Chapter Text
Now.
“Akhi.”
That was a harsh word for Damian, or at least it had been in the past.
“Akhi.”
He was sure that nine or eight years ago, his preadolescent and irascible himself, full of anger and new in Gotham with a new family of strangers who seemed to reject all ways of life he had known until then, would have think twice before associate someone to that word deliberately.
Because brotherhood implied respect, feelings and emotions towards someone or several people. People who could take advantage of his weakness, his vulnerability in an instant and stand above him to see him fall in this cruel world. Because emotions make you weak, vulnerable, volatile, and if you’re not careful, you can die. Or at least that was the league of assassins taught him.
Maybe they were right.
However, Damian was equally sure that he was suffering a severe concussion. And he should get up quickly before the rogues flee out of there or finish the job, whichever they decide first, but none would be good news for him.
“Dam…! Answ…!”
His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear well and only was able to recognize an annoying and loud static sound, mixed with broken and cut off words on the comms. He wanted to answer, really, but his body was partially numb, he was breathing hard, his head was fuzzy, and he wasn’t sure if the wet sensation in the side of his head was because the sweat or the blood.
Probably it was blood.
“Da…ian!”
Inhaling, he barely raised his hand to touch his temple, feeling his body heavy and shivering in pain, but his left side completely slept. And he knew he should get up from the floor, he had to, the dust and grit were very uncomfortable, he was coughing for a while and on top of that all of this is difficult to clean later, but the world was spinning and he knew he was utterly fucked when his hand covered in his own blood fell on the floor.
He wanted to focus for a moment, his blurred vision going through the ground, but his head throbbed with pain again and he couldn’t register beyond the static noises and the chaos around him. People were running away as the fire spread, the cries of the wounded could be hear in the distance and the calling of those who decided to help after the disaster too.
A neon sign, pink and green, blinked until the last breath between the rubble, barely recognizable and a few meters from him. It looked like it was laughing at him, because it was his fall, his distraction before the blast hit.
“Ans…r!”
Damian knew it was a terrible idea going to Gamorra. This operation was destinated to end like this or even worse and follow the steps of a new and a rookie terrorist organization so hastily and without thinking was stupid, especially when their businesses led them to this place.
But Damian needed to do it, he needed to get away from everything today, specially today. He didn’t want to look back, he didn’t want to look at Batman, or Nightwing, or Batgirl, or anyone. Neither go to the cave, or Gotham, or talk to anyone, or know anything. No, he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to think, even if that means he would end up dazed, wounded and pitiful under some rubble in Gamorra island after an explosion that certain terrorists considerated necessary to cover their tracks after knew someone was looking around for them.
“Akhi…”
If they could see him now… Pathetic.
Still dizzy and bleeding, in another big mistake he tried to get up, but his head exploded again in protest, his body shuddered in twinges of pain. He could have a broken rib, maybe two, and If he didn’t pass out in a few minutes maybe he could know finally if the heavy weight on his left side were more rubble or not, he wasn’t sure.
What was clear, even in his pitiful state, is that go after terrorists to another country to end up bleeding in the ground it isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but it wasn’t the worst at least.
“I… oming! Hol… n!”
The voice on the comms was still screaming, scared and worried. Again, he would like to answer, but now he could barely hear well, and the more time passed it was harder to maintain consciousness. His vision was getting dark at its edges and each second his mind was numbest.
This idea was so, so bad. Surely his pride will be hurt in many ways when he wakes up, not to mention the discussion that will follow after that and all the disapproving looks that he will receive because of this damn explosion, which, in his defense, it shouldn’t have been that big.
But at the time it was a good idea, you know, a fantastic idea. Because he will receive the disapproving looks whatever he do, he didn’t have to think too much to hit a rogue, he wouldn’t have to feel the growing and suffocating tension of the batcave while he was in Zodome, and on top of that, if he was away from Gotham it would be easy not to look at the calendar and sink into guilt and resentment because of the day it was.
But, in his haste to hit someone and forget, Damian was wrong, that plan had a few mistakes, quite significant, and should have been considered. Because it wasn’t necessary to flew away from Gotham to remember the day, guilt would chase him even if he couldn’t look a single calendar in years, and the cave wasn’t the only place full of memories.
A neon sign was enough to distract him, to freeze him, to make him stop enough to not react at the explosion.
“I’m sorry…”
He could no longer hear the voice on the comms, he would faint in any moment, and his mind was randomly spitting out apologies and calls to his brothers, again and again while his vision was blurred but still fixed on the bar’s neon sign.
He vaguely remembered a story told on a rooftop, with laughs, drinks and Chinese takeout. An anecdote about how certain vigilantes entered in a bar with a pink, green neon sign in Zodome was told, they drank, they talked (“I can’t be here.” “Who you’re gonna tell? Dick?”), and then they kicked the bad guys to defeat Mother.
And now, that place was nothing but rubble, Damian buried in them. How ironic.
“Tim… Jason…” He called them again before passing out completely.
~ 0.0 ~
“Damian.” Someone said gently to his side. “Wake up.”
That voice, so calm and irritating as ever, along with the sound of movement at his side, was what disturbed his sleep, pulling him slightly from the haze and waking him up in an internal curse.
Opening his eyes, Damian blinked for a few seconds until they accustomed to the light of the room. His room, if he remembered correctly, because his desk was organized as always, the walls were of the same soft color and the sheets over him were those that Pennyworth always put there especially when he knew they were his favorite when he was injured and benched.
Settling on the mattress and evaluating the state of his wounds while his body protested, he turned his head slightly to look with rejection at the person who had awakened him, as if he committed the greatest offense against his being.
“Drake.” He said angrily.
Tim, looking impassive and inscrutable as usual, was sitting on the chair placed at the side of his bed where Grayson used to tell him how his day was. But the third Robin only gave him a nod and a brief look to the tray placed on his nightstand.
“Alfred made me bring your meal.” Ha explained with a shrug.
Exhaling a grunt, Damian fixed his eyes on the tray and the food in there and huffed reluctantly, he wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t want to deal with this. But telling “no” to Alfred’s food while you were in bed would have the same effect as telling his father to go to therapy: none.
Moreover, he wouldn’t be facing only Alfred, because the butler had sent Drake for a reason. And he could feel it along that clear and undisguised look from those baby blues, terribly insistent, piercing, carefully assessing his wounds and shining with a silent and an imperceptible plea to get up and eat something at the same time.
Damian swears to himself that he was sitting on the bed because he didn’t want to face Pennyworth’s disappointment, and not because the fact that Drake was quietly worried about him makes him feel warm.
So, maybe like this he gives him an example and he can use it as a coercion later when Drake ends up in the bench too. Because anyone can say how annoying he was, putting so much effort -quietly and covered- to take care of others when then he sleeps two hours a day and mix Monster and coffee in the same cup.
“Are you going to stay here and watching?” He asks, annoyed when the teenager give him the tray and doesn’t seem to get up from the chair.
Tim seemed to think for a moment, but when he was going to speak, presumably to spoil him or to expose a logical and irrefutable reason about why he should stay, another voice from the door interrupted.
“I would do it too, make sure you eat, you’re a gremlin and you need to grow.”
Damian had to bite his tongue to not insult Jason in the exact moment he saw his ugly face peering though the door. But he knew that explain to him that he was still in the growth phase and will reach his height in a few years -probably- won’t work. Because Todd only had a role when he dared to put a foot on the mansion these days: annoy.
Which is was terribly irritating, because it’s not as if Todd was in the mansion a lot, but when he did, he sure was noticed. Moreover, he barely did it, his relationship with the family remains tense and fragile, except perhaps with Drake, which is the only one who seems to stand him. But as Grayson told him before sleep, Red Hood was screwed last night (again), and Red Robin had to drag his useless ass to get healed in the medbay, which explain his presence, his bandages and his desire to drive everyone crazy.
“Then Drake needs this more than me.” He pointed at the food. If something was clear was that he will surpass Tim, because he was already starting to catch him and that was a victory.
“I’m not the one on the bench.” Drake said rolling his eyes. “That’s you, for reckless.”
“You got him, Timmy.” Exclaimed Jason as he entered the room with that mocking attitude and sat on the bed, as if he could do that. “So, you know kid, you can’t give him that healthy food of yours, it won’t work, Babybird only eats coffee and takeaways, it’s part of his charm.”
“The charm of not knowing take care of himself?” He asked raising an eyebrow at them, angrily and intrigued equally because, babybird?
“And you are telling me this while you’re in the bench and you were knocked up yesterday in an alley, okay.” Tim snorted, pointing them out and then crossing his arms, quite annoyed.
“I wasn’t knocked up, I was resting.” Jason emphasized, as if anyone could believe that. “And being so small, you sure get in big problems, demon spawn.”
“Get out of my room.”
“Ouch! That’s hurt. Right, Timtam?” To top it off, Jason seemed to have the courage to look really hurt, while Tim nodded.
“Get. Out.”
“We’re only making you company!”
“I don’t want your company.” Snapped Damian at him. “It’s pitiful.”
“But who’s better than your older brothers to distract you?” Jason asked mockingly, referring to them as his “brothers” with sarcasm.
It was known to all of them that Todd was the one who referred to their group as “family”, but he did it sarcastically and with a strong irony, so Damian doubted that he really believes that.
“You’re not my brothers.”
Harsh words that coincided with Jason’s irony, which Damian has repeated to them many times on countless occasions. Previously with real strength in them, believing them real and reaffirming on them, because he was the only true son, the blood son, and they were nothing. Now, however, he said it without any power, without force or actual anger, just with a scathing and a tender touch.
Normally, they answer with another joke or other insult without feeling or sorrow, because that’s how they were and how their usual relationship works.
“It’s true, we’re not.” Tim said seriously. “That’s why we left you so easily, remember?”
Damian froze, feeling the abrupt change of the tone and the atmosphere in the room. Cold, it was so cold, very cold and bitter. He shouldn’t have answered that, Tim shouldn’t have said that, not in that way. No, that’s not how they did this. An icy twinge pierced through him as Timothy’s words sank into his head.
He looked at him, shocked, stunned, and Drake gaze was so indifferent this time, so cold, making Damian shudder.
“Wha-“
He barely managed to say anything before Jason got up and looked at him in the same way, in a listless and distant anger, when just a second ago he was smiling.
“It’s true. We’re going to leave you.” He announced in a firm and calm way, without a trace of regret on him. “To leave them.”
He was quiet, stunned, a knot formed in his throat and words couldn’t get out. Even if they could, he would remain static, analyzing what they were saying in that cold and decisive tone.
“We’re going to leave you, Damian.” Tim repeated. “You’re not going to see us never again.”
“We’ll go, and you don’t matter at all.”
“We didn’t care about you anyway.”
“That’s why it will be so easy to leave you.”
“We were going to do it sooner or later, like everyone, you know?”
The illusion was broken, there was no more food tray to worry about, no soft sheets, no cozy room with them trying to make him laugh while he was in the bench. Now everything was cold, just cold, icy and painful with their words echoing around him and tearing him apart.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do anything. Just listen.
“Aren’t you happy, Damian?”
“You should be happy.”
He wasn’t. He wasn’t.
“Isn’t this what you always wanted?”
“It is. Being the only child, the real.”
“You wanted us dead, you wanted us out of here. Because we were adopted and useless. The pretenders.”
No, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want this. He though he did, but it wasn’t true. It was the words and actions of an insecure child who grew up between violence and believing the poisonous words of those who he thought he could trust.
“Well, congratulations, you win.”
“We’ll leave you forever.”
No.
“Just as you wanted.”
No. No. He didn’t want that. He never did.
“Congratulations, Damian.”
No. Please.
“Congratulations.”
No. Stop, not again.
“It’s your fault.”
It is, he knows it. He has always known.
“Your fault. Yours alone. Always yours.”
His fault. His fault. Is his fault, but they couldn’t leave. Not again, please.
“Goodbye.” They said at the same time.
The door slammed, the illusion of the dream broke and something inside Damian did it too.
~ 0.0 ~
When he opened his eyes this time, he was alone, restless and laying in the last place he wanted to be.
It’s not that the beds in the medbay were uncomfortable to recover or something, at 22 years old Damian knows he probably slept more in them than in his own bed, but they are not the suitable place to have a nightmare induce by guilt and then pretend to calm down.
Taking himself a few seconds to rest quietly, he evaluated how was his body and the damage he had suffered in the explosion. Obviously, all hurt, but he had survived worse things. If he had to guess he’d say a couple of bruised ribs, his head about to explode because of the concussion and the left side of his torso a bit hit.
To all of this, he must also add his wounded pride, disappointment, anger and a pleasant memory of a few years ago turned into a nightmare that still had him looking at the ceiling of the cave in silence.
But something tells him that he had been very, very lucky. He had left smaller explosions than that with more injuries, and sometimes he didn’t need the explosion itself.
“And being so small, you sure get in big problems, demon spawn.”
Sure.
Maybe Jason was right, even now, when he is no longer small, he faces problems and these can still knock him, even with his height. He knows he almost reached Jason’s height -maybe there’s still a few inches left- but he surpassed Tim a long time ago.
It’s a shame he can’t prove it.
He started to remember exactly that nightmare and the voices of his brothers full of hatred and indifference again when the door of the room opened and the only person he wanted to see now and forever entered quietly. Who, casually, was the same person who told him to go to Gamorra was an stupid idea, who had been yelling at the comms when everything gone wrong and who probably saved him and brought him back to be treated.
Jonathan Kent, with 19 years old, dropped the clean linen which he had been carrying in his hands -possibly for him and providing by Alfred- and rushed to his side letting out a gasp when he realized he had opened his eyes.
“Damian!” He shouted leaning on the bed and looking at him in concern. “You’re awake!”
He should have said something witty, but he couldn’t help but wince when Jon laid in the mattress, his ribs and bruises protesting in agony.
“I’m sorry!” He apologized, walking away immediately, more worried if possible. “Did you just wake up? How do you feel? You need something?”
Usually, seeing Jon so frantic, worried and fluttering his hands over him without knowing what to do it’s good, but now only made him feel a little guilty, and he had a lot of that these days. Especially if he remembers how many times his partner told him how bad his idea was and how his voice sounded in panic in the comms when he couldn’t answer after the explosion.
“I just want to sit.” He snorted, ignoring all his previous questions, leaning on his elbows and sitting up in the bed, obviously with his help. “How long have I been out?”
“Only day and a half.” Said the super, sitting on the side of the mattress with unusual calm.
It wasn’t much, but enough for that Jon’s presence didn’t amuse Batman at all and the situation intimidated his partner at the same time. Because it was a fact that the kryptonian had been with him, waiting him for wake up and without accepting any other alternative that would involve separate from him.
But at least, now that he’s sitting and moving, he can confirm that his injuries could have been worse. He lifted his clothes and looked at the bruised on his left side, serious and rather sleazy, nothing more. He touched lightly his ribs, and the wound and bandage on his head too. Finally, he reached the conclusion that with a few days of rest, painkillers and maybe a quiet patrol he will be okay.
Or maybe not, because while he was valuating his state Jon had been too silent all the time, just staring and waiting, thoughtful and absorbed.
Damian lifted his head to look at him at the eyes, and when the gaze was finally returned, he knew exactly what was coming and started to prepare himself for the imminent outbreak. Jon sighed, his blue eyes flashed with determination, he took a breath and Damian could tell by the expression on his face that this could take a while.
“You have any idea of how lucky you were?” He began to rant.
He has, he can imagine. But instead of saying it, he reflected briefly how it was that since so soon in their youth that Jon managed to be part of that small group of people who can talk to him like that without any repercussion.
“The explosion destroyed about five blocks away! And I’m not gonna talk about the fires from later!”
Rare thing, because supposedly, the terrorists he was chasing shouldn’t have had material for an explosion of such dimensions, indeed, there shouldn’t have been an explosion at all. Maybe was something else?
“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Jon snapped with that upset and sad look typical from the supers. “Did I?”
He did, several times, yes. Which he ignored deliberately. At least it was something that hadn’t change in him after all these years, unlike his willingness to answer and retort to fight like kids when something like this happened when they were… kids.
“I did!” He exclaimed as he pointed at him, which made him reminded Lois Lane very much when she used to spoil them years ago. “And you listened to me?”
You only must look at him to know the answer.
“No! Because you always do this! You didn’t even wait for me!”
True, he didn’t wait for him. He decided to go for it alone, because it was much easy to punish himself and drown in his own regrets while he believed that Jon needed to do the same thing in Kansas while he was visiting his family.
“I heard the explosion from the farm.” Said the other while stared at him and twisted the sheets in his hands tightly. “I was tuned because I thought… I knew you were there, and then you didn’t answer in our comms.”
Again, Jon’s words in his ear, begging him to answer and saying he was going to find and help him, echoed in his head, making him squirm uncomfortably.
“A-And when I arrived, everything was chaos and fire… There was so much to do, and I couldn’t help everyone. I-I found you unconscious and half buried in the rubble…”
He has started to stammer; Damian knows where that leads.
“You’re not invulnerable, Damian!” He cried increasingly frantic. “You could have…! You could have…!”
Damian decided he had had enough when he realized that Jon was physically unable to finish the last sentence and his eyes had begun to glow due to hold back the tears.
So, knowing it was the best way to calm him down and let him know he was okay, he raised his arms quickly to cradle his face in his hands and bent to shut up Jon with a kiss. A firm and a simple kiss, that gave them comfort, took them back to reality and dispelled the tension in their bodies.
When he finished, he pulled back a few inches and looked at him seriously, making sure he had his full attention.
“I’m fine.” He said as he slightly tightened his grip on his face. “See?”
He’s okay, he’s not dead, he’s here and they are together. He didn’t need to worry; he will recover in a few days. Jon’s not going to lose him, that’s what he needed to hear, to know, to feel desperately after having gone through all and have been waiting for him to wake up.
Jonathan looked at him stunned, indecisive for a few seconds, assimilating the most recent events without move. Finally, when he seemed to connect everything, he blushed, reached the pillow behind Damian and proceeded to hit him several times with the minimal strength a super could have.
“You. Are. A. Jerk!” He repeated a lot of times, along with other insults, as he hit him with the pillow.
Damian could have complained, even fight back, or at least tell him that no matter how many times he kisses him or tell him that he is okay, his wounds doesn’t appreciate a surprise attack from an angry kryptonian with a pillow. But he knew his boyfriend needed this, he needed to blame him after worried him that much. And a pillow fight wasn’t the best option right now, and maybe, maybe, he deserved it just a little, so he allowed him to hit him. And they say that Damian Wayne has no honor.
By the time Jon had finished his attack, Damian had no choice but to lie back in bed, helpless and with a super on top of him, but being careful not to touch his wounds. Finally, Jon throwed the pillow around and looked at him from his position, sulking and puffing.
“You scared me.” He declared in a whisper. “A lot.”
“I know.” Damian nodded and stepped aside in the bed in a subtle invitation to the other.
Taking the invitation, Jon laid beside him with the utmost care and settled down to feel him close, resting his head on his shoulder and sighing heavily.
“I’m still angry.” He murmured in a bad mood, but the way he relaxed against his side indicated the opposite.
But Damian just nodded again. He could understand how annoying Jon was, it was fair, he would also be furious. Moreover, he was, two years ago, on this date. When Jon thought it was a great idea to get drunk in the morning with something from the space, throw away a tractor in the afternoon because “he didn’t like the color” and have a fist fight with aliens with a possibly hostile intentions on the night.
At least two years ago Jon came out of that presumably well, which Damian couldn’t relate, because all his failure now is added to his memories and the damn date. And it was the day, right? They knew it was. That day, that date, drives them crazy and wait them to not do something stupid is impossible.
“I understand and I know you’re sorry.” Jon ended saying on his collarbone, gloomy. Of course, he understands, he had to. “But don’t do this to me again, please.”
Yes, he was sorry, and grateful that Jon knew him well enough to know how sorry he was, but how much he struggles to admit it. Instead, he grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers, and squeezed in response.
Both of them knew that the last thing was hard to do, seeing their records and the life they have, it was impossible, and maybe the next time it’s Damian who would have to be a day and half waiting for his boyfriend wakes up while his family watch.
Speaking of that…
“I don’t want to be here.” Damian whispered, staring at the ceiling of the cave again with intensity.
“I know, me neither.” Jon admitted sinking a little closer.
Damian tried not to think about how hard it had to be for his partner, not only having to save him and take him here to be treated and then wait, but also having to walk around the cave precisely those days and next to a broken batfamily who didn’t know how to assimilate them.
“How much time do we have?” He asked, making calculations of those who should return soon and those who not. He knew that, no matter how worried Jon was, he was going to help him to evade the bats, to pack up and fly together to Metropolis.
“Enough” Jon affirmed as he leaned in to kiss him softly in the cheek.
Damian sighed, calculating their chances again. They would go anyway, this was not the first time they did it, and even with a day and a half late they had more than one reason to want to get out from the cave and leave Gotham as soon as possible.
And if they could avoid looking at the suits of Red Robin and Red Hood exposed in the fallen’s mausoleum, the better.