Second chapter. So, after many revisions, this is the second chapter. What do you guys think?

Chapter Two

It would not stop raining. Damian did not have much to do today. He finished his reports, looked over old cases, and trained, all before lunch. Dick had left a clothing catalogue for him to look through. He did not have much in the name of civilian clothing as he refused to wear Dick's ancient hand-me-downs. Perhaps he should look through it, but he checked his email instead. One new email alert from Colin.

Hey D,

What's up? How's Gotham? Kimberly and Brian are alright. I have a few chores and stuff but they're less than what I usually had to do at St. Aden's. They have a cat. Her name is Mittens and she's really soft. I miss the nuns and my friends back at St. Aden's and I really miss patrolling and hanging out with you. Kimberly and Brian said that I'd make new friends but there's not a whole lot of kids my age in their neighborhood. It'd be nice if you could come out here sometime. Brian got me a bike. It's a black and yellow ten-speed. It's so cool. I have to join Boy Scouts this year which I'm not too thrilled about because I'm a city kid, not a country bumpkin! :P Anyway, we're going down to the beach this weekend. Brian's friend has a house down there. Write back, okay? I'll tell you all about it.

-Colin

Damian typed out a concise reply and hit send. Then he pushed his laptop to the side. He was bored and lonely. Alfred had gone out to the shops earlier, Dick had meetings and was stuck at work until six, and even Tim was gone. He lowered himself to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. There was nothing that he wanted to do. Back at the League, he could always find some way to entertain himself, even if it was just verbal sparring with one of the bolder servants.

The taste of something bitter covered his mouth. He did not like being by himself with nothing to do. He jabbed at his alarm clock. Dick told him it had a radio. Vapid Top Forty music began to play. He picked up one of his sketchbooks, the green one this time. It was mostly full. They were sketches of things inside the Manor. He picked up another one, the navy blue one. It was empty. Damian didn't know what to put in it yet. He traded it for his yellow sketchbook. Landscapes. The maroon one was now in his hands and began to look through it.

Nafisa was a skinny, little thing. She was the chambermaid and in charge of keeping all the rooms tidy. Her father sold her to the League to pay off his debt. She cried a lot and told Damian sad stories. It took Damian a long time in order to capture the sadness and hope in her eyes. Too bad she was killed the day before her contract ended. She thought she was going home.

Faizan trained him. He was a hard teacher and the only person ever to strike him when he did wrong. Damian was not allowed to fail like the others. His mother wanted perfection, Faizan often reminded him, and he would not fail her. Faizan was never afraid to belittle Damian, especially in front of his fellow trainees. He had smiled when Talia stuck her sword through his heart. That was the first time Damian had ever seen him smile. His rendition of Faizan included his cane.

Samira was an old hag. She was the cook and laundress. She had no patience for anyone and gave the bare minimum of respect and courtesy her betters were entitled too. Damian did not like her. She often reminded him that he had yet to earn his title of an al Ghul while swinging a wooden spoon in the air after he had tried to take food from the kitchen in between meal times. When he had earned his title, she just stared at him and shook her head. She hung herself soon after. Her portrait scowled back at him. Damian flipped to the next page.

His eyes glazed over the faces of his tutors, his fellow trainees. He remembered each and every one of their names and faces but only drew the most memorable. Damian stopped at one drawing. His fingers drifted over the boy's face. It was another trainee, one born of high privilege, like him. Born to be trained to work for the highest order of the League. He wondered what it would be like to fight him now as an enemy of the League, instead of sparring like they did when they were only small boys.

Damian snapped the book shut. No use dwelling on the past. Perhaps he could try reading a book in the study until Alfred prepared lunch. Yes, that would be a good idea.

XXX

"So, Damian," Dick started as he cut his chicken, "You've been making a lot of progress lately."

"And?" Damian stabbed at his peas. They refused to stay on the tines despite his best efforts.

"And, well, I thought that with the summer winding down and all, that it would be a shame not to continue that progress."

"Does this mean that I will be allowed access to the Cave without having to ask you or Pennyworth?" Damian perked up. Dick and Alfred had managed to prevent him from having 24/7 access to the Cave. He often had to wait for one of them to be ready to supervise his access.

"Not yet, maybe soon," Dick chuckled nervously and patted the table, "Without a doubt, Damian, you've proven yourself intellectually and physically-"

"Why do I sense a however is forthcoming?"

"But I've been thinking about your socio-emotional skills lately."

"What about them?" Damian returned his focus to the errant peas. Dick most likely was going to force him to accompany him to more charity events and galas. Perhaps he could persuade him to have more access to Wayne Enterprises.

"Well, they've improved since the beginning of the summer but I think that that's going to change or at least stagnate if we don't do something about it."

"Fine, I will accompany you and Pennyworth on more outings. Is that enough to end this ridiculous conversation?"

"No, Damian. I enrolled you in school."

Damian's fork clattered on the ground. Dick barely ducked in time to miss Damian's flying dinner plate.

"I won't go! I won't! I won't!"

XXX

"Please put your pencils down and close your answer booklets."

Pencils furiously scribbled last-minute answers while other children closed their test booklets. Damian's answer booklet was already tucked into his test booklet. His pencil's eraser was practically untouched. It was a simple arithmetic, reading, and writing test. Nearly three hours of his morning wasted by a standardized test. If he had been allowed to go from section to section, then he would have finished in thirty minutes.

His potential classmates had a dazed look about them as they were released into the hallway. They looked drained. Damian could not understand it but he kept his mouth shut. Dick had specifically instructed him not to talk unless it was to answer a direct question, part of the interview portion, or something nice to say. Not like Damian wanted to communicate with these snot-nosed gremlins who wrinkled their clothes and shrieked like stabbed mice.

"What'd you get for the candle question?"

"That king story was stupid!"

"This stinks."

"I'm hungry."

"I'm going to fail that stupid test!"

Damian rolled his eyes. So many complaints in so little time. Spoiled. The whole lot of them. And dishonorable as well. They signed the nondisclosure portion of the test beforehand yet they chattered as though their word meant nothing. Did honor mean nothing to them?

The school building was full of children. It was a public high school of Gotham City, formerly H.S. 2, now known as William R. Kane High School, built in 1902 to educate the masses. As of right now, it currently held student testing for the remaining spots of Gotham's many magnet and private schools. Damian was one of them.

Dick had assured him that his placement in the prestigious Gotham Academy was a given. He was a legacy, after all. His father attended, and his grandparents, and so on and so on since the founding of the institution. Because Talia had homeschooled in an 'unorthodox' way him, Gotham Academy required test scores. He would get a perfect score; it would be expected of him and he did not disappoint.

Damian entered an empty classroom and looked out the window. Cars filled the parking lot and hopeful students raced out of the building. Teens crowded cars and parents tugged young children down the block. Magnet school hopefuls. He had to snort. Students hoping to attend one of the more prestigious private schools stayed behind. Alfred had spent hours preparing him for the interview portion. It would be a cinch.

"Young man, I believe the elementary schoolers are supposed to be on the first floor," a man said, pushing in a mop bucket. Damian did not react. The janitor jabbed the mop in his direction. "Skedaddle kiddo, I got work to do."

A woman with bags under her eyes directed him to room 1203, elementary school boys. Boys hollered and claimed desks to hold their belongings. Damian paid no mind. He picked an empty desk in the corner and began to change. The interview required formal clothing. Most of the other boys refused to pay attention to the time and engaged in horseplay.

"You know how to tie a tie?" a chubby boy quirked his head. He had spiky red hair that he had desperately tried to tame with a comb and spit.

"Of course I do." Damian considered mirroring his gape. Did American children know nothing of the finer things in life? The boy held up his own tie.

"Can you help me out? Please?" the boy begged. Damian rolled his eyes and took it.

"What kind of knot do you want? A four in hand, half-Windsor, full Windsor, Pratt?"

"There's more than one way?" the other boy stared as if Damian had just performed a jig and offered him a pot of gold. Damian had to resist the urge to snark. Be polite, Dick's voice rang in his head.

"This knot is called a four in hand," Damian begun as he quickly tied the tie. He didn't believe the other boy had heard a single word he said. "And for God's sake, tuck in your shirt. And if you want your hair to lie flat on your head, then you'll need hair gel. You look as though a four year old dressed you."

"Uh, do you have, um, some? Can I borrow some? Please?"

"I will give you the appropriate amount, otherwise, you'll probably look like an Irish greaser on his way to ruin a sock hop." Damian fished around the bag. He had stolen some hair gel from Tim's bedroom at the Manor. Not for any particular reason. He just did. Damian provided the boy with an allotment of gel and instructions he read off the back of the tube. Someone tapped his shoulder. It was another boy, with another tie.

"Hey, can you help me too?" he said without the sheepishness the redhead possessed. It was Number Nine from the Braves team.

"Fine." Damian spat the word out and tied the tie. He didn't bother with instructions. No one seemed to be paying attention to his directions anyway. "What is the pattern on this tie, anyway?"

"It's the Millennium Falcon, dude! Don't tell me you don't recognize it."

"Nerd," coughed a boy in the back.

"This tie is too large for you but it will have to do," Damian said to no one in particular because this Star Wars boy seemed to be too busy glaring at whoever insulted him to actually listen to him.

"Why are you helping Al-vin?" the sneering boy in the back, "He's a total loser."

"Am not, so shut up Derek!" Alvin shook his fist. At least Damian had finished tying the tie before the idiot had jerked away.

"Does anybody else need their tie tied because I will not be doing any more otherwise," Damian asked loudly. Five hands shot up. He grounded his teeth. "Line up over here."

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He hadn't even tied the first boy's tie when someone tried to yank him away. Damian barely moved. He turned around and glared.

"And who are you?"

"Derek Powers. You're Damian Wayne, aren't you?" Derek grinned as though he would win a prize for correctly guessing his name. Damian studied him. He was definitely a son of Gotham's elite.

"Yes, I am."

"Why're you helping them?" Derek spoke as if the other boys were lepers. A few of the younger boys turned away to hide their red faces.

"They need it."

"Oh right," the boy laughed without humor. Damian didn't even know that was possible for a normal ten year old boy. "You're a Wayne."

"We've established that," Damian said testily. Derek laughed again. Damian resisted the urge to smack him. No violence, he thought. He could not risk blowing his cover.

"Helping out with charity cases." Derek raised his brow as though Damian could not understand the hilariousness of his comment. "That's a very Wayne thing to do. My stepmother runs the Board for Gotham Academy. She told me you were applying. Had to see it for myself."

"I am. And unless you have something important to say, I need to tie these neckties."

"You don't have to be like your dad you know," Derek sniffed when Damian turned his back to him. Damian rolled his eyes. The boy whose tie he was tying refused to look him in the eyes and was pulling away like he was a mere chicken and Damian was a hungry fox. Damian jerked him forward and the other boy flinched.

"I would like to be like my father."

"Why?"

"He's an honorable man," Damian recited. That's what they always told him. Not that he had known him for very long. He dismissed the first boy and motioned for the second. This boy glared at Derek who ignored him in favor of Damian.

"I don't see why you're going through the formal process. You are a legacy after all."

"Why not?" Damian asked rhetorically. Unfortunately, Derek believed it to be a legitimate question.

"Because you're a legacy, duh. You already got in."

"Well then, I'm proving my worth with my own merit." Damian began the third boy's tie. He needed deodorant.

"That's stupid," Derek pulled a face.

"Redundant, perhaps but not stupid."

A few of the bolder boys snickered. Derek glared at them. Only Alvin kept his smug grin on his face. Damian finished the fourth boy's tie. The boy mumbled his thanks and returned to the far corner in the room to mumble to himself. The fifth boy held out his tie expectantly.

"Please?"

"Wayne, Damian," the tired woman poked her head through the door, "You're up next."

"One moment," Damian tied the tie and stood up. He was ready.

"Please state your name for us." The man in the center hardly looked up from his papers.

"Damian Wayne."

"And who is your parent or legal guardian?" The man on the left chewed on his pen and had a faraway stare. The woman watched Damian like a hawk.

"My father is Bruce Wayne and my legal guardians are Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth."

"How old are you Damian?"

"Ten and a half. I will turn eleven in January."

"And where did you go to school before you applied for Gotham Academy?"

"I was homeschooled." The man on the left leaned back and snorted. Damian narrowed his eyes. The woman leaned forward and licked her lips. No, not a hawk. Hawks were beautiful things. This woman was a vulture.

"By who?"

"Various tutors that my mother had hired."

"And you took the Entrance Examination today?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent."

"Do you require financial aid?"

"No." He was a Wayne. He did not need aid, especially not financial aid.

"Do you have any documented disabilities that will need to be accommodated?"

"No."

"Okay, we're done here." The center man finally looked up. Damian stiffened. That couldn't be it, could it? "You'll receive word later this week as to whether or not you have been accepted. Good day, young man."

A volunteer hurried him off the stage before he could protest. That was hardly the interview he had practiced with Dick and Alfred. Did he make a mistake? He answered honestly and in accordance with the application form. What was wrong?

"Do you need to call your parents to pick you up?" the volunteer asked.

"No."

"Okay, if you need anything else, there's people in the front office you can ask."

Damian trudged back to room 1203. His phone was in his bag. He would have to call Alfred to pick him up. Then he could go home and properly determine what he did wrong during his interview. He could not fail, and he would not. He was a Wayne and an al Ghul. If he had to force a second interview, then so be it. He would rise to the challenge and exceed all expectations.

He fumed as he walked. His nails dug into his palms. Damian wanted to yell, to fight, to hurt. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. He glared at the ground as though he would suddenly gain heat vision and burn this wretched school to the ground. A yelping noise brought him back to reality. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Look out! It's the Batman!" Derek cackled like a hyena. He was holding a toy over a smaller boy's head. The smaller boy was jumping, trying to take the toy back. Tears leaked out of the smaller boy's eyes while he snarled. This was a territorial battle between boys. That was commonplace at the League. It was good for development, Faizan had often said, Let them fight. The League has no place for the weak. It only took one patrol for Damian to realize that the same was true in Gotham. Weakness was a flaw, something to be punished.

"What a baby," Derek sneered and held the toy even higher.

"Give it back!"

"Make me, loser!"

The smaller boy positioned his feet. Derek paid no mind. Damian, however, did. He leaned back against the wall. Derek continued his torment.

"You want it, come get it?" Derek wound up as though he were to pitch a fast ball, but, before he could, the smaller boy launched himself at Derek's middle. Both boys fell hard. The smaller boy reacted first. He lunged at Derek's outstretched arm and wrenched the toy away from him. Derek tackled him and began to try and rip the toy out of his arms. The boy managed to kick Derek in the stomach and run off. Damian walked forward.

"Running is a cowardly action."

"He's a freak is what he is." Derek wrinkled his nose as though he smelled something foul. "I was just messing around. He didn't have to freak out."

"What did you take from him?"

"He was playing around with this stupid Batman toy. Y'know, the one that looks like a bat that you throw? Well, the stupid idiot was saying that it was real and it was totally not. My dad got me a bunch of the toy ones when I was in like, the first grade, it's totally for babies, so I was just kidding around with him and he freaked out. I wasn't actually gonna keep it. It's a stupid baby toy."

"It was a toy?"

"Totally, the Batman is just a myth the Justice League helped make popular. That's what my dad says. Every kid on welfare claims to have a real Batman weapon to try and sell but it's just a toy. My dad says so."

"Do you know his name?" Damian would have to further investigate this claim. They didn't always recover every batarang used. A civilian child could cause serious damage if they treated it like a plaything.

"No, he's Narrows trash. Why should I?" Derek sniffed and then perked up. "Hey, want to hang out at my house?"