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Damian was a caged bird from a very early age.
Ever since Damian was a young child his wings had never really been allowed to spread, never allowed to fly.
And with lack of flight came lack of development.
Perhaps that's why a sharp cry never drifts through the air as he pulls himself off of a metal rod previously lodged in his side.
He only stumbled slightly as he continued on, the villain he was fighting even looked vaguely horrified.
Pathetic.
It wasn't even them being pulled off of it, Damian could do far worse.
Damian had done far worse, and the punishment for screaming was always worse than what he had screamed about.
"I should kill you for that."
The words echoed in his mind as something he would have once said, he could, and Grandfather would have told him he should.
And now he's just expected to morph into someone else?
Bruce says he should.
Bruce says he should be anything but the boy that draws his sword as he approaches men like this one in front of him.
How can you ask a hawk to become a robin?
Even as Damian can feel blood drizzle down his stomach, even as he can distantly hear it plop onto the ground he continues on, fists meeting his opponent. Arms flailing back and forth in coordinated attacks, placed kicks.
Don't you dare slip.
I will not die in this field or I will face far worse than death.
He always did.
"Ah!"
Damian can remember being much smaller than he is now. He can remember blood smeared on the floor, his feet slipping and sliding in the crimson that was leaking from various places on himself.
He remembers the tears on his cheeks and how they burned against his flesh, and he can remember bright green.
But most of all he remembers hands. Hands that hoist him up, hands that throw him back down, hands that rip and tear, and burn.
Damian will not lose.
And so when the villain is apprehended he trudges back home.
Damian may be entitled Robin, but he is no prey.
Maybe he could have been.
He's drifting through the inky dark of Gotham when the thought hits him, a thought that would have had him locked in a room for days back home.
But it's true, maybe if he were here back then he could have been a robin, could have been so blissfully weak.
Could have been so normal.
Or at least as close as Wayne ever got to it.
He could have been free. Damian would have spread his wings, he would have been wild, he would have been less than he is now, but perhaps he would have been happy.
Just maybe, he would have been human, not what he is now.
A heavy exhale leaves his lips as he slides to the shady corner of an alleyway.
He would have been killed for this.
He was so weak, this home was weakening him, what would happen when he went back?
Oh but deep down Damian knew he wasn't going back, he would never return to the only thing he really knew better than himself.
Sometimes he longed for the cage. He didn't long for the ache or the metal that constantly dug into his wings. But he longed for the only thing he had ever known, longed for the predictability.
If he knew how it went, how it always went then he could just turn his brain off, turn everything off and just move, just block it all out.
It was so different here, he actually had to think here, had to speak, had to play along with this little game of house everyone seemed to be a part of.
"Bloody hell."
Damian's eyes shot open, a bright green gaze landing on a blond man in a trench coat.
"Geez, you're batty's right?"
The man stepped closer and Damian tensed, ready to spring up and fight if he needed to. Apparently this was visible to him as he took a step back.
"Fuck, alright, backing up."
The man grumbled.
Damian swallowed thickly around blood threatening to claw its way up his throat like bile.
"What is your relation to Batman?"
Even as Damian bit the words out he could hear the way his voice wavered. He was going to soften and melt in this house, it was already happening.
"Master of the dark arts, call me Constantine."
The man responded as if this was a simple business introduction and not him finding a bruised and bloodied Robin curled up in an alley.
Damian raised an eyebrow, sitting up slightly, an action that brought a grimace to the blond's face.
"You work in magic?"
Damian wondered, not missing a beat.
"Sure do. You sound familiar with it, the bat's actually letting his birds meddle in that?"
The disbelief in his tone would almost be entertaining if Damian was anywhere else, in any other condition.
"No, my mother's side of the family."
"Ah."
He gave a nod like that made sense without explanation, though his head tilted as he glanced over Damian once more, an oddly understanding look in his eye. Damian supposed he didn't have much to say about what would normally make sense to someone.
Damian couldn't even count the amount of times he had been reminded of just how abnormal he was. The amount of times he's frustrated someone over his lack of understanding of apparently average subjects, or on the complete opposite side. His vast knowledge on things often ridiculed for the moral issues he had been taught were correct up until his living with the bats.
The sound of the flick of a lighter brought Damian out of his thoughts, his eyebrows raised slightly at the sight before him.
"Are you smoking right now?"
Damian almost wants to laugh as Constantine slips a cigarette between his lips, lighting it. He watches as the man blows the smoke out in a slow puff.
"Yeah? What's it to you?"
The words aren't unkind so much as unbothered.
"Nothing at all."
Damian couldn't help the vague disbelief that muddled with amusement in his chest.
"You're so calm about this, is it normal for you?"
Damian asks, bright green eyes stare up at Constantine in interest.
"Normal that I find some filthy kid that feels like death in an alley? Yeah sometimes."
"You think I feel like death?"
Damian replied idly, not too worried about that fact. It wasn't as though it wasn't true, Damian had faced death time and time again. And here Damian is for the thousandth time. And after this, Damian will keep walking home like he always does.
"Oh you reek of it. Hang out in cemeteries?"
Despite the sharp lilt to his voice it's easy to tell a joke from his earlier uncaring responses, a bitter smile on his lips around the cigarette.
"Not quite."
Damian shook his head, nose scrunching up as murky smoke drifted past his nose, batting it away with his bloody hand.
"Jeez, bleeding out and you're worrying about smoke."
"It stinks."
"Yeah, you're one to talk, look like you've been through a sewer."
Constantine commented with a scoff.
"At least I don't look like I live in the sewer."
Damian was met with a raised eyebrow as soon as the retort left his mouth.
"Hey now, that's rude to the homeless."
"You knew what I meant and you know it."
Damian huffed, this guy was annoying. Still though, an odd part of Damian was intrigued.
"So what does 'master of the dark arts' mean anyway?"
Damian asked, letting his head lull to the side, his cheek resting against his knee where the limb was pulled up against his chest.
"Really what you're worried about right now?"
Constantine sounded amused by that simple question alone.
"It's interesting."
"Oh you know, spells, demons, all the like."
Damian rolled his eyes.
"Oh so descriptive, thank you for the useful information, Constantine Sir."
The words somehow came out even dryer than Damian had meant them to.
"Geez, you're a little brat aren't you."
"Shut up."
Constantine only seemed to respond with a chuckle, shaking his head in something Damian couldn't quite pinpoint, probably disapproval.
It always seemed to be disapproval nowadays.
He was the Robin only coloured crimson by the blood on his feathers.
He was the Robin that was supposed to be so much more than this crumpled little boy on the floor of an alley.
Damian Wayne was the Robin that had never soared through the sky as those that came before him, but he wanted to.
Gods, he really wanted to. At times all he wanted was to be the normal Robin they all wish he'll be, maybe Damian also wishes that could be him.
But he was never raised to be a robin, he was raised in violence, and violence breeds nothing but more violence. That is who Damian Wayne is. He is violence turned "human", or at least he was supposed to be.
Apparently some things are beyond repair, because he could never be something so pure.
"Yeesh. Snap out of it kid."
Damian glanced up once more.
"You should really do something about that."
Constantine nods to the injury on his side currently hidden from view, but obvious enough just by the blood pooling below him.
Damian almost absentmindedly shifted his legs to hide it more.
Great, a magic user seeing him covered in his own blood.
"I'm not weak, I don't need help. And I'm not a kid."
"Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was speaking with a very small man."
Constantine places a hand over his heart in mock sympathy his eyebrows scrunching together in false concern that only makes Damian feel like the clown of a circus.
He certainly is the fool of the show right now anyway.
"You are speaking with the heir to the Al-Ghul's."
Damian was quick to correct after the distasteful reply. He demanded the respect that his title called for.
His title, even if he was cast out now, lost to his life before. Now a lost cause in the bats arms.
"Al-Ghul's?"
Constantine repeated.
"Yes, you may be a magic user, but that isn't an excuse to push your limits."
Constantine laughed in disbelief.
"Holy hell, you're a prince aren't you?"
Damian awaited the usual bow that ensued, but when he was only met with silence he raised an eyebrow, peeking back up at the man.
"That's so fucked. The weird assassin cult, that's your family?"
Damian scowled at the slander, his family was beloved. His family protected him, even if he didn't always deserve it, the bars of his cage didn't just hold him in, they kept bad things out.
Damian's sole purpose was to be great, to show how great he could be. His purpose was to give his soul, his life, his whole being to the very thing that created him.
"Don't you dare speak of my family like that."
He snapped like a dog. He imagined himself snarling and leaping, biting at the blond like a rabid animal may.
Damian was a fierce warrior, and Damian was allowed to live only as a fierce warrior knowing full well he should be dead by now, knowing it shouldn't be him inhabiting his body and yet they still allow him to stay.
Constantine shifted slightly, blowing smoke once more, putting out his cigarette against a brick wall behind him. His head cocked to the side as he took in the sight of Damian, listening, actually listening to him. It wasn't so often that people did that, usually when his words left his mouth they only drifted through the air, never truly taken in. Constantine let out a long suffering sigh, crossing his arms without walking away.
"Alright, I won't."
Damian could only respond with narrowed eyes. What a strange man that stood before him.
"Just like that? You're just going to listen to me?"
He leaned in to stare at Constantine as he spoke.
"Well sure, who do you take me for?"
Damian only shook his head.
Eventually though Constantine seemed unable to hold the silence anymore, glancing down.
"Y'know...you're allowed to think for yourself."
"Pardon?"
"Oh just in general. You're a person, it's important to be one."
That was a lie though, Damian wasn't a person, he was never made to be. Damian was a vessel, a vessel that couldn't even do that right. And now Damian was just supposed to be a human being? Who did everyone think he was anyway?
"And I know what you're thinking, 'oh some grimy fuck smoking around a bloody kid thinks he can talk', but sometimes it's important to listen to the grimy fucks in alleys."
Damian scoffed.
"You don't get it."
He shook his head, tousled black hair swaying back and forth from where it messily hung in front of his eyes.
"Maybe I don't, but I know that's gotta hurt."
"The injury?"
"Hm. That too I suppose."
Gosh this guy was confusing, he twisted Damian's mind all around. Couldn't he just tell him one way or the other, why leave it up to Damian? He was never allowed such a thing before, not in the league and not now.
"I am to believe what I'm told."
Damian murmured back in response.
"Do you believe that though, or are you told to believe it?"
Damian fell silent after the response was given to him, his expression nothing at all. It wasn't a frown, and it certainly wasn't a smile. He never really had been something of his own, at first he was an heir, and then he was a robin, how was he meant to be Damian like Constantine was suggesting.
There was no room for Damian in the middle of Robin and the youngest Al-Ghul.
"Speech like that would have you slaughtered in the league."
Constantine sighed.
"Well, good thing I'm not in the league. And judging by the little birdie suit—and hey, finally with pants, good for you—you aren't part of it either. At least not anymore."
That posed a strangely good point, Damian was no longer part of the league, he was abandoned by his own blood, family that he worked so hard to be something to be proud of for, and yet here he was. Exiled by his very creator, and expected to just keep going, but what was he to do without a purpose anymore.
And then something he had never dared to face stared him in the eye.
Damian had no purpose left, nothing more than Robin, but even that wasn't going well. Damian was never meant to be Robin, how was he expected to perform perfectly when thrown into the dark?
Damian hesitates a long moment before finally giving a response.
"I...I don't know how to be anything more. I was supposed to be a vessel, all my life was leading to it, and then suddenly I had a completely new purpose."
Damian didn't know why he was even telling a stranger this, it wouldn't help anything, Damian would still be a rotten, shameful, child by the end of the conversation.
He didn't miss the way Constantine's eyes narrowed at the word "vessel", his jaw visibly clenching, and yet he didn't bring it up.
"Why work for a purpose? Kid, just be yourself, that's what you should be focused on, at—what are you, like seven?"
"Twelve."
"Christ, twelve-, alright, then just be twelve don't worry about Robin, or assassins."
Constantine almost grumbled the words out.
"How do I be twelve..?"
Damian uttered quietly. It was so odd to be so small, to be anything less than the warrior he was supposed to be, he wasn't even entirely sure why he was trusting these words, but they hit a truth that had been there all along. Just a truth he never wanted to embrace.
"However you damn well please."
Damian pondered the idea for a moment, it sounded strange, and it sounded like something his mother would despise, sounded like one of those gushy moments his father would adore.
"Then twelve. However I damn well please."
Constantine laughed openly.
"Oh God kid, don't go copying me now. Batty'll have my head."
Damian couldn't help a smirk.
"Have you met you? You seem like someone he'd hate regardless."
Constantine peered right back with a matching smirk and a raised eyebrow.
"Really now, I should count my days I take it."
Damian nodded silently in response, Constantine sobered slightly as he glanced down at the child once more.
"Come on, let's get you home."
He gestured onto the sidewalk with his head.
"You know where the cave is?"
"Sure do."
"Then lead, we'll see how true that is."
Constantine looked so entertained by the snide comments.
"You need help?"
Damian shook his head, already pushing to his feet, a hand bracing himself on the scratchy material of the wall behind him scraping against his skin as he rose.
"I can do it on my own."
He insisted. Constantine nodded.
"Good, don't want blood on my brand new trenchcoat."
He replied as he started to walk, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
"Liar, that thing is filthy."
Constantine snorted as Damian pointed out the untruthful statement he absentmindedly threw out.
"Ha, yeah."
The walk back is a long way to the cave and Damian isn't sure of the last time it hurt so bad just to move, probably when he was eight. His body had once been curled on the floor, blood and bright Lazarus water soaked everything in sight, everything burned and squelched. He felt like he was on fire.
Right now it didn't hurt quite as much as back then, but he can feel the pull of skin every time he takes a shaky step, muscle pulling away from itself in a gaping wound that just didn't seem to stop leaking blood down his side and onto the ground beneath his feet.
But he's Damian Wayne, and he doesn't stop, not for anything, he is a warrior.
Damian is a warrior, and he will be a hero. That is who the twelve year old boy decides to be, he'll be helpful.
"Do...you need help?"
He glanced up at Constantine as he limped by his side, walking with him. Constantine looked absolutely shocked for a moment, stunned into silence for once before loud amused laughter echoed into the night.
"Help? From the kid bleeding out? I'm good, lad."
He shook his head with a small snicker leaving his lips.
"God you're silly."
"Do you think so?"
"Yeah, I think you're a silly, good hearted, kid."
Damian wasn't sure if silly was a good thing or not, he supposed it made him a bit like Richard.
Damian did like Richard, his kind second in command. His older brother.
"Like Nightwing?"
He commented, a small smile tugging at his lips, Constantine let out a soft exhale, ruffling Damian's hair only to have his hand swatted away. He didn't mention it.
"Yeah kid, like Nightwing."
"Good. I think that's who I'll be, I'll be kind."
He murmured, glancing down at the ground with a nod. He could do that right? He could be kind.
"Christ kid, we already have a Nightwing, be you. Maybe a you that happens to be kind."
Constantine seemed almost exasperated when Damian picked Nightwing, though not actually annoyed. Damian huffed, reaching up and lightly pinching the man's arm.
"Yeah, maybe I'll be you."
"Oh God no."
And then they were both laughing. Damian would never admit that it was nice; the usually cold feeling in his chest was replaced with warmth. A feeling akin to relief blossomed where fear had once nested.
Damian thinks it's nice being himself. He thinks it's very nice to belong to himself, and only himself. Finally no one else's possession, not a vessel, not a bird.
Just Damian.
"I feel like I'm gonna vomit."
He uttered honestly.
"Turn your head away if you do."
Constantine shivered dramatically, gaining a small chuckle from Damian.
"You're dumb."
"You're spoiled."
Damian exhaled shakily. Each step felt like he was on the floor of a pool, walking underwater. Breathless and laggy.
"You need help?"
Constantine asked once more, for once Damian nodded. It must have been an odd sight for anyone that knew of either of them. Constantine carrying Robin in his arms along the sidewalk, he can imagine the abnormality of it.
"Christ, you're heavy."
Constantine complained. It was a lie, he knew it was. Damian was almost scarily light in his arms, felt like all bones, not to mention he was the size of a much smaller child.
"Maybe you're just weak."
"Oh sure."
When they made it back to the cave he set Damian down carefully on the medbay table. Constantine glanced around with a frown.
"Anyone home!"
He called.
"No one would be back yet, not when they haven't reported it over comms."
Damian cut in simply, it was just how it worked, why would they be back, he was expected to call in if he needed assistance, but Damian never did that.
"Butler?"
"Upstairs most likely."
"Bloody perfect, I'm gonna get shot."
He huffed at the confirmation that Alfred was the only one there when Constantine came in with a bloodied child.
Alfred certainly was in the cave soon, although he didn't seem too harsh after an explanation of Constantine helping. The man was rather quickly shooed off soon after that though. Alfred was quick to get to work on patching Damian up.
Damian finally let his wounds be dressed without complaint. Say hello to the new improved Damian Wayne.
Oh who was he kidding, just say hello to Damian Wayne. Damian, who had never shown his face, not with Robin to worry about. And certainly not when he had to worry about being a vessel.
When the others got back, Damian was met with countless amounts of concern. Damian once would have fought his way out of warm arms, would have been terrified at the hint of comfort it brought him. In reality it brought a cold sick feeling to his chest, something like dread.
In Richard's arms he wanted to cry like a normal boy would, but even after all of the events of tonight, he dared not.
Getting into bed was so strange after everything, he was battered, he was tired, and he was Damian.
He knows he can't be a normal kid, not ever, but maybe just being Damian is fine. Maybe this is perfect, at least as close to perfect as he could get.
Waking up the next morning everything was sore, he ached like he had been climbing mountains all of yesterday. He really was losing his touch.
He slid out of bed still tired, swiping a hand through his bangs, pushing them back up out of his face. Not perfect. Maybe that was okay.
He found his uniform folded in the kitchen, probably so he couldn't sneak into the cave and sneak into it tonight. Jokes on them, he's alone in this kitchen, just as his fingers grazed the fabric though a voice called out to him.
"Don't even think about it."
A glance back revealed Jason standing in the doorway, unimpressed with his arms crossed. Soon after him was Richard.
"Dames it's not even dark, planning on hiding it somewhere else?"
He guessed with a huff, he actually wasn't far off at all. That was exactly what he was going to do.
"Shut."
Damian ordered simply, crossing his arms in a pose that mimicked Jason, getting a scoff and an eye roll from the older.
Jason idly stepped through the kitchen, young about making breakfast, apparently not waiting for Alfred. Dick stood in the doorway a bit longer, his eyes on Damian, he gave the kid one last 'I'm watching you' look before padding over to the kitchen table, peering at something on his phone.
Damian huffed out a sigh, leaning against the counter behind him, his costume makes a sort of crinkle under his weight that no one else seems to pay attention to. He turns to look at the uniform with interest, slipping his hand into the pouch the crinkle came from, he ended up pulling out a...paper business card.
Oh.
Constantine.
A small smile graced his lips as he looked over the card. That was right, "master of the dark arts" and a telephone number. A small chuckle forced its way up his throat. Richard was openly gaping at the sound, and Jason had paused what he was doing completely.
"Did you just...laugh..?"
Jason uttered almost disbelievingly, sounding vaguely shocked.
"Oh my goodness, you just laughed!"
Richard was now wearing a bright grin, standing up from his seat and pointing at Damian, looking back and forth between the kid and Jason.
"I'm allowed to."
He huffed simply, subtly folding the card and slipping it into his pocket. He stepped out of the kitchen, they probably assumed he was annoyed by their reactions, that wasn't quite it.
Ring...ring...ring...
"Bloody hell, I'm not paying you."
Constantine's voice bit out harshly on the other side of the line, sounding like he had just awoken. Damian could only smile.
"Is the master of the dark arts in?"