Bruce tossed and turned in bed, it was three in the morning yet he couldn't seem to fall asleep. He had an important meeting at nine, plus the fact that he needed to get his boys to school since Alfred was away in England. Some shut eye was rather necessary.

The vigilante rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Something was keeping him up despite his exhaustion, but he had no idea what that something was. It was an odd feeling, like something was amiss. If he had felt that someone was in danger, he would've been up fast enough to make even the Flash jealous, but that wasn't the case. It was a different kind of feeling.

Sighing, Bruce kicked of his covers and stood.

Damian awoke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright as his chest heaved for air. Sweat coated his forehead as he sat in silence, harsh pants the only sound in the overwhelming darkness. Then ten year old briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. That went poorly when the nightmare returned to his thoughts, causing tears to burn behind his eyes.

Letting out a breath, Damian shakily swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood. Needing to do something to take his mind off the awful thoughts plaguing him, the child stepped silently into the hall and crept silently into the living room. Looking around, Damian realized he hadn't planned out what to do. Sinking down into a brown leather couch, the ex-assassin leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling, and hugged his knees to his chest. Feeling pressure welling up within, the ten year old clenched his jaw to keep from sobbing. That didn't stop the tears escaping his bright blue eyes as his own thoughts rebelled against him.

Demon spawn, the voices whispered, taunting him. You're a monster. Nobody loves you.

Damian squeezed his eyes shut, jaw trembling as tears dripped down from it. Distracted as he was, Damian didn't notice when another presence entered the room.

Pathetic! The voices told him. Look at yourself, you're weak. You're childish. It's a wonder Father has kept you around this long, he never wanted you in the first place. He's just waiting for a chance to get rid of you.

The former assassin buried his face in his knees, oblivious that he was not alone. Pain rippled within him, deep down where he normally was able to suppress and hide it. The need to be wanted, to matter to someone, to be loved. But on nights like that one, the ten year old couldn't hold back the tide of emotions he constantly shoved back.

Nobody could ever love you. You're just a burden. Nothing but a mere burden that has been passed on to Father. His life would be so much better without you. He only keeps you around because he feels that he has to, out of some misplaced sense of duty. He knows you're a killer and is just ensuring that you stay in line. Father never actually wanted you. He hates you.

A gut-wrenching sob tore itself from Damian's throat, the sound muffled by his knees. He curled in on himself further, biting his lip hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood.

What was that? You're pathetic! Can't even handle the truth! You're weak and you're a burden! You stand against everything Father believes in! Murderer, spoiled brat, selfish, blood-thirsty, arrogant, disobedient – what is wrong with you!?

Damian's small frame spasmed uncontrollably, burning hot tears spilling forward from his pain-filled blue eyes. Normally none of these thoughts bothered him much, but he had let his walls down and it would take a while to build them back up.

The ex-assassin froze abruptly, senses on high-alert at the sound of a creaking floorboard.

"Damian?" Father's voice drifted to his ears.

Darn it.

Now Father is going to know how weak you truly are. A stupid. Pathetic. Mistake.

Damian's breath hitched slightly, tears refusing to slow. Peaking up slightly from his knees, the ten year old's eyes met those of his Father, who was crouched down in front of him.

"Damian," he spoke softly, concern bleeding through his tone. "Son, what's wrong?"

Damian hid his face again, shame heating up his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He didn't trust his voice to speak at that moment, so he remained silent. Panic flared up within him, Father had seen his weakness.

Why do you have to be such a problem? The voice returned. You are a burden to Father, he'd be so much better off without you. He doesn't care about you.

Another shuddering sob escaped Damian's throat without his consent. The hollow feeling within his chest wouldn't go away and it hurt.

Nobody could ever love you, the thoughts flooded Damian's head. Not once they get to know you. You are not wanted. You are not needed. You are not loved.

Each word felt like a punch to the gut, and drowned as he was within his sorrows, Damian nearly forgot the other presence in the room.

Bruce was at a loss with what to do. Coming into the room to find Damian in tears had been worrying enough, but the fact that he couldn't seem to contain himself, even around him, was shocking. The boy never showed his emotions like this, especially not in front of him. Looking into his blue eyes shimmering with tears, Bruce could see the pain gathered within and it broke his heart. And the ten year old wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

A heart-wrenching sob racked Damian's body as Bruce lowered himself onto the couch. Bruce could tell that the child was obviously trying to hide his supposed weakness, attempting to calm himself.

It wasn't working.

Bruce stared at his child, hesitating before his fatherly instincts took over and he wound an arm around the boy. Damian stiffened considerably as Bruce drew him to his side and wrapped another arm around his front. He guided his son's head to rest against his chest, pulling him closer.

After what seemed like a long enough time for Bruce to start to worry, Damian relaxed slightly. The ten year old shifted into a more comfortable position and tentively let himself lean completely on his father, hiding his face in Bruce's shirt and fisting the fabric in his small hand.

Bruce let a small smile alight his face as his son gave in to his affection. The detective noticed his shirt getting wet and realized Damian was still crying, body trembling almost imperceptibly.

"It's okay, Damian," Bruce murmured, resting his chin atop Damian's raven locks. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

After a few moments the shaking and the tears seized, the ex-assassin curling up in his arms and burrowing himself further into Bruce's hold. The father remained, holding his son until he was sure Damian was asleep.

"I love you, Damian," Bruce whispered.

Damian couldn't help but give in to the comfort his father offered after recovering from the shock of it. He had half-expected to be punished for showing such weakness, that's how it worked in the League of Assassins. Father's strong, firm presence offered a refuge from himself, from the thoughts and nightmares that tormented.

"It's okay, Damian," Father murmured. "Everything is going to be okay."

Damian anchored himself onto those words, immediately calming down. Doubt still lingered in the back of his mind, but he managed to overcome it, submerging himself in the thrill of having Father act so caring towards him.

Yet he couldn't help but believe it was all an act.

As the ex-assassin's exhaustion finally caught up with him, Damian let himself get pulled into the void of unconsciousness. The doubts still darkened his mind, but he was willing to forget it all in sleep.

"I love you, Damian," Father whispered.

A sudden burst of warmth spread from Damian's chest at those words, reaching down to the tips of his toes.

Father… loves me? Damian thought as the man himself squeezed him slightly, hugging him tighter. He actually loves me?

A tiny smile pulled up the corners of Damian's mouth.

Father loves me.