Fight or Flight? : A Damian Wayne Book

>Chapter 8<

Here's Ch.8. Expect some major fighting between father and son...

Damian glared at Marshall, his eyes hot with anger, but hidden under the dark green mask he wore to protect his identity. With the katana at the bully's throat, and using his normal name, the young Bird threatened coldly, "If you ever intimidate or bother Damian Wayne again, I swear I will kill you, and it will be mercilessly." Marshall nodded vigorously, then disappeared, as soon as Damian let down his katana. The threat, he hoped, would be enough to stop the problem. Even though he hated letting the bully run free, the young Bird was subjected to his father's rules, and that meant not going with his first instinct to kill at first sight. As Damian watched Marshall run off scared like a little girl, he smirked, then disappeared into the growing shadows.

When he returned to the Manor, he saw Jason smoking on the back porch, his Red Hood helmet under his arm. Remembering how he had abandoned him during their outing, Damian stalked up to Jason, and forced the cigarette out of his mouth with a punch to the gut. The cigarette dropped onto the porch, and just luckily, a chilling to the bone wind blew, striking out the smoky paper in an instant. Jason, who hadn't really been bother by the punch to the gut, because he was much stronger, asked with a hard edge, "What was that for?" Damian growled, "You left me to take your fall, during our outing. Father was furious." Jason replied, "At least he bothered to show up to your killing streak. Didn't take much for him to do that, even though he missed when that crowbar left its bloody, rusty self down on me." "You are an imbecile, Todd.", Damian declared, as he stomped away, into the house, stepping on the cigarette butt, releasing and loosening some ash. 

Once inside, he went up the stairs to his room, and shut the door. Seeing both Alfred and Titus on his bed, Damian went over, and sat down. Alfred got up, and meowed loudly, rubbing his head against the Bird's arm. Titus lifted his head for a brief second, as he looked at Damian, then laid his head back down, and closed his eyes. The raven haired teen removed his green mask, and laid it on the table beside his bed, then fell backwards, and landed on his back, as he continued to stroke Alfred. Damian said, "Who do they think I am, anyway? A fool? I swear at some point, I will make everyone pay, in my own way. Father will eventually see that I am the best Robin." Alfred moved up from where he was under Damian's calming hand, and moved onto his stomach, then turned around, and laid down. Picking up Alfred gently, Damian set him on his pillow, then got off the bed. He removed the black and yellow cloak from around his shoulders, and laid it very carefully, then slipped out of his colorful uniform, and changed into something more drab and less existent, or in his case, a pair of warm, black leggings and a sweatshirt to match. The symbol on the sweatshirt was the Nightwing symbol, given to his by the Bird himself as a birthday present, when his own father had missed his first birthday at the Manor and in Gotham.

Hearing a knock at the door, Damian retorted, knowing who it was, "I do not want you coming in here, Grayson! STAY OUT!!!" The door opened anyway, and Damian was surprised to find that it wasn't Dick, but Bruce at the door, and even so, he didn't flinch. Bruce asked stepping into the room, "Damian, are you okay? I heard about earlier with that boy named Marshall. Is that true? Was he pushing you around and teasing you?" The young teen rolled his eyes, and said, "Great. Not like you are anyone better that I want to discuss things with." "Damian, if someone was trying to harm you, you have to tell me.", Bruce insisted. Damian replied coldly, "Nothing wrong happened, Father. I am fine. Leave me alone. Besides, I am far more knowledgeable on how to defend myself against some boneheaded, mindless fool, or did you forget that I am an al Ghul?" "You are also a Wayne, Damian, and that means you are my son, as much as you are your mother's, and as much as you belong to the League of Assassins. Even though you were raised to never back down or show weakness, you don't have to live like that anymore. It is perfectly okay to let your emotions give in and it is perfectly okay, if not more human, to ask for help when you need it." "I do NOT need help. I can handle everything fine, all on my own. Emotions cloud judgment, and asking for help, is for weak-minded drivels who cannot handle anything without it. Why can you and everyone else not get that?", Damian sneered rashly and harshly. Bruce replied, not even listening, "You need an intervention. Maybe if I sent you back to those mountains, back to your mother, she could knock some sense into you, and you could learn to respect your elders!" "Damian growled, "It would be an absolute pleasure going back to the League. At least there, I am not subjected to act as you do with the enemy." The two exchanged hard glares, then Bruce left the room, and Damian crossed his arms angrily, when the door shut with a bang. 

As the door slammed shut, Titus lifted his head, and his ears, then looked at Damian. The young teen scratched the huge dog's ear, and mumbled, "He does not need to defend me. I can defend myself." Looking at Titus, Damian instructed, "If Father tries to get in here tonight, you are to attack him. I do not want him anywhere near my life. What is my business, is my business, and he should not be shoving that bulge of a nose into it." Titus barked, then went up to the door, and laid in front of it. Sliding under the covers, Damian flicked off the light on the nightstand next to the bed, the one holding his green Robin mask, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out, and began dreaming of how nicely he knew his revenge plan was going to work. After all, an al Ghul could outsmart anyone. His mother had done so with his father, and look what became because of how intelligent she had been, and still was. He became existent. He was the weapon, trained by the League of Assassins, to be perfect and deadly.