This story is a filler I am doing between my works so the chapters will be short and story simple. There may be issues with being compliant with cannon. Some characters are purposefully behaving differently from cannon and the reason for it will be revealed in later chapters. I am not an expert in this fandom and I appreciate my mistakes being pointed out.

The first few chapters are downhill. It is mostly set up but he will learn to stand up and the story will pick up.

Contrary to what most people believed, Damian didn't like the Wayne manor. It was never a home to him. The manor always felt cold to him. a chill that wouldn't go away no matter how many blankets and layers of clothing he used to cover himself.

For three years he lived in the manor. His only wish was to get closer to Father. To have a father. But Bruce didn't want that. Bruce already had his children. Children he chose. He didn't want Damian. He was just thrown at him.

He could see this fact in the way Father acted with his siblings. Father cared for them. The way he made time to spend time with them. The way he talked with them. The random pats on the back and physical touch. Gentle praises and words. Father never touched him outside of some necessary situations in the field. He never even spared with him. His training was mostly left to his siblings and himself

He never got the gentle words or praises. He never got any encouragement. He was bounded to an empty manor. He was deemed too dangerous to leave the manor. He would only go once a year to take the school exams, and that was it. Unless there was an emergency where he had to be taken to the hospital.

He wasn't even allowed to go to the galas. His only freedom was the patrols. It was the only time he felt free, and he loved patrolling because it allowed him to spend time with his siblings.

His relationship with them didn't start very well. He was a scared child in an unfamiliar place. He didn't know or trust anyone. He was an assassin. So, he kept lashing out at them. He didn't know of right and wrong. It was his own fault but it was too late to change it now.

Everything was different here. No one ever told him that the rules were different from the league or what those rules were. He had no way of knowing what actions were right or wrong. He was so afraid and confused.

He kept making mistakes and got punished for them. But he finally learned. Unfortunately, his mistakes caused him the chance of ever forming a close bond with others, but he did his best to make up for his actions.

And he did to a degree. He no longer fought with his siblings. While they weren't close to the point of hanging out and spending time with each other, when the occasions arose, and they were together, they could be civil.

Damian was afraid. Afraid of asking his siblings for more. Fearful of asking Father for more. Afraid of wanting more. It weighed heavily in his chest. He tried. He is trying. Trying to kill his emotions and be the weapon he was meant to be.

To be what he was meant to be. A weapon to be wielded against enemies. But he couldn't do it. Not anymore.

Damian didn't feel broken. He didn't feel anything. Yesterday was his birthday, and just as every other year in the manor, no one knew. He had a foolish hope that this would be the year.

He was much closer to his siblings this year, after all. He always made sure to get them something. He wasn't allowed to leave to get them presents, but he had his own bank account from his days in the league where his mission payments were sent.

He used it for investments and had a slow but steady income. So, he always ordered something for them. he also got clothing and art supplies for himself when he needed them. He usually tried to buy the things he needed for the next few months in one go since Father didn't like many deliveries to the manor.

He once got lectured on his spending habits and how he shouldn't buy so many useless items. Damian tried to argue that he only bought a pair of shoes since he grew out of the previous one, but Father didn't listen. He never did.

So, nowadays, he made sure to do it as few times as possible and in days when Father was away. He was sitting in his room. There was an hour before patrol. Usually, others spent it to have a meal, but Damian didn't like eating before patrol. It made him feel too heavy and weird.

He decided to paint for a bit. He didn't have a studio or place to paint, so he usually did it in a corner of his room. It was hard to paint canvas like this, but he was used to it by this point. He was working on this piece with charcoal.

It was a man bound in a chain in a cell but reaching for the light coming from the tiny window high above the wall. It wasn't an original or new concept, but Damian was trying to improve his skills with charcoal. He was out of pencils, so he could only work on canvas until his next delivery.

He was wearing an oversized shirt. It belonged to Father and smelled like him. For some unknown reason, Father's smell always calmed him and made him feel safe, unlike the man himself. Plus, he didn't want to ruin his good clothing with charcoal. He had some classical music playing on his laptop.

It made him feel calm. He lost himself in thoughts. He remembered his days in Nanda Parbat. When he was truly happy. When he wasn't Damian Wayne. When he was himself. While the league was harsh, he felt wanted and useful.

He believed their harsh training to be for his own benefit. They taught him how to survive against the most dangerous opponents. So he was grateful. He might not have liked the killings. The way it weighed down on him to this day, but he couldn't help but miss all the good parts.

How everything was so simple and straightforward. He promised himself that he would get better. That he would become a perfect weapon. He didn't feel his emotions as strongly anymore. Day by day, it was chipping at his soul.

He was becoming number and number to emotions. And it scared him? Maybe he was not scared, but he didn't want it. But who wants to feel when there are only negative emotions? So he found the only thing that he found positive.

His time in his room. There was not much. But it was his as much as it could be. No one ever entered his room. He had privacy even if he didn't feel safe there. But it was his whole world to him. he had a few areas in his room.

While the room wasn't so big, he still had his own closet and bathroom. The small single bed took about 30 percent of the room. It was in the middle of the east side wall, while the door was on the southwest.

His bathroom door was right next to the main door. There was a toilet, a sink and a standing shower inside it. The closet was next to the bathroom. In the northeast part was where he had his corner for drawing and making a mess, and in the southeast part, there was a simple cushioned chair with a blanket on it, which he used when he was reading.

He was taught in the league to not be dependent on physical possessions and to always keep his surroundings bare, but he didn't want to. He wanted to feel safe, and this was as safe as he could get. He also had a small desk and chair for working on his laptop in the northwest part.

The room was one of the smallest rooms, which was meant to be a guest room, but Damian didn't feel safe in an empty, large room. He felt safer in a small, cramped environment with walls protecting him. he always enjoyed hiding in small spaces, even as a small child.

He heard his alarm go off. It was time for patrol.