Damian hated this. He hated everything about being Bruce Wayne's son. He'd seen the newspapers, the headlines, the constant cameras in his face, the lack of personal space. It was so different from the League of Assassins, which wasn't uneventful either, but it was different. Damian could remember the quiet streams he'd hang around after his training with Mother, the ponds of colorful coy fish, the stars twinkling against the dark sky- a stark contrast from the smoke ridden sky of Gotham, the murky sewers, the constant stench of alcohol, but most of all the people. They were awful. He'd been lectured by Father atleast twenty times since he arrived in Gotham for attacking the paparazzi who were always following him around. It was irritating and overwhelming. Damian didn't fit in like his other "siblings". He didn't belong here.

Damian peeks around your shoulder from where he sat in the shiny black limo, glancing out through the window at what had to be around two hundred people. With big, flashing cameras. He watches Grayson and Father step out of the car in front of him, waving and smiling like imbeciles. He almost gags at the female attention that seems to shift to them instantly as they walk up the stairs to the expensive looking mansion and disappear through the doors where the gala Father had forced him to go was being hosted. He feels the car he was sitting in come to a stop, his stomach sinking with dread. He can already see the blinding cameras pointed at the door to the car he was in, he can hear people yelling. Despite the small gate-like blockade that paved the path through the crowd, Damian couldn't help but feel unsafe. He'd had a number of uncomfortable encounters with these people whether it was yelling at him, touching him, or asking him weird questions. He can feel his pulse quicken as someone opens the door and the muffled yells get louder, his gaze flicking over to you with an unsure look. You'd never seemed as media trained as the others. He suddenly looks a lot less like a miniature demon and more like a scared ten year old.

The moment Damian exits the car he regrets it. How did anyone live like this? He wasn't sure if it was because of the anxiousness in his chest or the bright lights directed at him but before he realizes it he's grabbing hold of your hand.

"It's good for the family image Father wants."

He manages the excuse in a small voice.