Crawling through the vents was turning out to not be as difficult as a task as he once thought it to be, however, it was a very messy one. There was just dust everywhere! If Pennyworth were to catch him dirtying his clothes, well, he would be due for a tongue lashing. Just because Pennyworth cleans the Manor spotlessly, doesn't mean that he cleans out the ventilator system regularly. Neither does it mean that Pennyworth, or Father for that matter, want him crawling through the air ducts cleaning it for them with his slacks.

Coughing at the dust particles that seemed to stir up at every move he made, he continued his way through the endless tunnels of galvanized steel, bypassing fluffs of what he believed Grayson referenced to as, 'dust bunnies'. Although, ridiculously enough, they neither resembled or reacted like a hare of any kind he had ever seen before. And believe you me, he had seen a lot of hare's. They were, at one point, the unfortunate partaking of his training at the league. He particularly remembered vouching for the little fuzzes one time, and it was the last, for the outcome was much worse then he anticipated. His instructor at the time had not thought too kindly of his fondness for the little animals. So, in turn he was instructed to exterminate dozens upon dozens more of the little critters just for the training in the art of 'heartlessness'. Needless to say he stayed quiet after that.

Why, you ask, was he, Damian, the son of the 'great' Batman, on his hands and knees dragging himself through dusty vents anyway? Well, it was simply because he was avoiding Father due to their previous argument disagreement. Apparently, he can't quarrel with school children on the apt way to incapacitate someone, permanently.

"tt", Well, that's what Father thought he got in trouble for. Like he was dumb enough to talk about such potent methods of slaughter to others. Why give them the chance to learn those manners and hurt others? Those imbecile's told the academies authorities that messed up story because of his former past attempts at such violence. Unfortunately, they bought it, thinking he was serious when he lacked control, and lashed out in an undeniable threat to bring physical harm to the idiots when they were teasing him relentlessly about- never mind, it wasn't important to dwell on what the inept morons said about him. The annoying thing was, was that the Principal, because of the former tendencies toward brutality, didn't even ask for his side of the story and suspended him for a week. Needless to say, that made Father real happy. In the end, the prejudiced minds of impressionable children won, and it wasn't even the first time they had done so.

Those bullies gave the indisputable threat and impression that they intended to do harm to him right then and there, and if he hadn't lashed out when he did, he was sure that they would have. He could take on men twenty times his size, however, he didn't think he could take on ten boys, ten times his size all at once as Damian Wayne, or even as Robin without difficulty, not that he would ever admit that.

"Would it ever get better?", he thought to himself.

Of course he knew he had the impulsive act of giving threatening remarks towards others, but, he never really meant them, at least not anymore. Why wasn't he allowed to defend himself? He remembered it once being a daily defense measure at his time at the league. Everyday he was put under rigorous physical training. His body and, what nobody knows, his mind, was put under strain and pressure until his was molded into the model of what his Grandfather and Mother wanted him to be. Now, he was being reshaped and modeled but again to be something Father wanted him to be. He didn't think he could please everyone. When he couldn't handle the duress that his mind was put under, he would break, and consequences were consequences. Whether he was blamed for it by meaningless school children and berated by Father, or severely beaten by an iron rod, it still all hurt.

It seemed that it was wrong to defend himself as Robin, and as Damian Wayne, because when he did, he got in trouble for it. Also, it seemed that it was wrong to defend himself as Damian al ghul; especially now that he was no longer attached to that branch of his life. However, what about just Damian? Could 'just Damian' defend himself against the woeful attacks he receives from school, home and patrol?

Brooding, he rested his head over an open air duct. Attempting to only take a short reprieve to the excursion to his room, he heard an ongoing conversation about the room below him. Hearing Fathers voice resounding through the metal grate on the opening of the duct, he stopped and listened.

"Perfect. Ms. Smither's, I can't tell you how thankful I am for the trade. I've been looking for a baby like that for a while. Also speaking of perfect, this baby right here's perfect."

Peering through the blinds of the metal frame, he could see Father bouncing a bumbling infant of, he would have to say, two years of age. "tt", Thinking intensely, 'What could Father possibly be doing holding a salivating, sloppy child who doesn't even know that its not proper etiquette to suck on your thumb like a lollipop. Well maybe at least not while other people are around

Suddenly hearing another voice, a lady with brown curly hair replied in a dignified tone.

"Oh, dear Mr. Wayne, that's very sweet of you. It's really such an honor that you want to trade with me, me!? With me of all people to trade our dearly beloved 'children'. Or, almost children. I must say though, getting back to formalities. I have been looking for a beauty like yours for a while now, though I have heard that it's been having a bit trouble?"

Wait, what? Trading, children? That made no sense. That can't be right, nor true. You can't trade one person for another. Well at least not legally, Can you? Also, whom was Father trading?

"Oh, yes about that. I'll be completely honest, it's has been more than just a bit of trouble. However, I have already worked about the bumps and edges over the past year or so. The problems that we have been having are all but nonexistent, but, if it gives you any trouble within an unreasonable amount of time, I'll be glad to help out."

Staring in unbelief through the curvature slits of the metal he didn't even want to comprehend what Father was saying. Him? ... Father was trading him. All the facts, and words that were being said, it just all added up and made sense. He had been with Father for a little over a year, and residual problems that had been occurring had been being dealt with and, with his chest begin to heave he couldn't understand why this all was happening.

Is this the reason Father had been trying so hard with him as of late? So that he would be presentable for a trade? Was this even legal? When your rich enough, maybe anything might be legal. Wanting to giving in to the rush of tears wanting to tremble down his face, he pushed it aside for the logical gathering of his thoughts. That boy, the boy that Father was so tenderly fawning over at that moment, was who was going to replace him. That boy, was going to be the person that he could never be. More so the robin that he could never be, and, the son he could never be.

Deciding to listen to the rest of the residing conversation, he had anger rise up in his mind. If he was indeed to be traded off like a nothing piece of trash, he wasn't going to be left holding the bag of the residual pieces of his life, he was going to take the bag and run with it.

"Oh, thank you Mr. Wayne!" said the sickly sweet voice, "Are you sure now that you wont miss your little fella?"

"Nah, are you kidding? That 'fella' was never much use to the family. I'm sure that you alone will enjoy him more thoroughly than we have for the past time we've had him."

It was his fault, it had to be. Just look at the way Father was fawning over that kid. Father had never looked so happy. He had thought that the relationship between him and his Father had been steadily improving; maybe Father was conditioning it that way? Maybe Father made it look that way and was secretly planning this in the background? Or, maybe he had pushed Father and Alfred too far. Maybe they both saw an avenue of opportunity, and decided that if they had to take care of a child they rather it be someone that was responsible, and useful and, better? Sighing he laid his head in the palms of his hands. What was he going to do? He couldn't help but feel the stinging sense of betrayal at the false sense of tranquility and homey atmosphere that had been provided for him in the past year. Father wouldn't even miss him? Not even a little?

"Alright then Mr. Wayne, I think that we have ourselves a deal. I can't trade today, however, how about twelve o'clock tomorrow afternoon?"

Now the residual despair buried itself within the pit of his stomach and the burning anger bubbled up to his face flushing it in red. With a quivering lip, and combination of sadness and resentment he whispered, "Tomorrow? Ha...Ha...ha... Just you wait Father. I wont be here. Like I told you before... I can take care of myself."

With that, he headed off to his room to construct an absolute 'flawless plan'.