Work Text:
“Damian, my little Alexander,” Mother cooed, reaching out to take his face in her hands. “You were born to conquer the world.”
He never did quite conquer the world for her.
Damian visits the clock tower, again, after Scarecrow. He doesn’t want to go home to the cave and be checked out, not while his skin still crawls with the images of a hideout untouched by God- (because Hell is not His domain, He cannot interfere with the Devil’s doings). His fingers itch for his lantern, but it doesn’t exist here, so Damian goes to Barbara’s clock tower.
She’s there, again, clicking away on her keys, whispering soft words to what he thinks is one of the Birds of Prey. Her glasses are crooked, hair pulled high up on her head, though strands still frame her face.
While she doesn’t look up when Damian drops down, he knows that she knows of his presence.
He tries to take the semblance of privacy he’s been given to wipe away at any tear tracks that linger on his face. Only children cry, and Damian hasn’t been a child in years. Crying is a sign of weakness, and Damian hasn’t allowed himself to be weak-
(Liars go to hell, he reminds himself, and he doesn’t dare finish the thought.)
The spot he’d claimed his among Barbara’s stacks of files hasn’t been touched. She’d called it a nest once, said she’d never touch it, said it was his- and she kept her word. It’s nothing more than a pile of blankets and pillows, a book stuffed against the wall along with a handful of non perishable snacks. He flocks to it, now, drops into the soft mountain of comfort despite the dirt on his clothes and the blood on his skin.
It’s only a matter of time before the family knows, now, before someone tells Barbara the truth that she’s too blind to see.
He isn’t ready for the fallout, so he keeps his lips pressed shut.
For the longest time, Barbara doesn’t talk to him. She deals with the Birds of Prey, with Red Robin out on the streets and with Red Hood, Spoiler, Cass. Their voices, the murmurs and the mutters, are familiar. They try to lull Damian into a sleep he can’t allow himself to take.
He waits, and finally, her phone rings.
“You shouldn’t answer it,” he says, and his voice is near silent. He doesn’t dare to be any louder, afraid to lose any control over his tone.
Barbara turns to him, cocks a brow. “You know who it is? What it’s about?”
Damian meets her eyes.
The events of the past twenty four hours are weighing him down. His eyes are tired and he’s sore from carrying the weight of his memories. His lips are loose and fear runs through his veins as if he’d never had blood there to begin with. He has lost all sense of restraint to the wind, because his family knows and she is the last one who’s reaction he can control.
“You shouldn’t answer it,” he repeats.
She does.
The family as a whole knows.
Everyone.
Barbara asks him to come to the manor with her, and her eyes hold something that Damian automatically catalogs as pity. All Damian wants to do is to go back to the apartment, maybe fall asleep beside his brothers- (their breathing calms his rushing heart, reminds him that his breathing goes in and out instead of in, in, in. ) No, not even that- they know too, and only Jason will dare look at him and not immediately loathe him, (because Jason is something like a sinner).
He doesn’t want to go.
He does, even as he struggles to breathe, because- because-
(His mind comes up with something about ‘innocent’ and ‘guilty’, about court rules he doesn’t know. But, as a sinner, he’d automatically be guilty. Wouldn’t he?)
He goes anyway.
When they arrive, Barbara lets him run ahead as she pays their driver. Damian hasn’t been to the manor in so, so long. (Not since Pennyworth. Not since Bane. Not since-)
He takes his time getting to the door.
Pennyworth isn’t there to open it for him. No one is.
It doesn’t feel like home, he thinks, as he walks through the main entrance. It feels empty, it feels cold. They’re missing a vital part of the household- only one person lives here now, and in favor of Gotham’s streets, he leaves the manor’s halls blank and despondent.
While Barbara told Damian that they’d be meeting in the downstairs rooms, Damian’s feet start walking upstairs instead. His hands ghost along the walls, the railing to the stairs. Everything feels cool beneath his touch, everything feels fake. Feels hollow.
He ends up before the door to his room, his old room from a lifetime ago. He’d never come to get his stuff, when Tim took him home after the funeral. After Pennyworth’s death, he hadn’t slept in the manor. He had ghosted about it’s empty rooms, listless. He’d gone out on the streets just to get away from the oppressive silence. But, after the funeral, Tim and Jason left for the manor to collect their things, came home with arms laden with whatever they thought they needed.
The room looks empty, because Jason had decided he needs everything!
Not empty enough.
There’s still an easel in the corner, right by the window. The painting on it is only missing the finishing touches- it’s one of his family, of a family dinner. Damian’s missing from it, since it’s implied that it’s from his point of view, at the head of the table. Pennyworth stands in the doorway, almost unfinished. Father is at the other end of the table, and along both sides is his brothers, his sister and Stephanie. Tim’s head is cocked back in a laugh, as Jason leans over the table with a freakishly big grin.
Grayson is missing.
(He sucks in a breath.)
Among the rest of the room are a splatter of things- Red Hood’s helmet, old and mostly used up paints, broken paintbrushes. There’s empty sketchbooks, full ones that Damian stares at a moment too long. They’re old ones, from his first few months in the manor, dealing with the change.
The bed has new sheets on it, like someone was waiting for him to come home.
Damian doesn’t deserve these people before him, he thinks, as he joins them in the den.
Everyone, sans Grayson- (it hurts to think about him)- and his friends, is here. Duke and Stephanie and Tim in the corner of the room, the two latter of the three sharing the chair. Duke sits on it’s arm, silent as he plays with his phone. Barbara has rolled up beside Jason, who’s sitting beside Cassandra. Bruce stands in the middle, lips pressed in a line.
It looks like an intervention. It feels like an end, an end to something.
When Damian walks into the room, Tim vacates his spot to join Damian’s side, taking his tiny hands into his. He crouches to Damian’s level.
“Maya- Maya stopped by the apartment an hour ago,” he says, voice shaking. “She told us about Crane.” His voice gets hard. Upset. Mad. “About the toxin.” There’s a note there that tells Damian that he’s not getting away without a check up. “Colin’s okay, by the way.”
“What else did she say?” Damian asks.
Tim’s voice sounds a little desperate. “Can’t you tell us, Damian? Can’t I hear it from you ?”
“No.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” he asks. “I know we’ve been through a lot, but- At least one of us?” Damian looks down at his feet, and his eyes water. Tim’s hand finds his cheek, pulling his face up. “Please, Damian.”
Something breaks deep within Damian.
He has been complacent, he has been playing nice with everyone here! He took the blame for Pennyworth’s death like he was supposed to. For the past- past- however long it’s been he hasn’t dared draw any attention to himself that wasn’t needed, he caused no trouble for Tim or for Jason! Sure, he hasn’t talked to Father, but isn’t that good? He hasn’t been causing problems! He hasn’t- so why
So why!?
“What do you want me to say?!” he screeches, pulling back. “You want me to admit my faults? My horribleness? Before all of you? Fine, Drake, fine!”
Tim’s lips round around the parts of his name, but no sound finds its way to Damian’s ears.
“I have gone to Hell! I’ve walked past the gates to Hell and I walked out only because God thought it proper to laugh in my face. For the past years I have been walking among you- Imagine- Imagine that, a sinner among tens of saints- Because He thought it was funny.”
Jason curses, and he stands, but Cassandra puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him down.
Damian forces his voice to settle into something cold. “I have blood on my hands, countless ghosts following me, trillions of sins weighing me down. I’ve gone to Hell, okay?! Is that what you wanted to hear?!”
He has gone to Hell and he is not proud.
They don’t act like he thought they would.
Tim wraps Damian up into one of the tightest hugs in his life. He doesn’t utter a single word, other than a promise to talk when it’s just the two of them, alone in their apartment, doors locked and windows closed. He doesn’t let Damian go until Cass walks up.
Cass has never been one for words, but she looks at Damian with a smile anyway. “You’re good, little brother,” she whispers, as Tim rubs at his back. She takes his hands and holds them, nodding her head. She mouths the words again, but doesn’t put any sound behind them.
(To her, he is good, but he is not the best of them. Cass is. Cass always has been, always will be. She has crawled her way up from nothing more than a puppet. )
Stephanie and Duke have much the same words, but Stephanie adds, “You didn’t deserve it. Out of all of us here- You didn’t deserve it, kid.”
Duke breathes in deep, and says something low under his breath. “You’re Robin,” he says, simply. “You saved my butt the first time we met- I don’t- how does that get you into Hell, man?”
Barbara’s comes in the form of her pushing Bruce forward, hissing at him to say something instead of just standing there like some kind of fool. Father and her both advance, and the rest of the family clears- though Tim hovers, anxious and unsure of Bruce’s words.
“I don’t know why they’d ever send you to Hell,” Barbara says, soft. “Everything we say is true. You’re a good kid- you’re a hero. You didn’t deserve to die, and you didn’t deserve to go there.”
Damian tries his hardest not to sniff, to not draw attention to the tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t see why,” he utters, and unconsciously, his hand goes up to wipe at his cheek. “I got Pennyworth killed- and he’s- he’s not the only person I have killed. Ducard- Nobody- my old teachers-” He holds out his hands before him, feeling ever so small and pitiful. “And I haven’t only killed. I- I’ve hurt and I’ve maimed. I almost killed Timothy the first time we met! I attacked Jason and Timothy an’- an’-”
“Son,” Father says, as he crouches down on one knee, to Damian’s level. “Damian.”
“All I ever do is hurt,” Damian continues, choking back a sob. He looks back up, meeting his Father’s eyes. “So why- Why do you all keep saying-?”
Father takes Damian’s open hands. “What happened to Alfred- that- that wasn’t your fault,” he says, but he’s avoiding Damian’s eyes. “I was wrong to ever make you feel like it was. I was the one who sent you in. I was the one who thought that sending you to Gotham was the right play, and because of me you had to watch what Bane did-”
What is he saying? What is he trying to pull?
Is he- Is he trying to make it out to be his fault?
“Father,” Damian utters.
“I’m sorry, son,” Father says.
Ever so gently, he pulls Damian into a hug, and it feels like home.
Before Tim and Damian go home, Damian escapes back to his room.
He doesn’t sit on the bed- it doesn’t feel like his anymore. He finds himself a spot beside the window, staring listlessly out at the now darkened sky. The canvas has been turned so Damian doesn’t have to look at it. He’s got enough to mull over as is. He doesn’t need the bleeding memory of Pennyworth sinking into his thoughts anymore than he already is.
Eventually, his door opens, and in slips Jason.
Jason takes a seat right beside Damian, pulls his head close to his chest.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he says.
That’s it.
Before Tim takes him home, he presses a phone into Damian’s hands and says, “They’re worried about you, Dames.”
Damian trails off to the back gardens before he holds the phone to his ear. As soon as he mutters a hello, he’s bombarded by a swirl of shouts from the other line.
“Damian!” Jon shrieks. “How are you feeling?! We stopped by the mansion earlier to see your dad and you, but you weren’t there, so Maya ended up talking to him anyway, but I still really wanted to talk to you, so Colin said we could just call you! But you didn’t answer for some reason, so then Maya said we should call Tim, ‘cause you’re living with him and all that-”
“Take a breath,” Maya says, dryly. “Feeling okay, Damian?”
He takes a moment to respond, but when he does, he can’t stop the relief from flooding in. They don’t hate him. They aren’t calling him a liar, a monster, a sinner.
“I’m good,” Damian says. “I’m really good. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us,” Maya replies. “It’s our job to worry about you.”
He can’t help but think that that’s exactly what Grayson said, years ago. Years ago, being the operative word, now. It’s been so long. He misses his older brother, more than anything in this life he’s been given- given, for the second time, for one time too much. Grayson doesn’t want anything to do with him, not anymore.
But, it’s like he’s said. He doesn’t like talking about Grayson.
And, hey.
He’s got these siblings, this sister, this best friend. He’s got Tim, Jason, Steph and Duke and Cass, Maya and Jon and Father.
And-
The phone shifts. All background noise fades away. Whoever it is, they just took it off speaker and moved to a different room, just to talk to him alone.
“Damian?” they say- and Damian knows him- of course, of course he knows him. It’s Colin, with his soft toned voice and his bright eyes bleeding into his words. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about- about that. But- I just- I just wanted to tell you that, if it’s any consolation, the nuns at the orphanage? They- They think you’re one of the most heaven-worthy kids they know.”
“Why would they think that?” he can’t help but ask. “I’ve been cold to them, time and time again-”
“I’ve told them about you,” Colin replies. “You’re a really good person, Damian. It’s like I’ve said before, when you were over.”
Then, softer, he says, “I really like you. You’re- You’re my hero, Dames.”
He hangs up.
(Father always said that kids were the best thing that this Earth has.)
The car ride home is quiet.
Damian is exhausted out of his mind, and he spends it curled up with Tim in the backseat. Tim runs his hand through his hair, and holds him close. He whispers, it’s okay. You’re okay, over and over in Damian’s ear.
Each time he repeats it, Damian starts to believe it just a little more.
By the time they get home, Tim’s tired too. He shoves some cold waffles from a box into the toaster and lets Damian climb up onto the counter. Then, he joins him, sitting close enough that their legs press together.
“We all die eventually,” Tim says. “You’re going to, I’m going to- But it’s not going to be for a very long time yet. At least till we’re twenty something.” He takes a deep breath, wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulders. “The next time you go, you’re going to walk up to the gates of Heaven, and I know they’re going to accept you with open arms.”
“How do you know?” Damian asks.
Tim shakes him, holding him impossibly closer. “You’ve done so much good, Dames. Everything you’ve done in the past- all of the stuff you’re doing now trumps that. You’re going out every day and you’re saving lives.”
The waffles pop up, and Tim scoots down to take them and change them. Damian just blinks after him. Once four more are pressed down into the slot, he moves to stand in front of Damian, taking his hands in his again.
“I remember that you told me, once, about what Maya told you. About the R on your chest. You asked me how it could ever mean redemption when you were the one wearing it. When all you ever felt like you did was make mistake after mistake- when all you ever felt like you did was break and hurt.”
“I’m a sinner,” Damian says. “I’ve got blood on my hands and ghosts on my heels and-”
“But you’re not,” Tim says back. “Talia might’ve forced you to do all of those things, but I know that if she’d never asked you to, never told you to- You never would’ve shed any blood. You never would have done the things you did when you were with her.”
Again, the waffles pop. This time, Tim doesn’t go to change them out.
“I know that, because now that you’re with us, you aren’t hurting people intentionally. And, before you say anything about Bruce and what he wanted- You still weren’t hurting people when you were with Dick, were you?”
“No,” Damian says, soft. “No, I wasn’t.”
Tim pulls him into yet another embrace, holding him closer, close enough that his breath didn’t just ghost Damian’s ears. Damian scrambles for a hold on the back of Tim’s shirt, clutching the fabric like his life depended on it. He fell into a fit of sobs, gasping for air that he couldn’t seem to draw in.
“I miss Grayson,” he spits out, desperate, like a sinner in a confession. “I miss him- Why- Why did he have to go- ”
“I don’t know, Dames,” Tim replies. “But, God, I miss him too. So, so much. I bet, if he were in his right mind, he’d miss you too.”
It hurts worse knowing that he’s still around, that he’s still alive. He’s away in Blüdhaven, pretending to not have any family to call his own, pretending to be an alcoholic under the name of Ric.
Damian misses Pennyworth too, misses the smell of his laundry detergent. He misses hearing the clutter of dishes as Pennyworth goes through them. He misses the taste of his cooking, carefully made just for the group of them in mind.
“It’s not fair,” Damian forces out.
“No,” Tim agrees. “It never is.”
(This isn’t only a story about sinners and saints and morals. This is a story about loss, about mourning. This is a story about people moving on in life, of healing and getting over it.
It’s a story about a lot of things.)
They eat cold waffles and they watch Newsies- the stage musical instead of the old movie. Tim gets up to belt out Santa Fe! and Damian softly sings the words to Seize the Day.
As the movie draws to a close, Tim leans on Damian and starts to snore. His eyes are screwed shut, but he still looks completely peaceful.
“Thank you, Timothy,” he whispers.
Tim doesn’t respond.
(That’s okay.)
“Damian,” Mother coos, hands on Damian’s cheeks, holding him close. “My little Alexander. You were born to conquer the world for me and your grandfather. No one can stop you, my son. No one will.”
For all of his five years, he stares up at Mother and blinks. It’s not exactly enticing, not to a boy his age. He’d rather be playing outside, lying beneath the stars. It’s what Mother wants, though, what Grandfather wants.
He’d be a fool to ignore her and her wishes, so he nods his head and says, “Of course, Mother.”
He wants to please her, he really does.
But, in the end, as the years pass--
Damian goes to live with Father and Grayson, Tim and Jason and everyone else in Gotham. He loves them, and he starts to forget about being the world’s next Alexander and he starts thinking about being Gotham’s next Batman.
(Of course, he knows that Cass deserves the role, now. It’s not really what he wants anymore.)
Then, Damian dies by his mother’s hand. He goes to Hell, but does not conquer it. He survives it and comes back into his body, to Gotham. To home.
He never does conquer the world, but he conquers enough of Gotham to make due.
He conquers the manor atop the hill, and all of the people who’ve ever graced her halls, and that’s enough.