A/N: I threatened to make a Damian one-shot series, and I came through! So please enjoy!

The sneaky ten year old slipping down the halls of Wayne Manor makes sure to keep from making any noise that may alarm anyone still sleeping in the surrounding rooms. He knows that Father is a light sleeper especially, and Alfred is constantly on alert. He doesn't want to alarm either of them. There can't be any interference. He knows what will happen if anyone catches him; he'll be sent back to his room, no doubt yelled at, and most likely locked in his room at night for each night to come until he's thirty.

Because he's not just wandering the halls or looking to get a midnight snack.

Damian Wayne is running away from home.

He quietly descends the stairs, his argument with his father still ringing in his ears from two whole days earlier. Remembering the words they exchanged still makes something ache deep in his chest, but he's trying to push his feelings aside. He's not running away because of some stupid feelings. No, that would be childish. He's running away because it would be the best for the whole family if he was no longer around to mess things up.

Father made that perfectly clear.

Damian walks through the living room, looking around at the grand house one last time. He must admit, he'll miss this place. It's been his home for quite some time. He got comfortable here, which he knows was a mistake. Because while it has been his home, he's never quite felt at home here.

He's never been a part of this family, not really. Father is the patriarch, Grayson is the golden boy, Todd is the wayward son, and even Drake cemented his place in the family before Damian came along. Damian has always felt like an outsider in this family. He was the one Father didn't choose. He feels like he constantly has to prove to everyone that he deserves to even be here.

And now he finally realizes… He doesn't.

Taking a quick trip to the kitchen, Damian grabs an apple for the road. He'll miss Pennyworth's cooking, but he'll have to manage. He'll find food somewhere, somehow. He always manages by himself. It's what he's always had to do.

But… He's always had a place to go before. He lived with Mother until the age of 10, then he was sent to live with Father. Sure, he's always been self-reliant and a loner, but he's never been on his own in theory. He always had a place to go back to, somewhere that provided him with food and shelter. Now his mother considers him an enemy, and his father…

Well, his father barely even tolerates him. And soon, he won't have to deal with him at all.

He really doesn't have anywhere to go. He has nowhere to belong. He's all alone in the world…

Damian shakes these thoughts out of his mind, exiting the kitchen after grabbing another apple for good measure and shoving it in his backpack. So what if he doesn't belong? He'll make his own family. He does just fine of his own. Yeah, he'll show them. He doesn't need any of them.

And apparently, they don't need him either.

His argument with Father keeps bouncing around in his head as he walks to the door, making his fists clench and unclench repeatedly.

"When will you stop treating me like a damn child all the time?" Damian yelled.

"When you stop acting like one!" his father yelled back. The two had been arguing for quite some time, but it seemed like Father was ready to end this argument once and for all. He looked at Damian and shook his head, seeming eerily calm for someone who had just exploded at him.

"My life would be so much easier without you in it."

The words cut Damian deeply still, two days after they were said. He's had time to think about them over and over, dissect them, ruminate on them, and let the hurt wash over him again and again until his already fragile self-esteem dissolved entirely. He can't believe he ever let him fool himself into believing his father could actually love him.

Love him?

A child made in a bio-tube, raised from birth to be a killing machine, and dumped on him suddenly when he didn't need nor want another child?

No one could ever love him.

It's a lesson taught to him when his mother declared him no longer her son, and a lesson his father taught to him a few days with his scathing words. He's not wanted, never was.

Silently, he reaches out for the door knob and twists it, being careful not to jiggle it too much and possibly alert anyone.

"Damian?"

Damian grips the door knob tightly and lowers his head, his body tensing up.

Dammit. He's been caught.

He turns around on his heels swiftly, meeting the concerned gaze of none other than his father, Bruce Wayne himself, who wears a plain white t-shirt and lounge pants and scratches at his bed-head.

Dammit. He should have known that Father would wake up. He's Batman. Any small disturbance has him up and alert and ready for some action.

Father's eyes dart to the backpack over Damian's shoulder before they narrow in suspicion.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his tone calm and even.

At first, Damian considers lying. He could come up with something creative and believable. He's an expert at that. But… he feels so utterly defeated. What's even the point? Father doesn't really care about him. He takes care of him, sure, but only because he has to. He's a good man, he takes responsibility for his child, but he doesn't really want him here.

My life would be so much easier without you in it.

"What does it matter?" Damian asks, meaning to sound confident, but his voice coming out strangled and weak. Damn. His emotions just keep betraying him.

The concern on Father's face intensifies, and he walks up to Damian, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Son, it's late. You should go back to bed."

For a split second, Damian considers actually taking his father up on that offer. It would be so tempting to go back to his normal, day-to-day life, not worrying about where to go next, or where he'll get food, or how to survive with no one else around…

But his father's words will still haunt him.

The feeling of not quite belonging, just being there in the background, will not fade.

He can't stay. Not when he's nothing but a burden.

"I-I can't," Damian replies, his voice shaking. "I'm doing you a favor. I'm doing you all a favor. I'm getting out of your hair for good."

Damian turns away, reaching for the doorknob again, but Father grabs his arm, stopping him short. Damian feels like screaming out in frustration. Why is he making this harder than it is? Doesn't he know how hard it is for him to be doing this? But it must be done.

"Son, what are you talking about?" his father asks, his eyes spilling over with concern for the shaking little ten year old in front of him. "Why would any of us want you to leave?"

Anger rises in the pit of Damian's stomach, and he turns to glare at his father. He really has to ask? After what he said a few days ago? He made it perfectly clear that Damian should leave, and here he is questioning it when he actually tries to follow his orders for once?

"I don't want to stay somewhere I'm not wanted," Damian hisses. Father's look goes from concerned to looking almost… pained? No, that couldn't possibly be it. But something about the look in his eyes goes straight through Damian.

"Of course you're wanted here," Father insists quietly. His hand doesn't move from Damian's shoulder as he speaks.

"Why would you think differently?"

Why would he think differently? Why would he think differently? Damian just can't take it anymore. A dam deep inside him just explodes, pouring over with unexpressed emotions that he's kept in since the day he and Father met. He barely even feels his eyes starting to wet as tears form in them.

"Because I don't belong here!" Damian shouts, twisting out of his father's grip. "I never have! Can't you see that? I'm not the son you want, and I never will be, no matter what you do. I'm an experiment, a killing machine, a burden that was passed on to you when you didn't need one. How can you even look at me and not be completely disgusted?"

Tears are pouring unchecked down his face by now, and his father stares at him with his mouth agape, not quite believing the words coming out of his son's mouth.

"Damian, don't say –,"

Damian interrupts his father's quiet words, shouting out again,

"I'm a weapon, Father. Just a weapon made for killing. And apparently I wasn't even a good enough weapon, because Mother doesn't want me either. I don't belong with the al Ghuls, I don't belong with the Waynes – I don't belong anywhere! I'm not the son you deserve, and I've done things…"

He looks down, tears starting to fall from his face and landing on the ground below him, forming a little group of droplets on the hardwood floor.

"Terrible, horrendous things… I killed without a second thought. I-I never even flinched. I just…"

He brings his hand up to stubbornly wipe the tears away, not daring to look at his father. He must be disgusted right now. Damian never shows weakness. He's always been afraid of his father's reaction if he did. Mother's was always violent. She beat the philosophy into him; you don't show weakness. Crying is out of the question. He always followed that. Until now…

He's a disgrace.

"How could I possibly be Robin when I'm worse than the people we fight?" Damian asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a disgrace to humanity, an experiment, a prototype, a thing made to get back at you. And I can't be here anymore knowing what I represent to you; nothing but a depraved eugenics experiment."

There's a suffocating silence when his father hears the words that he once used when Talia reminded him of the night Damian was conceived. The two of them met minutes later. He was probably unaware of the fact that Damian was nearby and heard the entire conversation. Well, the secret's out now.

"I didn't know you heard that," Father chokes out, sounding pained. "I'm sorry you did. And I hope you know that I don't think that."

Damian looks up at him, the tears shining in his eyes and blurring his vision.

"But don't you?" he asks, sounding both angry and heartbroken at the same time. "I'm the product of a non-consensual drugging, raised for ten years to be a cold-blooded killer, and then suddenly thrust into your hands. You didn't choose to be my father. Not like you did the others. You can't love me."

Damian looks away and says quietly, almost imperceptibly,

"No one can once they really get to know me."

A long silence passes between the two, neither of them moving from their spots. It's almost painful for Damian, having to stand there and have Father scrutinize him, no doubt internally criticizing how weak and pathetic he is.

"Son…" Father begins, sounding completely lost. Damian refuses to look at him. He doesn't want to face the look he's sure his father is wearing. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

However he doesn't have a choice. He feels Father grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet his gaze. He's crouched down slightly so he's more level with Damian, and he's gazing at him with an intense look in his sharp blue eyes, eyes that Damian shares with him. His gaze seems to pierce Damian's very soul. It's that intense.

"Damian, you are not a weapon. You're not an experiment, either. You're a person. You're my son. And I can promise you, I don't feel that way. I never have."

In response, Damian does his best to put on a face of cold disinterest. He ignores the tears, choosing to be angry instead of sad. It's his defense mechanism. Being angry is easier. It hurts less.

"Well, you didn't seem so sure of that just a few days ago," Damian snaps. Father's face twists in confusion for a few moments, trying to remember the importance of a few days ago. It seems to dawn on him eventually, his face falling, and his eyes filling with pain.

"Damian…"

"Stop wasting your breath," Damian hisses, rebuffing his father's hold on him. "All you have to do is just look away while I walk out the door, and you can say you didn't see me leave. I won't be around, and your life will be much less complicated without me here."

Father flinches when those words leave his mouth. Good.

Damian watches as Father slowly wraps one arm around his shoulder, swiftly bringing him closer. What is it that he's –

Damian doesn't have a chance to finish those thoughts before he's pressed against his father's chest, his strong arms surrounding him. His backpack falls to the ground with a thud. Damian remains completely stiff, not sure on what to do. He and his father don't hug. They just don't. They don't engage in spontaneous gestures of affection. That's not an aspect of their relationship, never has been. Hell, that wasn't an aspect of his relationship with his mother, either.

"I'm so sorry," Father whispers to him, sounding horrified with himself. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean that at all. It was said in the heat of the moment. I was angry and too selfish and moronic to think about how much that would hurt you. There's not a day that goes by when I'm not grateful that I have you in my life. I wouldn't wish you weren't in it. I'd never want you to leave. I'm so sorry, Damian. I'm sorry I could ever make you feel this way."

Damian relaxes in his father's grip, practically melting against his chest. He's still angry, but his grief is taking over again, and he wants to seek comfort from somewhere.

"But why?" he whispers, the sound muffled by his father's broad chest. "Why do you keep me around? I disobey you, I break the rules, I've killed before, I –,"

"Hush, son," Bruce interjects, his hand snaking up to pet Damian's hair. Damian burrows himself further into his father's hold, secretly liking the feeling he gets. He feels protected, warm, safe…

Loved.

"You want to know why I keep you around?" Father whispers to him. "I keep you around because you're my son, Damian. You've made mistakes before in the past, but you're trying so hard to be a good Robin, and you're trying even harder to be a good son. I don't care how you were conceived. You're still my child, and I'd treat you as such no matter what the circumstances of your birth were."

Damian tries to keep his emotions under control, but tears are spilling freely from his eyes, no matter how much he tries to stop it. That's weakness, he keeps telling himself. Man up. You've trained with the League of Assassins. When did you become such a wimp?

He presses up against his father's shirt, letting the tears be absorbed by the material.

"There is nothing you could ever do or be that could ever make me stop loving you."

That's when Damian finally breaks. He wraps his arms around Father's neck, holding on tightly as he sobs. His father has never told him he loves him. Grayson always told him that Father was just bad at expressing emotions, and Damian accepted that, but something about it ate away at him. He didn't realize how much he needed that until just now. He really did need it. He needed that validation, something that confirms that he's worth something to his father.

He's worth something.

Maybe he does belong here. Maybe he does have a family.

He allows Father to pick him up and carry him up the stairs, clinging to his neck with his face buried in his broad chest.

The backpack stays sitting by the front door, long forgotten by both father and son.

A/N: For any of you guys who are wondering, I'm not moving my other Damian one-shots over to here. They already have their own reviews, their own follows, and their own favorites. I'm not going to remove them and confuse people.

In case you're wondering, the Damian one-shots that I wrote before are called Forgive Me Son, For I Have Sinned, Like Father, Like Son, and You Are Loved.

I hope you enjoyed, and know that I'll be back with more!