Learn To Love Chapter 04: Jinx
Chikorita-Trainer1
T
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything else I might make references to.
Bruce's POV
It's early evening, but none of us are going on patrol. My second son is unconscious yet again. My first son is heartbroken and confused. My third son is missing.
"Where's Damian?" I ask. Dick shrugs.
"I last saw Master Damian heading upstairs," says Alfred. "I assume he has gone up to either his room or perhaps Master Tim's."
"Dick, why don't you go lie down in your own bed? Tim will be OK without you for one night," I suggest. Dick shakes his head.
"I'm not leaving him, Bruce. Abandoning him is probably what landed him here in the first place."
I sigh and get up and begin my search for Damian. I soon find the child in Tim's room, working diligently over something on Tim's desk.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my tone one of curiosity and not of accusation.
"Trying to finish putting together these photos," Damian answers. "Drake probably tore them up right before he slit his wrist. So far what I can tell is that he was pissed at Grayson."
"How can you tell?" I ask. I'm proud that my son is getting so good at detective work.
"Because every one of these pictures was ripped right down the center of Grayson's face. And only pictures with Grayson were destroyed. Every other picture was spared."
"Tim just woke up, and started to say something to Dick. Something angry. But then he passed out again," I explain.
"I'm not surprised," says Damian. "Grayson will probably want to know. Why don't you tell him?"
"I don't know if that's such a good idea," I say. "I mean, normally I would. I don't like keeping something like this from Dick."
"So what's the problem? Why wouldn't you tell him?"
"Because if he finds out that he was the cause of Tim's pain, he might very well break down. I don't need two sons contemplating suicide," I say.
"He's not going to attempt suicide just because he drove Drake to it," Damian says. "Grayson isn't that kind of person."
"And what kind of person is that?" I ask, folding my arms.
"You know…" Damian says. "…crazy?" I frown at my son and force him to look up at me.
"Being suicidal does not make one "crazy,"" I say sternly. "And you would do well to show some respect for your brothers." My son just scoffs and looks away. "Don't you love anything?"
"Father…" Damian begins.
"No, I want to know. Do you have any compassion, any sympathy at all, for anyone or anything?"
"I don't know, OK?" Damian says. "If you were to die, I'd be sad. I mean, hell, I thought you were dead for a year, there."
"And if it weren't for Tim, I might still be gone. Did you ever think of that?" I ask. I feel strange talking to him like this; he may be my son, but I haven't known him all that long, so scolding him and trying to set him straight still seem weird to me. I almost feel like someone else is going to pop in and say "Hey, why don't you stick to raising your OWN children? I'll stick to raising mine!" But he is my child and I have every right to talk to him like this.
"Whatever," is all I get from him. He waits a few seconds and then speaks again. "I would be sad if Grayson or Pennyworth were to die. But that's about it."
"Why do you not value Tim's life? What did he ever do to you that made you hate him so much?" I ask.
"He's the one who hates me!" Damian complains. "He doesn't trust me. He's jealous that I'm Robin now, and he thinks of me as a common criminal! Did you know he put me on his Hit List of criminals to apprehend? He's the one with the problem, Father, not me."
I sigh, knowing that Damian is completely wrong. I know that Tim does not distrust him for no reason. The first time they met, Tim was very friendly to Damian, but my son was a jerk and beat him up.
"How would you like Tim to treat you, Damian?" I ask, throwing him a curveball.
"What?"
"You claim that Tim hates you and doesn't trust you. How would you like him to treat you?"
"I don't know…" my son answers. "Like…" he trails off. "I don't know."
"Alright, so you think Tim treats you unfairly, but you don't have any preferences as to how he should treat you?" I suggest. "Damian, Tim has worked very hard to be a part of this family. He wasn't born into it, he earned it, through training, education, maturity and of course, morality. He had every right to be Robin. You on the other hand, were just dumped off here by your mother, and thought you could just assume the role of Robin. Now, since then you've worked hard, too. You've trained and learned, and you're doing a good job. But why do you still think that you're better than Tim?"
"What do you want me to say, Father?" Damian grumbles. "That Drake is perfect and I'm wrong about everything?"
"Well, that's a good start," I mumble. "But no. All I want is for you not to be so stubborn and angry, and just consider why you hate him so much. And if it's not within reason, I want you to stop. OK?"
Damian just blinks and looks at me. "How do I know if I care about someone?" he asks. I want to just smack him in the head right now, but that would only create more problems.
"Your mother really did a number on you, son," I say. "You really have no sense of love or compassion?"
"Yes, that's already been established, Father!" he snaps at me. "How do I know if I care about someone, or if I just acknowledge that they have a right to live? What's the difference? We save innocent lives when we go on patrol, but we don't LOVE those people; they're total strangers. We know we have to protect them, but we have no obligation to care about them beyond that."
"Oh, my gosh…" I sigh, leaning down and resting my head in my hand. "Damian, that's not something you can teach. You're just born with it. You just KNOW!" That's no answer, so I try to think of a way to explain it to him. The only way I can think of is to describe it to him scientifically.
"Damian," I say, turning to look at him. "When my parents were killed, I felt like my whole world had been taken away from me. Everything I knew was gone in an instant. And I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest, and I was walking around with a big, gaping hole in my body. The adrenal gland is right above your kidneys, but when you get an adrenaline rush, you feel it in your chest. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"Of course. I have extensive knowledge of the human circulatory and nervous systems," Damian answered.
"OK, good. So you know the feeling I'm talking about? That tight, tense feeling in your chest when something scares you?" My son nods. "Well, when you're really sad about something, you get a similar feeling. Right?" Another nod.
"Now, when something makes you horribly sad and depressed, you get this kind of sinking feeling in your chest, like there's an anvil tied to your heart. That's why people say they're heartbroken. So when something bad happens to someone else, you feel the same way. But for them. You understand?"
"Not really," he says. My jaw drops.
"You've never felt that way about another person?" I exclaim.
"Father, this isn't helping!" he whines and walks back towards the desk. "I can't force myself to feel something! All I know is that if Drake were to die, I wouldn't care!"
"Fine," I say. "I give up. If you're truly that heartless, then you're beyond even my help. Anyway, don't tell Dick about what you've found until he's a little less emotional. If you tell him, well, it's HIS adrenal gland we'll have to worry about!" And I stomp out of the room.
Damian's POV
You give up? I'm heartless? I'm beyond help? Well fuck you, Father! I am merely the product of genetic engineering and rigorous assassins' training. I was never taught compassion. Sue me. You say I was supposed to have been born with it? Well, I was never technically born, was I? I didn't even develop in a uterus. Maybe when you're a fetus in a glass ball with tubes and wires sticking into it, you don't come out with all these innate emotions that you and Grayson and Pennyworth find so damn important!
I hate my life. Everyone's against me. All I do is bust my ass following rules and controlling myself myself. Everyone wants me to suppress my feelings, and now they're telling me I don't have ENOUGH feelings. Why am I always the one who has to try and understand Drake? It's not like he ever makes an effort to understand me.
I may not experience sadness for others very often, but I DO know when I'm angry; like right now. My chest is tight and it feels a little painful to breathe. I clench my teeth and ball my hands into fists. I want to punch something…or someone…but there's nothing here with a face.
What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to just HAVE these feelings? I can't just BECOME sad just because someone tells me I should. But I do need to get this pent-up aggression out somehow.
I can't change into my Robin costume because it's in the Cave, and if I go down there I'll just encounter Grayson or Father, and they won't let me go anywhere.
I sit down on Drake's bed and sigh to myself for a second. What can I do with my time? What do I need to get done? I've already determined the cause of Drake's meltdown; it's Grayson. I don't know what he did to Drake, but it obviously pissed him off enough to make him attempt suicide.
What could he have possibly been feeling that made him that miserable?
What is it like to feel so unhappy that you don't want to live anymore?
I lie down on the bed, hoping that changing positions might help my thought process. I try to remember times in my own life when I've been unhappy. I get angry often enough to know how exhausting that can be, but have I ever really been truly sad?
I close my eyes and try to think as far back as my memory will allow. I think I can go as far back as…maybe…five years old? All I did back then was train and study. And whatever I wanted I was given within like two minutes of asking for it. My mother had servants at my beckon call to bring me anything from a glass of water to a polished new sword.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Maybe they're right about me. Maybe I am just some rotten spoiled brat. I fucked up again. It's all my fault.
Father hates me, doesn't he?
END OF CHAPTER 04
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