Fic: Lost In The Snow
Fandom: DCU
Claim: Damian Wayne
Characters/Pairing: Damian Wayne, minor hinted Dick/Damian.
Prompt: Cold
Summary: Damian felt like the virgin white snow...
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Damian pressed his fingers against the fogged glass. He withdraw them moments later as the chill bit them, numbing them, but his eyes never strayed from the flakes fluttering in soft cyclones to the ground, weaving a blanket of virgin white snow.
Snow.
He’d been to a few places with it, been tutored in its formation and forced to survive on the frosted peaks of mountains but Damian had never actually witnessed the action of snowing.
He felt like a ridiculous child from a Disney film Grayson had made him watched. The boy had looked out the window with such a pathetic expression his insides had squirmed and he’d try to leave. Try being the key word. Grayson would usually have him pinned with an arm or he’d be unable to put aside his curiosity to see how the story would end.
What were these people doing to him? He - Damian Al Ghul - felt less and less real, like a Spector shut behind bars and that… left him without direction.
Because he was no longer Grayson’s Robin and he was barely his Father’s. Pennyworth, well, he wasn’t sure what the man thought of him. And his Mother was an avenue long crumbled to dust.
So where did that leave him?
Damian felt like the virgin white snow, picture perfect now. But not forever, soon to be stained and tainted with unworthiness. Left black and unbeautiful. A shattered image of could have been captured in an icy barren wasteland.
He shivered and roped himself tighter in Dick’s Hudson hoodie, nipped from the man’s suitcase before he had returned to the ‘big apple’. Though what was apple shaped about New York he did not understand.
Dick probably would have laughed and his eyes shimmer with loving amusement but with a soft voice explaining.
If he closed his eyes, his ears could make out the fading echoes of his Batman’s voice, slowly lost in the gloom of the dark carpets and mahogany panels. Damian rather thought he was beginning to despise it, historical significance be damned.
And so the remained for many hours, alone with only silence and falling snow for solemn copany to the unshed tears of sorrow.
Tears for the circus boy.