Purpose

Lunch

"Damian it's time for lunch."

Damian blinks, eyes focusing on the whiteboard in front of him. His teacher stands to the side, holding a stack of papers she had just collected to be graded. Damian doesn't know if his is in that pile. "Lunch?" he asks.

"Yes," his teacher says. Damian notices the room is empty except the two of them. "It's time to go." She says the last part with kindness in her voice, but Damian is no fool. None of the teachers here like him past his academic work. What's not to love about an essay written so eloquently that there's nothing to correct? His grammar is impeccable, his use of vocabulary not only fluid but intellectual. But that's the extent of his worth. What is there to love about a boy who hurts other children, who holds himself with contempt, who loathes all other living creatures?

Damian stands, grabs his school work and settles the books into a cradle formed by his arms. He turns left as he exits the classroom, and joins the stream of students making their way to lunch. Someone bumps into him from behind, sending him stumbling forward a few steps. He turns, and two girls stand, wide eyed, scared, and staring at him.

"Watch it," he snarls, then almost flinches away from himself. What kind of person talks to people like that? He shuts his mouth and averts his eyes, walking past them with his head down, reminding himself that he's a monster in boy's clothing.

He opens his locker and places his books inside, grabbing the ones he needs for his next class instead. He shuts the door and makes his way to the cafeteria. He sits alone at a table where he used to bask in the welcome solitude, but now feels shameful from the lack of friends he has made. He chews his sandwich slowly, methodically.

Grayson is kind, smiles a lot and has an addicting personality. Todd's code of morals are screwed on tightly, even if he may have unethical methods for keeping the streets clean. He's loyal and protective, good qualities for a true friend. Timothy is intelligent and a brilliant planner. He's able to solve any problem that arises and he's fantastic at communicating with others. He will selflessly always be there when a friend is in need. In fact, all three of them would do the same. As annoying as Grayson, as screwed up as Todd, and as insufferable as Timothy is, they make far better friends than Damian could. The people they care about are important to them.

The people Damian cares about . . . he treats poorly. He doesn't know how to measure their importance, either. None of them seem to like him back, so why should he try to show that they're important? What makes him so undesirable? Damian is good looking, like Grayson and Todd. In movies Damian had watched with Grayson the attractive people had friends, and at Gotham Academy the same was true. Everyone had someone to sit with at lunch, Damian sees. Those who played instruments or soccer. Those who had boyfriends and girlfriends, even at such a young age, were surrounded by laughing faces. Was it because Damian was a monster, in and out of the League of Assassins; at his core? So much so they it radiated off of him in warning waves?

Other kids begin cleaning up their lunches. Damian had finished his quicker than most, having no one to distract him from eating efficiently. Talia always taught him to do so. Breaks for meals were brief, especially on days when Damian trained heavily.

Damian forces thoughts of his mother from his mind, and chokes back those that rose to take their place. He will not think about Talia. He will not think about Bruce. He will not think of any of his brothers.

Damian rises and puts the plate he ate his sandwich off of in the dish collection area. Other kids are there, doing the same, but they stand back, avoiding him as he walks up to the counter. Damian straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. He does not care that they're afraid of him. In fact, it's best if they are. It's best if they hate him and leave him alone because Damian does not want friends, nor does he need the annoying company of other humans his age.

He walks to his classes and settles in with an unexpected silence. The teachers are glad for the break of his aggression, like he stayed home from school today. It's not him that stayed home from school, it's his poor attitude to 'irrelevant' teachings, his aggravating interruptions, and the shameless insults he throws everyone's way. This Damian is different. He comes to learn, not speak, not fight. Damian goes to school to prove that he can follow instructions. Nothing more, nothing less. There's nothing else he can do, except continue to improve himself until he is the best version of himself, aligned with what his father desires.

Back at the manor the halls are quiet. Timothy hasn't been permitted to run around yet and he's been content to sleep his headaches away. Damian doesn't ask but he knows he gave the kid a concussion. He doesn't know if he feels bad or not. No, he most definitely doesn't. Or maybe he does because Bruce would prefer if he felt remorse?

He doesn't dwell on the issue. It only confuses him.

Damian does his homework diligently, researching extra information to embellish his essays. He reviews old material in math class to help him better understand the increasingly complex problems he's been encountering lately. He checks and double checks his science calculations, making sure each side of the equation is balanced and accurate. He has the periodic table memorized by now, but uses it as a tool anyways, as if he doesn't. A knock comes sometime later on his door. Damian looks over to see Pennyworth standing in the hall.

"Master Damian would you mind informing Master Bruce that dinner is ready?" Damian nods and hops off the bed, trying not to wince at the name of his father. Of Bruce. "He's in the Batcave, sir," the butler says.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian says as he sweeps past. He walks quickly, confidently downstairs to the Batcave and enters the same way. Bruce looks up from where he's jotting down notes onto a yellow legal pad.

"You're not allowed in the Batcave until further notice."

Damian narrows his eyes like he's about to say something cutting back, but he closes his mouth and swallows, as sadness washes over him, his expression relaxing. "I was just coming to tell you dinner is ready," Damian says quietly, emotionlessly, and he turns around before Bruce can respond, heading back up the two flights of stairs to his room. Bruce wouldn't apologize for the unnecessary hostility anyways. It's not like Damian hasn't had some, or most, of his outbursts be unnecessarily hostile before.

The boy flops onto his bed, unable to understand why a pit has opened up inside his chest. He's never felt anything like this before, but he's not dumb enough to not be able to recognize it as sadness. Still, he's never felt this kind of sadness. Not even when his mother died. Then again, he's never had anyone feel so . . . disappointed in him. He's never had anyone look at him the way Bruce does. And he's never had it affect him the way it is now.

Titus jumps gracefully onto the bed and curls up facing Damian. He rests his large head on the boy's hand, looking up at his master with an adorable expression of curiosity. Does the dog recognize sadness? Can he smell the dread, the loneliness, the exhaustion radiating off the boy?

Damian's stomach growls. "I have school work to do," he mumbles at it, and sits up. He grabs his binder and spreads out various worksheets and pencils. Titus moves to get out of his way, but Damian puts a hand out on the dog's flank, stroking him to let him know it's alright to stay. The boy once again attacks his work, drawing into the education because at this point it's all he has to occupy himself with.