FLASHBACK CHAPTER
He walked swiftly through the Dark streets, his dark suit billowing around him.
He didn't care for a moment where his feet would take him, as long as he got somewhere, as long as he was alone.
Angrily, he shoved a child out of his way that had been blocking his path. Another that had seen him coming jumped out of his way. The people stared at him as he went. He glared at every single one of them.
To think, he was finally able to come home and have a relaxing break at the Manor. Imagine his surprise when Damian suddenly had found him, of all people, awaiting his presence. Apparently, his parents had just happened to feel like inviting the man over for dinner.
Hawkmoth for a Christmas present. Oh joy.
He stared coldly at the group of giggling girls trailing after him. In effect, they only giggled harder (if that was even possible), making him want to pull all his hair out and curse them all to death.
"He's in one of his moods again," he heard a couple of people whisper as he passed. He would probably have killed anyone that dared cross his path at that moment. They ought know not to bother him when he was angry.
The next thing he knew he was trudging past rows of shelves. The smell of old books was almost unbearable, but it was quiet here and to his relief, The librarian wouldn't allow his blasted 'fan girls' inside due to their constant giggling. So really, he could care less about the disgusting smell.
He felt his legs slowly collapsing, felt his body slipping to the ground. Soon he was seated, one leg stretched carelessly on the floor and the other one bended. He banged his head against the shelf several times to forget the images that kept replaying in his mind, but to no avail.
He couldn't forget... Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terribly dressed face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring.
He had tortured a few citizens while Damian was forced to watch, unable to look away. Damian could still hear their desperate screams in his ears, could still smell the stench of their dirty blood. The Hawkmoth hadn't killed them until they were so broken, so hurt, that they begged for it – for death – anything to relieve them of the pain.
He could still remember the way his skin had crawled as he somehow managed to stare back at those pitiless red eyes. The eyes of a monster.
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"He wanted to make me his heir, Dupain Cheng, and he didn't want Master Fu to know. He wanted Master Fu to believe I was just a pawn."
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"Ow!" Someone tripped and landed across his legs with a loud thud, snapping him out of his thoughts. "What the fuck!"
The books she was carrying were scattered everywhere. Her bushy brown locks were spread all over the floor. She cursed under her breath and tried to stand with her palms flat on the ground but since she was on top of his legs, Damian kneed her hard on the stomach, causing her to fall down again.
"Damian!" She groaned in pain.
"You can hardly blame me for putting you in your place, can you fool?" he answered lazily, staring at her as she clutched her stomach. "People like you belong on the floor."
Flashes of the screaming people writhing on the cellar floor appeared in his mind again. He rubbed his forehead roughly.
"Is that why you're here too, then?" he heard her say in an angry tone. She tried to get up again and this time, he didn't stop her. She sat beside him and winced, holding her right ankle gently. "Now look what you've done." She winced again.
"I suppose you want me to help you now?"
Dupain Cheng looked like she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were focused on her right ankle instead. She was examining it for damage, poking it gently with her hand. She didn't even notice that Damian could see under her skirt.
"Nice view."
She looked at him in confusion, then she covered herself at once and glared at him. He merely raised an eyebrow.
"Your wand's over there, you know." He didn't bother to help her get it, though it was only a few feet away from him. He fought to stay as composed as possible, his cold front threatening to break down. The disturbing images keep flashing in his mind.
"Alright, alright," she said. Her hand grabbed a shelf and with all her strength she lifted herself up. Again, she winced, bit her lower lip in pain. Damian watched in a daze as she limped to her wand carefully. After what felt like forever, she finally reached it, and the books levitated seconds later. She turned to leave.
"What?" she asked in annoyance, her face twisted into a sort of expression that showed she regretted asking.
"Just go away, will you? I'm not in the mood." He tried to sound indifferent, but his voice cracked.
"You're sulking."
"I am not!" he groaned and looked away.
"Yes, you are," she said, as a matter-of-fact. Her silly know-it-all demeanor irked him once again. "I could have slapped you, you know, for tripping me. If it wasn't for the fact that you're so...gloomy." She frowned at him.
"You know what, do what you want." He banged his head on the bookshelf again and looked at the ceiling, determined to ignore her. "I don't fucking care."
She sighed deeply.
He heard her start to limp away again. Yeah, that's right baker's daughter, keep limping.
"If it's about your girlfriend, I can help," said her irritating voice once more.
He rolled his eyes at the thought of talking to Dupain Cheng about relationship problems. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to get him to talk, (Merlin knew why) and she wasn't going to go away. She wasn't going to make this easy for him and just leave.
"I sure wish it was that simple," he answered her tiredly, eyes still focused on the ceiling.
"Oh, so it's about your parents?"
He shrugged.
"Hawkmoth then?"
He winced at how bravely she'd said his name. His face darkened a little. "Look, it's none of your business," he retorted coldly. "Are you done interrogating me?"
She didn't answer, merely stared at him with such intensity, almost as if she was trying to search for something in his eyes... something... he had no idea what.
For a long time they didn't speak. But even so he could still feel her eyes lingering on him.
She was always giving him knowing looks these days. Master Fu had the same look. It was unnerving. What was their problem?
"Fine, keep sulking then," she said haughtily. She started limping away again. "I was only trying to help."
Only trying to help? He doubted it. He balled his fists in anger.
What did she know? She wasn't the one being forced to continue the legacy of the Hawkmoth here. She wasn't the one who had his paths laid out for him, without being given the opportunity to choose or to say no. She wasn't the one being forced to acknowledge someone else's beliefs, while at the same time, forced to ignore his own.
She didn't know anything.
He suddenly found himself standing up in anger and slamming her to the bookshelf before he could stop himself. She almost screamed but he covered her mouth with his hand just in time.
The levitating books fell down again.
He hated her, how she was so sure that she could easily help him with all this mess, as if everything was so fucking simple.
Everybody thought it was simple. They kept telling him he should just be honored and happy about it, that he should be grateful that the Hawkmoth chose him above everyone else. The voices and the mixed screams he kept hearing in his head were driving him mad.
He didn't want any of it. He didn't want to be a fucking heir. And yes, he was scared. To hell with pride. He was so fucking scared.
But he mustn't let them know.
"I don't need your help!" he huffed loudly, making her jump.
He was this close to taking his anger out on her or strangling her to death. She must've felt it with the way his body was pressed hard against hers, preventing any means of escape, or the way his voice sounded more menacing, more murderous than ever, or the way he was crushing her small wrists brutally in his hands.
She almost looked scared, almost, he even felt her shiver but the determination in her eyes was far more evident.
There was something about the way she was looking at him, as if she somehow knew he wasn't really going to hurt her.
.
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"But I do, too." Her voice was soft and mild, and he found himself relaxing at the sound.
"What?" he whispered faintly.
"Believe in you."
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"Stop staring at me like—like that!" He had nearly forgotten where he was and almost shouted in her face.
He felt a growing need to hurt her, to gouge her eyes out and make sure she never looked at him that way again. She shut her eyes tight when he raised his fist. He wanted to hit her, he really did.
Go on, Damian. Hit her.
She was nothing but a fool. She deserved to suffer. She deserved all the pain. Just like all those low life creatures now disposed of deserved such morbid deaths. Don't be a coward Damian. Hit her...
For a moment, he imagined it was Dupain Cheng who was tortured and mutilated mercilessly in front of him, that it was Dupain Cheng who staring back at him instead of those nameless faces.
Then he wondered if she would scream.
And if she did, would he even want to hear it?
His fist trembled. He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He had every chance to hit her, to break her face and destroy her determination, to show her she was nothing... nothing but filth. Just like how the Hawkmoth had shown them. His mind was screaming at him to do it.
He had every chance.
.
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"You're still there somewhere! I know you are!"
.
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The truth, it came crashing down on him like a bucket of cold water, drenching his every being, shaking him to the core.
He couldn't hit her.
He couldn't.
He wasn't strong enough... wasn't heartless enough.
His father would have been ashamed of him, the Hawkmoth would have laughed at his weakness.
Unconsciously, he leaned his head on top of hers.
Why did he feel so relieved, then? Why did he feel like a weight had been lifted off his chest?
"It's alright," he heard her say in a strangely soothing voice. She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, shocking him, as if they were close, as if they were friends... and Damian suddenly felt the comfort he'd been craving for a long time. "You're alright."
Her words made him want to believe her. She managed to calm him down with her embrace. It was confusing, to suddenly find an ounce of solace in the most unlikely person. She was just so warm.
He didn't want to let go of this warmth.
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"Say it again."
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"Damian?" He looked at her again, touched her cheeks to make sure she was real. Her, his source of warmth.
Then all of it was a blur. He remembered lifting her to his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes, his arm wrapped around her thighs to keep her steady. He remembered ignoring her as she pounded at his back and kicked his chest and how she kept struggling and screaming like some mad person, ready to bite his head off. He remembered the murderous glares of his 'fan girls' as he left the Library with her on his shoulder. He remembered tossing her to the bed of the Hospital and healing her ankle himself when he couldn't find the doctor anywhere.
"I—Thank you," she said quietly, a small blush creeping in her cheeks.
"Good to know someone like you has manners," he managed to say sardonically and he started heading to the door, muttering something that sounded like, 'If I catch a baker's daughter this vulnerable again, I'll be sure to take advantage.'
And he remembered her smile too, how terribly sweet it was.
.
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"What happened to you?" Her voice cracked again. Her face was sad and miserable. "You weren't always this empty, this cold."
"I was always like this, don't tell me I'm any different."
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"You think this pathetic attempt at the dark magic could hurt me, boy?" his high, cold voice bellowed, bouncing off the dungeon walls. "You're not even trying! You need to mean it, Damian... You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—this hesitation of yours is affecting your casting and it won't hurt me for long. I shall teach you how it's done. Pain."
Then there was pain... so much of it, it wouldn't stop. It devoured him whole. He felt like his organs were being twisted and he was burning... slowly and painfully... it was biting and stinging his skin and it just wouldn't go away.
"You're still foolishly clouded by your emotions. We shall do something about that, shall we? To make sure you do not fail me." He circled his limp, writhing form. The way he moved around him, it was almost like he was floating. Damian didn't know. He wouldn't lift the curse off. "When you lose all your emotions, then you will finally be worthy."
Damian didn't want to be worthy at all. But he had to hold onto his heart and survive this. He had to.
To feel her warmth again.
"You should thank your parents Draco. After all they willingly offered you to me."
Damian managed to spit on the ground to show his disgust. Hawkmoth laughed humorlessly.
.
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"Everyone thought so. Even my own parents thought I was a monster. Me, their own son."
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Days passed by, maybe weeks, or months, he wasn't so sure. There was barely any light in the dungeons. His throat was sore from all the screaming. He couldn't move anymore, too exhausted to even try. His mind was devoid of all thoughts, but he fought hard to stay conscious, to focus on anything but the burning ache.
Soon Damian killed like he did, tortured like he did. He was forced to do it again and again, until it was imprinted in his very being, until he was sure the blood of those he murdered couldn't be washed off.
In time, Damian Wayne learned to kill willingly on his own.
Soon he couldn't feel anything anymore. Soon he was numb.
The pain faded, along with everything else...
.
'
"The only real purpose of it all was to have you..."
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Aww.
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