate waiting for him back at the Wayne Manor. While he's at it, maybe he'd use the BatComputer to find out the name of the girl while he was at it.
Finally, my first ever DCU fanfic and I've finally written something worth publishing in I don't know- two years? I'm seriously thinking off continuing this fic and turning it into a full-fledged Damian Wayne fanfiction. I hope my take on Damian's personality was accurate, honestly, Damian is such a hard character to write, but he's worth it.
I'm thinking off making this a prequel and have the story loosely based off of the Young Justice universe. If you liked the story please comment and like it! Comments are always welcomed and serve as a motivation for me to write!