Hey :). This is my first Batman fic, I wrote it while venting a bad mood and decided to post it for anyone who may find it at least the slightest bit interesting. If you do like it, please don't be afraid to let me know by reviewing or favoriting. Don't worry, unlike Damian, I don't bite.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked all I owned was a dusty nickel, a ticket stub, and-oh look, it's Damian. But he's only a paper cut-out, so I don't own him.
Warnings: Damian throws a fit, that's all.
"You will stay here with Alfred tonight. I'm going out alone," Batman said, pulling his cowl up to cover his face.
Damian had no such covering to hide the fury that sprung up with such wrath at these words, not even Batman had hope of containing it. He'd never understood why people always described anger as "a cloud of red obscuring their vision", but now he did because it was blinding him.
He punched the wall with a resounding CRACK!
"Screw you!" he screamed, before running out of the bat cave. His fury was only bridled until he reached his room, where it shot loose with an inhuman roar.
His room was soon destroyed. He punched holes in the walls like craters on the moon, threw his desk chair, upturned the desk, and tried to flip the bed but when it proved too heavy he flung the mattress across the room and went at the bed frame with scissors.
The fury began to abate as he carved the frame. And as it did, he sank to the floor and started writing words with the scissors. Nuns would cover their eyes at many of them. Damian smirked at the thought. And father would give a firm reprimand. At this reminder of his father...his stupid, idiotic, cretin of a father—the anger blossomed anew in his chest as if someone had poured gasoline on the remnants of a forest fire and struck a match. With a roar, the scissors became embedded within the bed post, right where he wrote useless.
His window was flung wide open, and his mattress went falling out into the dark night, followed by his chair. He threw his lamp to the floor and stomped on it before throwing that out the window too. A knife was grabbed from his sock drawer and then he was shredding his blankets and pillows. All these things his father had given him. It felt dirty to have them now.
Feathers exploded as the pillows were punctured and torn. They drifted all over like clouds, or down from angels' wings. He barked a humorless laugh at the reminder that he was a devil, as Drake always called him. So unlike an angel. He was a monster.
It wasn't his fault he'd grown up being taught the morality of assassins. And it wasn't his fault that his so-called "family" disagreed with that morality. Who was to say any one of them were right? Nobody. Father didn't have a right to judge him. Mother had always taught him that he was the prince of the world, and here Father was telling him everything Mother said was wrong. Father was trying to tear him down, not help him. If he wasn't a prince...if the ways he knew weren't right...then he was nothing. Nothing.
Damian suddenly felt as if he were slowly, painfully deflating. Warmness gathered at the corners of his eyes as drops of water began to appear on the mauled pillow. His hands were shaking. The knife dropped to the floor.
Keening whines made their way up his throat, escaping through his closed lips. He couldn't stop the harsh sob that came, nor the ones that followed it. He clapped a hand over his mouth. They kept coming, and tears were pouring down his face. It was becoming hard to breath. Why was this happening?
He curled up on the floor and hugged the destroyed pillow close, hiding his face in it. Why? Why? Why? The question repeated in his mind.
Father didn't need him.
The thought rose above the others. It came so clearly. He didn't know why, but it had a calming effect. The tears slowed. He was able to stop sobbing. For several minutes, he lay quietly on the floor, feeling like a beaten toy. A lifeless shell that was used until it was too worn to play with. Then it was forgotten.
That was okay. He'd be okay.
But as pain plucked a cord in his chest, he realized that he wasn't okay. Healing would take time. But he would be able to heal. Eventually.