Chapter Text
Damian Al Ghul Wayne has many titles
Son of the bat
Demon heir
Assassin
And one which he never heard himself but people talk and call him,
Beautiful
His lashes were absurdly long framing sharp Lazarus green eyes which were once icey blue, his hair which he inherited from his mother was dark brown and framed his face so perfectly with or without gel, carried the sort of delicate symmetry painters dreamed of, all high cheekbones and elegant lines, the kind that belonged in oil portraits.
When he first arrived a year ago, Bruce enrolled Damian in Gotham academy under a very firm condition:
“Try to blend in.”
Damian scoffed “I will tolerate their presence.”
Which was… close enough.
The school had a strict “no pets” policy.
The school did not anticipate Damian Wayne.
It began with birds. sparrows lined the fence near the front gate. He didn't bat an eye at it, it was normal since it use to happen in Nanda Parbat.
On Damian’s very first day, the whispers started immediately.
Not because he spoke (he didn’t).
Not because he smiled (he absolutely did not).
But because he was unfairly pretty.
Children noticed before adults ever did.
They stared openly.
Girls whispered.
Boys whispered.
Several kids forgot how to walk properly.
Damian took his seat, spine straight, hands folded, expression permanently unimpressed.
He always felt eyes on him of course he ignores. Damian assumed this was because they were intimidated by his superior intellect.
Damian took the empty seat by the window.
The sunlight hit him directly. Which was extremely rude of the sun.
When the roll call began it was as if his class never heard when someone responded to it. Half the class jolted like they’d been tased, he noticed how they wrote on their notebooks even though the class didn't even start, some even passing notes. Damian assumed they were taking notes incorrectly. He was slightly offended to be here.
Recess,
Damian sat alone outside because he chose to, because people were inefficient.
A pigeon appeared next to him, A squirrel sat on the bench beside him.
Damian shared the bread of his sandwich.
“Do not become dependent.”
The pigeon cooed.
Damian assumed it understood.
Walking in his class after recess he started to notice some concerning incidents.First, A girl dropped her pencil.
Damian picked it up and handed it to her.
“Your coordination is lacking.”
She stared at him like he’d just proposed marriage.
“T-Thank you.” Damian nodded once.
Polite.
Efficient.
Moved on.
He did not notice her friends violently shaking her.
Second, A boy leaned too far back in his chair and began to fall.Damian caught the chair one-handed.“Sit properly.” The boy nodded like Damian was his new god. Damian released the chair.
Problem solved.
Rumors formed before the last period.
Damian was a fairy prince.
Damian talked to animals.
Damian was cursed.
Damian was blessed.
Damian was adopted by nature itself.
Damian was definitely not normal.
Damian heard none of these.
He was busy correcting the teacher’s math.
School was a terrible idea and it was idiotic that he was even here. His classmates were incompetent, useless and unusually clumsy.
At the end of the day, Bruce picked him up.
Damian got into the car.
Bruce waited, “Well?”
Damian considered.
“No one attempted to kill me.” Bruce nodded. “Good.”
“…There were many animals.”
Bruce fought a smile.
“…Anything else?” Damian stared out the window. "It appears that the youth of Gotham suffer from poor balance and weak motor skills.”
Bruce decided not to unpack that.
There was one certain incident which stood out the most. The choir incident was the first time people started using the word weird in a different way.
Not bad-weird.
Not scary-weird.
Just…
What did we just witness weird.
It happened during music class. Once a week, Damian’s class walked to the small auditorium for choir practice. The room smelled faintly of old wood and dust, rows of risers, A slightly out-of-tune piano, A teacher who was very tired but very passionate. Damian did not care about singing. He attended because attendance was mandatory. He stood in the back row, his arms at his sides, expression neutral.They were practicing a simple warm-up.
Long notes, soft volume. Nothing impressive.
Damian did not sing. At least, not intentionally.
He breathed.
That was it.
Slow.
Controlled.
In through the nose, Out through the mouth.
The kind of breathing drilled into him during meditation. A sound happened.
Not loud, not even fully formed as a note, just a soft hum. Low and barely audible.
Damian did not notice it. He was counting beats with the others in his mind.
Three things happened almost at once.
A bird landed on the open window ledge, then another and another.
Someone in the front row faltered mid-note, the teacher’s hands slowed and Damian kept breathing. The hum continued.
The birds did not make noise, they did not flap wildly, they simply sat listening to the soft hum of the young boy. A squirrel appeared on the outer ledge.No one saw it climb,it simply came with its tail curled around its feet, watching.
A rabbit appeared at the open doorway, no one knew how it got inside, it sat with its ears up without moving further in. A butterfly drifted in through the open window soon it's friends came in different colours of yellow, white and pale blue. They fluttered lazily around him.
Soon silence fell.
Damian stopped humming because the counting was done.
The teacher stared at the birds.
Then at Damian.
Then at the birds again.
“…Let’s take five.”
Now a year later, The rumors had evolved.
First month: "He’s scary.", "He’s rich.", "He’s so pretty"
Second month: "It's like he talks to animals.", and whenever pigeons perched on windowsills outside a classroom. "Oh I guess Damian's in there", "he's like a prince"
By mid-year: "He’s nice! Hm? No I haven't talked to him", "Don’t sneak up on him. He hates that.", "You can try to confess but he never accepts", "isn't he so pretty?"
Damian did not dwell on emotions.
But tactically.
The time a boy tripped in the hallway and Damian caught him without looking.
The time a girl offered to share her umbrella.
The time someone left a small paper crane on his desk and ran away.
The time a bird died after hitting a window and Damian buried it behind the gym.
He did not tell anyone about that one.
None of these moments were important.
They simply existed.
And yet.
If someone else had been keeping track.
They might have noticed patterns.
Damian always caught people before they fell.
Damian never stepped away from someone offering help.
Damian kept the paper crane.
Damian buried the bird.
Not because he had to.
Not because he was told to.
But because something in him quietly insisted it was correct.
Damian still sat alone.
But he was never lonely.
Birds on the windowsill.
Cats in the courtyard.
Quiet classmates who shared umbrellas.
A strange, gentle kingdom.
Damian Wayne.
Deadly.
Beautiful.
Unimpressed.
A school-going Disney princess with a sword hidden in his backpack.