Chapter Text
Damian only had one purpose.
He was born to submit, and he was born to be of use. Damian was meant to serve, and that was it. If his Grandfather wanted Damian to do something, Damian did it.
No matter what it took.
And that was it. Damian served, Damian was a tool, and Damian obeyed. He didn’t care what happened to him as long as he won. As long as his Grandfather was pleased. After all, that was all that matters. It was his purpose.
That’s why Damian did not complain as he was led down the hallway. He did not complain about being separated from his mother, or about being sold. He didn’t even think about being upset. Because it was not his place. Feeling was not his purpose. Damian’s purpose was to serve.
And that was what he was doing. His Grandfather needed money to pay off debt, and he was selling Damian. Damian was proud to be helping his Grandfather. After all, it was what he was meant to do.
Once Damian was gone, he would be replaced as Ra’s tool by someone else, and he was fine with that. He was replaceable, disposable. He knew that very well.
So, being able to serve in any way he could was a great honor. And if that meant being sold then Damian would obey happily. It was what he was made to do. To obey.
Damian held his head high as he approached the grand door leading outside. He needed to look presentable, after all. It would not do if he looked anything but. His buyers might decide they didn’t want him if he wasn’t in perfect condition, and that would just not do. If Damian wasn’t sold, then he would have failed to serve, and then what would he even be for? Because if Damian could not even fulfill his purpose, then what was his use? He would have none. He knew that.
So, Damian did not think about anything else but pleasing as the doors were opened for them, and Damian followed his Grandfather and mother out to where his buyers were waiting.
The sun hurt his eyes, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Pain was only a figment of the mine. A tool does not care for pain, after all. Pain was not part of his purpose, and Damian needed to fulfill it no matter the obstacles. So, Damian ignored it in favor of looking at his buyer.
His Father, he knew.
But that did not matter. It didn’t matter that they had the same blood flowing through them. All that mattered was that Damian would soon be his, and Damian would submit to him just as he had submitted to his Grandfather. Damian’s purpose was to serve, and that did not change just because of family relations.
There was a jet sitting in front of the Nanda Parbat, and two men standing in front.
The first thing that Damian noted was that his father was just as his mother had described.
When Damian was young- before he fully understood that he was a tool, and he was disposable- he would huddle up with his mother and ask him about his father.
And he looked just like how Mother had described him. He was an absolute tank . He was tall and incredibly muscular. He was clutching a briefcase in his right hand. A complete contrast to Damian’s small form. Damian had his father’s jet black hair, yet unlike his own green eyes his father had icy blue eyes.
And they were staring straight at him.
Damian moved his gaze to the second man as he felt his father examine him with those warm blue eyes. His father looked at him as if he were a shiny new gemstone, pure wonder in his eyes.
Yet, even with that his father kept his face impassive, almost emotionless.
But Damian’s attention had moved. The second man had black hair and blue eyes, just as his father. That was where the resemblance ended, however. If Damian thought his father was a tank, then this man was the whole darn army . He had his hair neatly slicked back, except one piece that curled in the front.
“Bruce Wayne,” Ra’s greeted. “I trust my servants have treated you well?”
“Ra’s” Bruce greeted, not taking his eyes off of Damian. “I have your money. Now give me my son.”
“Tisk Tisk, have you forgotten your manners?” Despite that, Ra’s lifted a hand from underneath his royal robes, and motioned for his servants to retrieve the briefcase from his Father. “You will get the thing when I get my money.”
His father clenched his jaw. “The thing is my son.”
He allowed a servant to take the briefcase from his grasp, and the servant brought it to Talia.
“If that’s what you insist on calling it, then so be it.” Ra’s spoke, turning to face his daughter. “Talia, take the case, and count the money.”
“Yes, Father.” Talia tried to catch Bruce’s attention before she left, yet he was too busy admiring Damian.
“Go to your Father, Damian.” Ra’s ordered. Damian did not waste a second, and obediently made his way towards his Father. Damian realized that, as soon as he made his way to his father, he would no longer be under Ra’s al Ghoul’s orders. He will serve his father from now on. He will give his life to serve and obey his Father, no matter what.
Damian stopped in front of his father, and he was seconds away from bowing to his new master when his father placed two large hands on Damian’s shoulders as if to convince himself that Damian was
real
.
To Damian’s absolute astonishment, he kneeled down so he could look Damian in the eyes. Such respect was only reserved for leaders and important people. Damian could not begin to fathom why his father had done it. Perhaps he had forgotten who he was talking to?
For a moment, Bruce looked at Damian with a look that he couldn't quite comprehend. A look that said that Damian was the more
precious
and valuable thing in the world.
“Hello, Damian. My name is Bruce Wayne. I am your father, and I've missed you.”
Missed me?
Damian thought.
Has he seen me before?
But even though he thought that, he didn’t voice it. It is unacceptable to speak without permission.
Especially
to his master. Such disrespect could get him punished, and he was unsure if his father’s punishments would be as lenient as they were here, at the Nanda Parbat. Here, Damian was shown grace by being revived via Lazurus pit every time he was too weak to endure his full punishment. He would be sent to finish the rest of his punishment once he was revived, and then to the punishment for failing. After all, it was what he deserved for embarrassing the al Ghoul name by showing such weakness.
Damian was not going to assume that his Father would show him such niceties.
However, his father must have seen the question in his eyes - Damian mentally scolded himself for allowing himself to reveal his thoughts through his eyes - because he cracked a small smile on his otherwise stony face.
“I’ll explain on the plane, okay?” He promised, and Damian was barely able to keep a confused expression off his face.
Because such open emotion without permission is almost as disrespectful as speaking without permission.
Both could get you killed. Damian was not afraid of death, having faced it more times than he could count, and he was fully aware that one day when his father was bored with him he would have Damian killed and replaced. Because that's what Damian was, replaceable just as any good servant was.
Bruce stood, and ushered Damian into the plane, mumbling a soft ‘careful’ as Damian ascended the stairs, his father following closely behind him. The other man who was there was behind his father.
When Damian stepped into the plane, he took in the large and expensive inside. It was much different than his Grandfather's style of gold and green. Instead, the plane was decorated in nude tones, grays and creams.
“Close the door, Clark?” Bruce asked, and the other man - Clark- gave a quick ‘Of course’ and pressed a button.
With a loud hiss, the stairs lifted, and closed.
Before Damian had time to do so much as move to stand behind his father, in an appropriate place for a servant, his father turned to look at him once more. The stony mask was gone from his face, leaving only the look he had given Damian earlier. A look of pure adoration and
love
.
But Damian must be reading the expression wrong if that's what he saw. Because servants didn’t get looked at with
love
. Damian was unworthy of it.
“Let's get you home, yeah? I just
know
my other children are going to
love
you.”