As early as five o'clock the next morning, Damian found himself in the midst of his morning routine. Behind the manor, he had set up wooden figures to act as his target. At the beginning of his journey with his father, it was complained when he had used the garden for practice. Now he had set up better targets for his use.

Practicing variable sword techniques, ones he was taught in his past time, he promptly willed his body into the strict flow of attack and conquer.

"Waki tori. Te ura gasumi. Jodan no kamae. Suwari no tori," he continued by addressing each sword position he punctually settled himself into.

"What sword style is that?" Damian didn't falter as he turned towards the intruder, his sword held in a specific way as it was pointed at the being's neck.

"O gasumi," he addressed his new position before settling back into a comfortable standing position, although his guard never faltered. His posture was still strict and menacing, but it was to be expected from the young assassin. "Iaido," he answered the question.

"Chinese?" Grayson questioned, settling his hands on his hips.

"Japanese, actually," Damian's eyes furrowed into slits. "What do you want, Grayson?"

"I came to wish you luck before I left," Grayson said with a nod. "It must be a very different scenery than you're used to,"

"Says the man who took a new persona to get away from the Bat legacy, yet cannot bring himself to leave the manor," he scoffed.

"Because I'm moving on from the legacy, not the family. I can't ever be the next Batman, we're too different. I created my own identity because I wasn't worthy of that. But between us all, among every Robin and Batgirl and Wing-entities; you are the only one who's worth of that legacy. It's your heritage, after all," he shrugged before halting his thoughts. "Just not... yet. I've seen you improve ever since you came here three years ago, Damian, and you're becoming better. Smarter. More mature. One day, you will be the next Batman. Righteous, full of justice; not at all vengeful," he said with a nod. It was then that Damian rolled his eyes in irritation.

"My father probably told you to come speak with me, hasn't he? This is an intervention," he stated, as it was the truth and he would accept no other. Dick chuckled a bit and nervously scratched the back at his neck.

"Yeah, well... I don't mind. I've seen you grown the last couple of years and honestly, you are becoming the person we had all hoped you to be. You're taking your own steps out of the darkness and into the light. You are not a killer anymore. You don't do that anymore. You've learned and assist yourself and you're better for it," he nodded his head.

"You don't know what it's like!" Damian suddenly screamed at Dick, taking him by complete surprise. The few overshadowing Bat Family members' eyes widened at his tone. Had he finally snapped? Had it finally come to that point? "You don't know what it's like to be the expected child of such a heritage! Every single person inside of this manor and everyone outside has their eyes on me! He's the Son of Batman, of course, he has to be good! He has to be powerful and righteous and merciful and he has to do everything perfectly! He can't be a killer, he can't be vengeful, he can't be weak and he can't be a revenge seeker!

He has to be an emotionless bastard that would do anything to protect the people except kill, no matter what torturous acts the criminal had skipped upon! You are lucky that you could create your own identity with your own morals but I can't! I have to live under the shadow of a man who's perfect! Of a heritage I can't live up to! To a legacy I can never become! I just want to be my own person, but I can never have a normal life. That right was stripped from me as soon as my mother gave birth to me in Nanda Parbat. I am an assassin! Not a hero! And I've tried, and tried, to live up to my father's expectations... but I can't! Every time in a fight, I have to hold myself back from diving into my urges and just ending the life of a miserable villain! And I know, I know what my father said. Every single thing he has ever taught me lingers in my head.

You can't fight crime by being a criminal. Justice, not vengeance.

But I just can't! A few words can't change me, and nothing else I've tried has! I don't know what to do anymore! I can't be a person you want me, I'm sorry. I can't step out of the darkness that easily. When I first came here, you told me I couldn't be Robin. Well, you were right," Dick had no words that could ease this situation in any way. His mind was racing as he took in the furious little prince and all his words. Had Damian always felt like this? Had he always been so self-destructive and had no one realized it? The pain he was going through; how long had he dealt with it all alone? Damian has always had a strong and meaningful demeanor, as well as witty remarks and the occasional heartfelt comment; and thus no one had ever expected him to be so self-loathing.

"Argh!" Damian suddenly groaned in utter annoyance and stabbed his sword into the ground with utter, sheer force; something that had Dick flinch. "I need time to think. I'm going to school," Damian said quickly and swept past Dick without giving him time to react. He's fast, Dick had gasped in realization that the little prince was already gone.

Damian swept past anyone he came across, clearly not in the mood for any conversation and they respected that. Even his father understood that this was no time for another intervention. Damian was exhausted, and six hours of being away from all of them and together with his own thoughts would be splendid. Sure, Tim would still be at school but that just meant to avoid him at lunch, but that would be the easy part. Damian easily overpowered Tim in every way, and it made Damian wonder what his father had seen in the boy when he was first taken in.

After quickly dressing in his Gotham Academy uniform, one he did not complain against as it was respectable, he headed out towards school. It was still an hour early, but he was glad about it since he could head over on foot and take his time while doing it. As early as it was, no one would dare send a child out onto the streets of Gotham alone. Maybe any other city, but not Gotham. Gotham was cruel and merciless. Gotham takes its children and throws them to the jaws of the beasts, expecting them to survive. But this wasn't just any child, this was Damian Wayne. Bruce Wayne's son, the newest Robin and Ra's al Ghul's protégée. He could walk it alone, and Bruce knew this.

Upon arrival, he was slightly shocked to find out his travel time had only been fifteen minutes. He had a lot of time left, and thus decided it would be best to go sit at the third floor's stairwell; a place he had guessed no one would be at for a long while. He was wrong.

Sitting on top of the last step was a female, her nose buried deep into a rather thick book. The book itself caught Damian's eyes first, having an old tattered leather coating with no inscription on the cover. Casting his eyes upwards, he could only catch sight of her hair and her outfit, her face completely hidden. She wore her Gotham Academy uniform loosely with a black hoodie underneath, the hood sticking out of her uniform shirt. The black hood was pulled over her head, her pure silver strands promptly stood out over her shoulder. Her socks were striped and each a different colour and size, causing Damian to start wondering how she hadn't been expelled before.

Sighing, Damian figured that she might take it to an offense if he left and rather sat at the foot of the stairs, as to not disturb her. He buried his hands deep into his hair, painfully tugging at his own strands. His head was down as he thought deeply about everything he had yelled at Grayson. He felt bad, but he didn't know if it was enough for an apology. He had known from the beginning that the rest of the Bat Family was listening in on them, yet that didn't in anyway stop him from his rage. If it had been any other than Dick, even if it was his father, then nothing would have been different. It was pent up rage that he finally let go, and the guilt that followed was too much.

He suddenly felt a weigh against his back as the girl settled her back against his, all her weight pressed against him with her legs laying on top of the ascending stairs; her posture in a truly awkward position. He felt her tilting her neck backward, her hood settling against his hair.

"They will forgive you," was the first thing she said, interrupting Damian's unvoiced complaint against the girl. He was taken aback.

"Who will?"

"Whoever you lied to. Whoever you hurt," she said silently, staring up at the roof above the stairs. Her book was tucked into her backpack, which she left at the top of the stairs.

"How do you know it was my fault?" his brows furrowed in agitation.

"Because if someone else was the one who hurt you, then you wouldn't have tugged at your hair as violently as you did," she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Betrayal can also evoke such an emotion," Damian countered.

"Betrayal is followed by hurt. You were betrayed, but not by someone else. You were betrayed by yourself," his voice hitched at her words and had to ponder over her words.

"My situation is different than the one you could typically find inside of a psychiatrist's office. You cannot read me like you do," he said softly.

"You hurt someone, but it wasn't intentional. You betrayed yourself by doing so. If it had been intentional, then you wouldn't beat yourself up over it. Every pain and every hurting are brought back to the basics," he had to ponder over this for a while before giving her a response.

"I was trying to become someone that everyone wanted me to be, but I just could not live up to their expectations. But I pretended to. They were all convinced that I was getting better, and for a second, I believed it as well. It quickly came to pass that I loathed them for the way they treated me. As if everything was okay when I knew it wasn't. They treated me like I was an illness that could be healed," he clenched his fists and bit down onto his teeth, his rage taking a hold. The female wasn't fazed at all by his tense muscles and instead answered calmly.

"And do you?" he frowned.

"Do what?"

"Do you want to become this person they want you to be?" he had to think about for a second before shaking his head, resultantly also moving her head but she didn't seem to mind.

"In a sense but... they're wrong. I can't be that person, and on some note, I don't want to be. Everyone thinks that I will become just like my father, but I just.... Can't," he felt hopeless as he spoke his words.

"Then don't. Become your own person. Forget about them and go your own path. Look, I've had my own slice of being expectant to turn out like my parents, but you can't let them rule your life. If you don't want to, then who's stopping you from becoming your own person? Go your own way, form your own destiny. Explain it to them, and they will eventually forgive you," Damian snorted at this.

"I kind of explained it this morning, but I wasn't exactly in the best mental state whilst doing it," he grumbled in regret.

"They will forgive you, I promise," Damian shook his head and arched his back to the side and turned around towards her. His moving caused her support column to suddenly vanish, and with no leverage, she completely fell victim to the descending of the stairs. Luckily, her head fell into Damian's lap as he caught her around the waist, her now looking upwards at the young Wayne's face. He could see her face clearly now. Along with her silver hair, had she rather pale skin and a gentle colour of blue for her eyes.

"Who do you think you are? My psychiatrist?" he frowned at her. This caused her to send a radiating smile his way.

"Nah. Just a girl who's read way too many books," she chuckled at this, causing Damian to stare at her in confusion before smiling in amusement. "Ah. Anyway, I'm Eleanor Griffin," she introduced.

"Damian Wayne, but you probably already knew that," she frowned at this.

"Actually, I didn't. I don't pay a lot of attention around here. But, oh my soul, now I understand why you were beating yourself up like that. Being expected to be like Bruce Wayne... the pressure must be tremendous," Damian cast his eyes away and only nodded. Soon, as they sat in silence, the tension between the two grew very awkward. With the Griffin's head on his lap and her body painfully twisted up the stairs, causing her entire weight to fall onto Damian and become completely independent of him in that moment. If he let go of her waist, she would personally realize how painful the failing would be.

"Can you like..." he seemed to have gotten the message because he carefully helped her up and allowed her to swing her legs around into a normal sitting position. Safe and sound, she sighed. "Thank you," she said with a smile that he found odd, but didn't have time to ponder as she grabbed her hood and pulled it over her face again. She smiled slyly underneath it.

"So what about you, Griffin? Why are you so early here?" he said with menacing eyes, realizing exactly how much he had revealed to the wayward, and most possibly, delinquent dame.

"My 'house' isn't exactly a 'home', if it makes sense," she shrugged, and this caused the young assassin to ponder.

"Yes, it does... sometimes, I feel the same. But then I remember; home is where if you go, they have to take you in," she just stayed quiet at his words. They settled into a silence, one where pondering came from both sides. "What were you reading?" he eventually asked, remembering the reason he was at this stupid institution in the first place. Social skills.

"An old book about Egyptian Gods," she answered, rather reluctantly. He frowned at this.

"Why are you interested in stuff like that?" he questioned.

"When you're living in a world like today, with aliens and superheroes and darkness and magic; you can't help but wonder if any of that old stuff is true. Were there really hybrid gods that walked within the normal human bounds? Bastet, half cat. Anubis, half jackal. Their magic, was any of it real? If so, where is it today?" he could only stare at her with confusion, yet, a certain sense of intrigue. "Can't blame a girl for being interested, can you?" he smirked.

"I suppose not," he said, almost in a whisper. She slyly smiled at this and rose onto her feet, pulling her backpack along with her. After adjusting her hood and pulling up her mismatched sock up higher, she turned to him.

"See you," she bid him fare well.

"Yeah," he nodded at her and watched her leave by descending the stairs. Even after she disappeared, he stayed and ponder over her words. Would it really be that easy? Would they really forgive him? It was one thing if you lied about a sickness or drugs or cookies or any other thing, but it's different if you lied about being okay.