Tim Drake. Still alone.
Oh, he wasn't an orphan. Not like the others. Not like his friends. His parents were alive, but he was alone.
Always alone.
And on the inside, he didn't understand. He thought that all people were alone like him, that all parents left you and never said words of comfort. His didn't, after all.
And he didn't mind. A part of him felt hurt, like a little kid. The resentful part of him said that he didn't need them. The childish part of him wanted them. The mature part (which was 99.999%) said that he could function without them fine.
And the thing that was his subconscious told him he had grown up too fast.
He was alone, and he didn't care.
After all, he had always wanted to know what it would feel like to be an adult.
People called him 'Your Highness'. Damian didn't understand why, but he did understand the sarcasm in their voices.
But they didn't matter. They were unimportant.
Everyone was, except his mother and grandfather. At least they treated him like he was.
He always made sure to speak to people like they were inferior. They were, after all. All of them ants compared to him. Even his father.
Especially his father.
But at the same time, he felt tiny. Insignificant. His father was a much better person than him, having the guts to confront Joker and Scarecrow and the pain and fear every night.
Damian was just scared, a scared little boy in the night.
And the mask covered it.