Reckless
Childish
Irresponsible
Mistake
The words echoed through Damian’s head as he stared at the collection of weaponry in front of him. He could feel the steady trickle of blood leaving the wound on his arm and the mind numbing throbbing from what was going to be a rather large bruise on his cheek. If Grayson were here he would have made a comment about how he didn’t have to go to school for a few days, but Grayson wasn’t here. He was alone. He was alone and he was worse off than he’d ever been. Nothing made sense anymore, everything he knew to be true was off, skewing in random directions as though he were supposed to be able to keep up with it all. He should have been improving, all signs pointed towards him improving, the recent changes in his life should have ensured him getting better and better by the day. His father was back and he was now serving as Robin under The Batman rather than Nightwing, Richard has left though and when Richard left he’d been moved back into the manor which should have pleased him but it didn’t feel right. The manor was cold, there wasn’t enough sunlight, it was too big; not that he’d ever admit that out loud the manor was after all, his birthright and it would be silly not to like it. The manor had been warm when Richard was there; now Richard was gone, he was alone, and it was cold.
The cut on his arm needed a stitch, three to be exact but he wasn’t going to die without them and that was enough to keep him on the mat staring at the weapons. He was weak. His grandfather would have been ashamed of him, probably even more so than his father currently was. He needed to train to get stronger, to be stronger, because he was weak. He was weak and he needed to fix that, he could fix that by training. It hurt though, he didn’t want to train because it hurt and it hurt because he was weak. Damian continued to allow his mind to run through the constant circle of how weak he was and how to fix it, it didn’t matter anyways, he was benched and likely wouldn’t be allowed back as Robin anytime soon, maybe not ever.
His eyes lowered from the weapons to the mat as a drop of blood splashed onto it. Reasonably he knew it wasn’t actually that loud but the dripping seemed to echo through the cave before bouncing around in his head.
Damian tore his eyes away, reaching out for a bo staff, his least favorite weapon, it was too heavy in his head, unbalanced. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it, pulling it toward him and allowing it to rest at his side. His entire body felt uneven now, heavy, unbalanced.
If Drake could do it why couldn’t he? Was didn’t it feel right? The cut on his arm hurt, aggravated by the motions as he fought the dummy in front of him. He was favoring his injured side, it was a weakness, it was obvious, his grandfather would be furious. His mother would have exploited it. He pushed harder.
The thought was cut off by the sound of someone entering the cave. Rolling back his shoulders he continued to hold the staff, gripping it even tighter as he stared at the dummy, forcing himself not to turn toward the noise. “If you’ve come back to lecture me more I assure you I understood the first time.”
