Realities: Damian Wayne One-shots

Unworthy

Caution, self harm and suicide attempt warning.

Another of shyshy1798 ideas, just that I changed it a bit.

If any of you have any ideas you can always put them in here >>

Unworthy.

That word was on Damian's head repeating over and over.

But it was true.

He was sitting on his room, in the floor, at the corner with a bloody blade on his hands. He didn't even cared to take away his Robin uniform, Alfred must be angry...

Damian was crying, like a child would do. If his mother could see him...no, he was such a disgrace.

He was unworthy to be an Al Ghul, unworthy to be a Wayne, unworthy to be Robin.

So he cut.

He did it again, he had killed a man who was trying to rape a woman.

He didn't mean to, he just...
Whatever, it didn't mattered anymore.

So he cut.

Father was angry at him, he had yelled at Damian for killing the man. It seems that Damian's only good for being an assassin, just like the Al Ghul had thought him. He was unworthy to be Robin, unworthy to be a Wayne, unworthy to be his father's son.

And he cut a little deeper.

But still...he wasn't an Al Ghul anymore, his mother had disowned him, banned him from the Al Ghul house, he was unworthy to be the heir to the league, unworthy to be his grandfather's heir, or his mother's son.

Another deep cut.

So if he wasn't and Al Ghul or a Wayne, what was he? He was Damian.

But who was Damian?

Just an unworthy child.

A nobody.

He cut too many times.

He lost the count.

His arms were full of blood, not that he cared, nobody did actually. He was just a demon brat, his father hadn't even chosen him.

But he couldn't blame father for it, it's not like he would ever had chosen himself either actually.

Everything seemed like it was too much, the glare of his father after he killed the man, the guilty feeling he had after he realized what he had done.

The realization that he was no better than Thalia or Ras.

So he cried and cut, he cut himself more than he had on his entire life.

His window was open. It was already dark, but then he heard something entering to his room.

Something small.

A little Robin.

The Robin stood on his right hand, the one with the blade on it.

He stopped cutting.

He realized it had been almost an hour since he started crying on his room. And about 29 minutes since he took his blade.

It was too much...it wasn't ok, he...he was not okay.

He looked at his arms.

Crap.

His blade felt to the floor making a metallic noise.