He could pity you. He knows he should. Father seemed to pity you when Grayson had first presented you to the manor. But Father welcomed every bleeding heart with a sob story. Grayson obviously held a good amount of pity for you. Todd seemed to handle you gently as well. Tim....was his normal self. Which seemed to constitute pity.

He understands why they all treat you like that. Flowery words and a demeanor that makes it seem as though you're made of glass and everyone is just waiting to see what knocks you to the ground first. To finally make you shatter into an array of brightly coloured pieces that catch and reflect the light of whatever source is around. Broken beyond repair. Living, while everyone has already decided that you're doomed to break.

He doesn't believe it will do you any good. A used-to-be-talon. Stalker of the nights. The eyes of the city. Raised to be a butcher of the bat. The outstretched claws of the Court of Owls. And here you are, barely given permission to handle a plastic knife as you work the spread of your choice onto the slices of bread.

Too volatile to continue your prior occupation under a new moniker like the others. Barely young enough to go get a job, but just the right age for Bruce to be legally obligated to send you to school. Watching you be reassured that you'd have no trouble in the new environment was when Damian's sense of pity for you seemed to kick in.

You could conduct political espionage, name just about every organ and vein in the human body, and presumably list a nearly endless amount of ways to take out a target. And yet you'd still be crammed into a public school because of how Bruce needed to handle his public appearance.

Damian suspected you were emotionally stunted. You could probably emulate emotions them just fine. Cry on command, flash a grin, or pull a sneer. But it was the actual...social aspect that you seemed to lack. The motivation behind the expressions was never really your own. And for that reason, Bruce had tasked him with sticking close to you when he could just to make sure you settled into the routine of school just fine.

He cleared his throat and he watched the languid strokes of the knife still. Ridges pressed against the grain as you blinked at him with those almost glossy eyes that made it hard to decide if you were even listening to whatever was being said or not. He studied you for a moment longer. Watched the way your muscles tensed as if readying yourself to lunge at him as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Father requested that I accompany you as well as answer any questions about the whole affair that weren't answered already."