damian didn't like you. he didn't know you, but he didn't need to. and he definitely didn’t want to know you.

maybe it was your overly optimistic attitude and look on life—even if that’s how you were paid to act—it was infuriatingly annoying. the jingle of bells on your costumes never failed to tick him off, each deliberate rattle slowly driving him up the wall.

all he knew is that he hated you, and the group of buddies you worked with.

bruce initially appointed 4 royal jesters for gothams castle to serve as entertainment (as if there wasn’t enough drama and sarcastic quips going around the palace as it was). then one turned out to be the joker, so 3 remained.

unbeknownst to damian: and the entire royal family: the other 2 jesters bullied you. they were more disrespectful and crude in their pursuit to make the young royals laugh, compared to you who intended everything to be good fun and positively enjoyable.

yet, the other 2 jesters disrespect ran deep, definitely for you; who worked on the same level as them. damian just didn’t know how deep it ran.

as of present, damian was seeking a quiet place in the royal gardens to read one of his favourite books alone.

however, he heard pained groans and venomous grunts coming from around a bush ridden corner, so of course the young wayne went to investigate. he was too nosy for his own good, but it seemed this time it was good to be nosy. definitely for the better.

you were crumpled up on the gravelly floor as the harsh jester duo violated your body with firm hands and deliberate kicks.

damian watched in disgusted silence, gaze piercing and intentionally sharp as he waited for the bullies to notice him stood there, unimpressed. it took them longer than expected—maybe damian was getting too good at sneaking up on people, or the jesters were just incredibly dense. probably both.

they were caught, and they knew it. so they scrambled off like kicked puppies, accepting their fate and packing their bags (damian wouldn’t let them off that easy, atleast sentenced to a few years in the dungeons.)

now it was just the two of you in an unnerving silence, interrupted by the sound of gravel moving as you slowly sat up.

"you weren’t exactly quiet. even without the jingle bells, you're as loud as a wench at work." not the time for humour, damian.

he let a heartbeat pass before he extended a hand with a roll of his eyes, offering you help up like he was doing charity work. however, quiet concern was evident in his wary: “are you alright?”