'"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."
"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "it's a tear."
"What's it for?"
"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."
"You are a genius," said the angel.
Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there."' - Erma Bombeck
4. Depression
Bruce looked out the window, where Damian was traipsing across the lawn. The window was frosted over at the hands of the approaching winter, with snow being promised to come, but promises by Gotham's weather service were worth next to nothing. Still, the lawn held the small crystalline dew drops that had frozen over. It was these dew drops that Damian seemed so intent in wreaking havoc on.
"Bad day at school, Master Damian?" Greeted Alfred at the door.
Damian said nothing. Silence, Bruce decided, was better than a glare- however, when dealing with Alfred, Damian knew to keep his manners in check. There was no saying how well Damian was dealing with- well, with what, exactly?
"Damian," Bruce started.
Now came the glare. Damian's eyes, so much like Bruce's, held so much anger, so little light.
It scared him. Did Bruce look that way?
"Damian," Bruce repeated, firmer this time.
"Yes, Father?" Damian's voice held little emotion.
Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. Since he'd come back, he hadn't missed how things had changed. Hadn't missed the anger that used to be present in his (son) newest Robin, having been cleansed away. Hadn't missed how everyone seemed more... together.
Without him.
"What's wrong?"
Damian gave him a cynical look. Bruce prided himself on reading people, knowing whether they were lying, whether they were insane. But he'd never been able to read the people closest to him, the ones that truly mattered.
(How many times has his sons lied to him? How many times has he lied to them?)
"Father, I am perfectly fine. You may check my body if you wish," he replied.
Bruce sighed again. Damian made him do that quite often.
"Right," he said. Paused. "Damian, pain goes deeper than the skin."
"I know."
"Well, then, if you have an issue..."
What? What could Bruce do? He hadn't been the one to be with Damian when he was hurt, when he'd been chased by his mother, hadn't put him in the Robin suit, (hadn't kept him out of it). There was a blank space where the beginning of a relationship was supposed to be, and there was no building when there was no foundation.
They were strangers. Blood strangers, related strangers, but still strangers.
"I do not have an issue. I do not require your assistance," he snarled.
Bruce pursed his lips. He could see a question forming in Damian's eyes, a query he was afraid was going to be answered.
"Very well then," Bruce said, more roughly than he'd intended. "I guess I'll just leave-"
"Wait!"
The desperation stopped Bruce cold.
"Father, I..." Damian hesitated. "I just... did you ever... want me?"
Bruce choked, like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. "Where... where is this coming from, Damian?"
The sudden burst of emotion receded, like a sad tide. "Nowhere, it's nothing."
Bruce hastily grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Of course I did, Damian, of course I do. I've never thought otherwise."
"Really?" The sarcasm was evident, and Bruce pained to think what had caused it.
"Of course. I care about you just as much as I care about the others."
"And how much is that?"
"Damian, that's not-"
"Important?" Damian's hands curled into fists, trembling uncertainly. "It was Todd's birthday last week. Was he important enough for you to come?"
"Red Hood is a different subject," Bruce defended. "I didn't have enough time-"
"I'm not talking about Red Hood, I'm talking about Jason! I thought you cared about him!"
"It's not the same! He... he kills criminals. We can't condone that."
"He's not the only one who has killed people, Father." Damian bit his lip. "We... we're the same. I have just as much blood on my hands as he does! If you can't love him, then you can't love me!"
"Damian, stop!" Bruce put a hand over his face. "Please... I do care about him. It's just... difficult."
"Grayson says loving people is supposed to be easy," Damian said quietly.
Bruce leaned against the wooden shelf. Photographs were scattered here and there, different times in what felt like different lives. A photo of him and his parents. Of Dick and Bruce, down at the fair. Of Jason, scowling and hiding his face. Of Tim and Stephanie in the living room.
Of Damian, just standing in the center of the frame. He didn't remember the story behind that one- and then it occurred to him that, most likely, he wasn't the one to put it up.
"It's supposed to be," Bruce admitted, "but it hardly ever is."
The boy brushed his hair out of his eyes. His blue eyes, the same shade as Bruce's.
A mirror.
"Father," Damian said. He choked and stopped. "I don't want to be another one of your mistakes."
Bruce's jaw tightened. "You were never my mistake," he said firmly. "None of you... none of them were."
"Then why do you act like they are?"
"What-"
"Everytime Dick tries to talk to you you drive him away. Everytime Tim comes around you ignore him, everytime Stephanie comes you can't look her in the eye. And when Barbara comes here you treat her like she's just an asset, like all she is good for is hacking and coding. And Jason..." Damian took an angry breath. "You act like he's still dead. Like he never came back to life."
Bruce blinked, breath running away from him. A brief anger flared, then turned to sadness, then died into exhaustion.
"I didn't know," Bruce attempted to explain. "I didn't mean it."
"But we knew. Father, nobody knows you don't mean it. You never tell anyone anything, how are we supposed to know if you care about us? If you even do..."
Silence.
"Damian?"
"Yes, Father, I'm sorry-"
"No. Don't be." Batman ran his hand through his hair. "Damian, I do care about you. I love you. Don't you ever doubt that."
He closed his eyes. "But I... I'm nowhere as good as Dick or Jason or even-"
"I love them too," Bruce interrupted. "I do..."
"Then tell them that." Damian sat up straighter, taking his 'power pose'. "I have already lost one family, I refuse to let this one fall apart."
Bruce sighed. "But everything is so... how am I supposed to fix it?"
"You're Batman," Damian scoffed. "You can fix everything."
"Master Wayne? Master Damian?" Alfred called from the hall. "It is time for dinner!"
Damian stood up, hesitatingly. For a moment he stared at his father, as if waiting for him to stand as well. When he didn't, Damian shrugged, and then left.
Bruce was sat, frozen, Damian's words bouncing around his head.
Huh, Bruce thought. Maybe he could.
Fix everything...
Hey guys! Sorry for the very looooooong pause, basically a hiatus really. But I'm back! I know, I should've updated this story before, but I was working on my other story 'Circumstance'. I would very much appreciate it if you headed over there to check it out! Anyway, as usual, like, review, or follow! Or do none of those things- I can't really control you or anything. Thanks for reading!
