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Batman darted across the flat concrete rooftops of the too tightly packed buildings on Gotham’s harbor. Dick’s feet, feet hammering against them, grateful of the way he could trust his boots as they kicked up loose pebbles and debris, then he’d jump off to the next one, and the next on his way to Redd’s Fishery.
His heart raced, but not from the activity. From worry. For Damian.
The boy had been missing almost twenty four hours now, and Dick had only just located him. It was too long. It had taken him way too long to figure out who’d taken his kid. But he was on the way, and no one was stopping him from getting his brother home safe.
His ears roared with anger and worry and fear. Was this how it had always been for Bruce? Every time one of them had gone missing on patrol or as themselves? Each time he’d gotten that phone call asking for money with his child’s life on the line, is this how he’d felt? This overwhelming worry, with every inch of him just wanting to be out there. Wanting to find the guy or guys. Wanting his kid back.
Dick didn’t know if he could stand the idea of Damian being gone, taken from him.
It was Dick’s fault. He’d been careless, comfortable in the nice day and the excellent weather and the simple joy of Damian saying yes to doing something that wasn’t training or patrol. They’d just been out. Shopping and enjoying a day at the park. And Dick had looked away for a second.
A second was all it took.
He’d played along with the kidnapper’s ransom call. Dick had done everything right, but they wanted him to wait almost a week . They were giving him plenty of time to get the money ready, and Dick was having that done. Of course he was, but Batman? Batman was out for blood.
The men were good, but not that good. It had taken Dick longer than he cared to to find Damian but at last he’d located the hideout and the men inside with a little help from Oracle, who’d caught a blurry image of them hauling Damian out of a car.
Dick stopped at the Fishery and dropped down to the side, to peer in a window. Redd’s had been empty for about a year now, the fishery having closed when the man who shared the same name retired and closed up shop. Now it seemed to be the hideout for the kidnappers.
The room inside was lit, and populated by shipping containers being pulled out of the back of a truck that had been brought in through one of the larger doors. Dick frowned, more was going on in here than just a simple kidnapping. There were about ten men inside. Five armed, five working on the truck. Dick couldn’t see Damian, but he knew his brother was there.
He slipped a few smoke pellets out of his belt, hooked his arms above the window and swung in feet first, shattering the glass. As he did so, he threw the pellets directly into the group of men. They cracked and popped, flooding the room with a thick cloud of smoke.
Dick wasted no time taking advantage of the surprise and confusion he’d created. Yelling, both angry and panicked filled the room as he moved in on the closest of the men.
Dick grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him directly in the face. The guy went down like a sack of potatoes, and Dick wished every one of them would be that easy.
Of course it wouldn’t. He made it through two more men before someone came flying at him with a long wooden plank. Dick threw up an arm and caught the blow on his gauntlet. It jarred his arm, but he held firm, hooking the fins on his gauntlet up, and around the wood to wrench it away from him. He wanted to get it out of the man’s hands, but his assailant also had a firm grip.
He yanked the plank away from Dick and immediately brought it back down again. This time Dick had to throw up both arms to catch it. It slammed down and then almost immediately was dropped as the guy ducked under Dick to headbutt him right in the chest.
Dick staggered back, hearing the plank clatter to the concrete ahead of him. A fist glanced off the side of Dick’s cowl, and set his ears ringing. He retaliated with a wild punch, and missed. They traded blows for a few seconds, like boxers in a ring before at last, Dick caught him in the stomach, making the man double over. He followed up with a knee to the same spot, then bashed both hands down on the back of the guy’s head, sending him to the ground.
The smoke was clearing at this point, and Dick had to throw himself out of the way of a hail of bullets. He ducked, and rolled, reaching a hand out to grab the next guy’s leg as he too was trying to avoid the wide spray sent out by one of his supposed partners.
Dick yanked the man to the ground and slammed his elbow into his gut before standing. Just the men with the guns remained. Dick looked wildly for a shield, and threw himself behind one of the largest crates near him. Wood splintered everywhere as he hunkered down behind it, slipping a few explosive batarangs from his belt.
They wouldn’t do too much damage, this type was more a firework than anything, mostly smoke and sound, and only dangerous if you were really close. He peered around his box and threw one after another rapid fire before ducking back.
The distraction worked and the gunfire ceased long enough Dick could shoot his grapple up to the beams in the roof. It tugged him up, and he pulled his legs back then forward in a way that made him arc the rest of the distance over to the men.
He barreled feet first into one of the guys, taking him down as he landed right on him. He’d definitely feel that in the morning. Four to go.
Something heavy caught him in the chest just as he was moving to stand, and Dick flew backwards, with an oof. Even through the armor his ribs screamed at him. He flailed, shoving the crate he’d been hit with out of the way, and sending it crashing to the floor in a flurry of broken plywood, and scattered fish.
He stood, coughing, to find two of the men running away from him. His best guess was they’d been the ones to chunk the crate at him.
Quickly, he pulled a bola from his belt and threw it at him, catching one of the guys around the ankles, then sprinted for the next and grabbed him by the back of his jacket to knock out with a few well aimed punches.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath, happy he’d managed so much so well.
That’s when a bullet tore its way through his armor and into his right shoulder. Dick bit back a scream and instead turned on his assailant, grapple still in one hand. He shot it out, towards the man’s feet to wrap around them and drag him down and back. In his panic, the man dropped his gun.
Something heavy hit him in the back of the head, sending Dick’s vision spinning into stars. He stumbled forward, grapple dropping from his hand uselessly.
Someone else was coming at him from the front now. Dick threw up both arms to catch the volley of punches sent his way, trying desperately to catch his breath even as the blows shook his arm and rattled it with pain.
He grit his teeth, and pushed forward, ducking under the next blow, and moving up with one of his own, catching the guy in the chest just under his arm. He grabbed said arm and yanked the man forward to drag him around and throw him back towards the man who’d presumably hit Dick over the head with the board.
The two men toppled together and with that the fight was over. Systematically Dick secured each one with zip ties, and dragged them into a rough clump of men for the police to find later. Even without the kidnapping, it was obvious these men were smuggling something. He was sure they’d find enough evidence here for an easy conviction, especially since Dick had no desire to remove anything from the crime scene.
Well okay. One thing.
He cast his eyes around for any sign of Damian. In the fury of the fight Dick hadn’t even thought about him. Hadn’t even considered someone might use him as leverage, or--his heart stuttered what if Damian had been shot in all the chaos?
“Damian!” Dick called, or rather tried to call. His brother’s name came out a crack, the desperate scraping of air on vocal cords laced with the fear that his brother wouldn’t be there. That he would, but he’d be dead.
He ran around the truck to search in the back. Empty. The car itself was empty. Dick scoured the floor, throwing open boxes to find fish or guns or fish covering guns but no Damian. No sign of him anywhere. Now he knew what they’d been smuggling, but that didn’t help him figure out where Damian was.
Dick’s heart fell. Damian wasn’t here. But he had to be.
He was half a second away from hauling one of the men to his feet for a thorough interrogation, when he remembered the proof of life picture he’d been sent. Damian had been in a cramped room, not this open area around Dick.
His eyes cast across the room again, and followed a wooden staircase as it zigzagged up a flight to end at a door, right above an observation room. Hope flooded his chest. Damian could be there. Just waiting for him.
Dick ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. His heart had taken hold of his throat again, a huge lump that rested there like unshed tears.
This door rattled when Dick grabbed the knob. Panic, and fury that they would make it so hard to reach his boy sent his foot slamming into the wood. The flimsy lock broke, the wood cracking under the force of Dick’s kick, and the door slammed open, hitting the back wall so hard it threw itself back forward.
Dick was already through it, catching it with one hand.
And there. Right in the middle of the room, tied to a chair, was Damian.
Dick’s heart didn’t leave his throat, but the vice around his chest loosened just a little bit. Just enough so that a huge sigh could escape Dick’s lungs, even as he was bolting for the boy.
Damian’s head was bowed, tucked into his chest, and he wore a blindfold. It made Dick sick, just looking at him like that. He dropped to his knees before the chair and reached out to gently tug the blindfold off.
This close, Dick could see ugly bruising forming on one of his cheeks. His lip was split and swollen from a blow. The sight turned the fluttering panic in Dick’s chest into raw fury, but there was nothing he could do about that now beyond wishing he’d hit each and every one of those men just a little harder.
Damian blinked at him, eyes slow to focus on anything before he frowned. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again unsure.
“Hey there.” Dick said, smiling, “Glad to see you’re awake at least.”
Damian --not Robin right now, just Damian, small, grumpy, ten year old Damian -- glared at him for all of a second before the look slipped away, his green eyes going distant as whatever he’d been given to keep him quiet took hold again.
It made Dick’s heart tighten. Damian wasn’t open like this, gaze lost, attention on nothing. He was tense, alert, relaxed only when they were snuggly settled in at the penthouse. He didn’t ever look so, frightened.
“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Dick prompted, reaching up to tilt Damian’s head up to look at him.
His brother’s nose wrinkled and he frowned, “Batm-an?” he got out before squeezing his eyes shut, “Where?”
“A warehouse at the docks.” Dick hummed, “They’ve had you about twenty four hours now. How are you feeling?”
“Like some ninja just wiped the floor with me” Damian muttered, voice thick.
“That’d be the drugs, your pupils are blown so wide I could see my reflection in them.”
Dick stood, “I’m going to get you untied now, alright?”
He moved around Damian’s back and the knots there. Thick rope held him pressed into the chair, looped over and over around him like the men who’d taken Damian had somehow known he was an assassin trained to escape worse situations than this. His wrists were equally tied, with rope too tight, his arms pulled around the chair in a way that must have been uncomfortable at first, and painful now. Dick had to tamp down the rage in his chest again.
When Dick started on the ropes, Damian grunted, but was otherwise silent. The noise itself was enough to tell Dick his baby brother was hurting, and either too out of it to hold back or in too much pain.
Quickly, but trying not to pull too much on Damian, Dick undid the ropes, and slipped them off Damian’s wrists first, wincing at the ugly red lines revealed on the kid’s skin. Then he pulled the rest off, and had to reach around quickly to keep Damian from slumping forward and falling off the chair. The last thing he needed was his brother breaking his nose in an unprotected fall.
Dick eased his way back to Damian’s front, and gently shook his shoulder. Damian’s head had fallen back into his chest, and his eyes were shut again. The shaking caused him to mumble something incoherent, then Damian’s eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing his cheeks for a moment before opening into a half lidded stare.
“Hey there.” Dick said, voice gentle, “You back with me, Dames?”
His brother blinked at him, then his lips turned down into a scowl. What at, Dick wasn’t sure, but he figured it probably wasn’t him.
He swallowed and looked Dick over, his eyes suddenly going wide, “You are injured.”
Dick looked down and remembered the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Blood was seeping down the leather of his uniform, red stark against the black.
“It’s not that bad.” he lied.
Just thinking about it reminded Dick of the pain radiating out of that spot. He tugged his cape over it and gave Damian his brightest smile.
“What else happened?” Damian was more alert now, like his own concern for Dick could override his own trauma.
“Nothing.” Dick promised, “I took out the goons who grabbed you, that’s all you need to know.”
Damian’s face scrunched up like he wanted to argue, because obviously if Dick had gotten shot something else must have happened, but he didn’t. He paused so long, his attention slid away from Dick, and down to his arms, and he started absently rubbing at his wrists.
They were still red, and puffy now, with sores where Damian had shifted against the ropes. Dick pushed away the urge to take his brother’s hands into his own to rub at them lightly in his own attempt at soothing the pain.
He nodded instead, then gave Damian half a smile, “You’re not going to like this, but I’m going to carry you now.”
Dick reached out to lift Damian but his brother pushed him away.
“I am fine.” he told him, attempting to screw his face into something fierce, instead he looked a bit confused. The word fine was no more firm than his look and it made Dick’s heart twist.
Damian put both hands on the sides of the chair and huffed, “I only need a moment.”
The last thing Dick wanted to do was let Damian get up and walk out of here on his own. It would be like saying that Damian’s own internal monologue that him being brave was what was expected of him.
Dick could read the thoughts on his brother’s face, that determination to not be weak, to not need help beyond what was absolutely necessary, and for what felt like the hundredth time that night Dick found himself furious.
Not at Damian, there was nothing to be mad at him about. But about everything else. The men who’d kidnapped him, and stolen any sense of security Damian had mustered in the months they’d been working together. At the League and all it’s tests and training. At Ra’s most of all, and his infuriating need to fill Damian with the idea that one must be perfect to be worth anything.
If he could wring all their necks he would. If that would stop the pain Damian was working so hard right now to bury, he’d do it. Batman’s no kill policy thrown out the window in one fell swoop.
“You don’t have to try and walk out of here on your own.” Dick promised him, “I’d be more than happy to carry you. I want to.”
Damian shook his head, eyes flitting for a moment to Dick’s injury, still hidden by his cape.
“I am fine.” this time his words were firm, “I do not require your assistance.”
He pushed himself to his feet, and swayed, like a sapling in the wind. Dick reached out to steady him, but Damian swatted his hand away with a growl.
“I can do it.”
He straightened and looked Dick in the eyes, fire burning behind his green irises. Stiffly he nodded at Dick, “Thank you for your assistance in saving me.”
With that, he made to move past Dick. Each step was wobbly, his balance obviously still off as whatever they’d knocked him out with fought to cloud his mind and keep him docile. Dick almost snorted at that idea, very little could keep an angry Damian docile.
“Of course.” Dick said to his back, “I will always come for you.”
They stepped out of the room, and Damian got a good look at where he’d been held. Dick watched him hesitate as he looked down at the floor below him, then the stairs, as they moved down, turned, and continued down to the floor.
Dick couldn’t see Damian’s expression, but he did watch as the boy squared his shoulders, preparing for the task of trying not to stumble as he moved down the stairs on his own.
Gently, Dick stepped past him, and onto the first wooden step, “I’ll go down first, and make sure no one’s gotten loose or come in here since I arrived.”
It was a flimsy reason to move ahead of him, but Damian allowed it. He must have needed more time to collect himself, and the excuse was accepted readily. Dick was happy. He hadn’t wanted to fight Damian on the idea. If he went before his brother, he could easily catch him if he stumbled, and keep the kid from tumbling down the stairs and hurting himself.
One at a time, Dick moved down the stairs at a steady pace, ears pricked for Damian behind him, all his attention focused on the boy, alert and ready to catch him at the merest hint of a stumble. He did not look back, that would be too obvious, and he wanted Damian to feel like he wasn’t judging him.
The last thing he wanted to do was make any of this harder for his brother. At the same time, the only thing Dick wanted to do was scoop him into his arms and hold him there. Feeling his warmth, his breath, his heartbeat. Knowing he was fine, reassured that any damage done tonight was temporary.
But Damian would fight him.
He would kick and shove and yell that he was not a child. Coddling him right now would keep Damian from proving he was still worthy. And Dick would let him do that. If only so the kid wouldn’t punish himself later. And in all honesty? Dick feared Damian still might. He was terrified that Damian might see this event as such a failure he’d push himself too hard, or refuse whatever comfort Dick and Alfred would try to provide. Like that was his fault. Like it wasn't on Dick’s shoulders, like his guardian hadn’t dropped the ball.
So Dick squared his own shoulders and kept moving. One step after another.
They were almost at the end when Damian yelped. Dick spun on his heel, arms ready and open in case Damian needed him, but his brother seemed fine, beyond a grimace.
“What happened?” Dick asked, looking him up and down.
With a start, he realized Damian was not wearing shoes. How was Damian not wearing shoes right now? How had he missed that detail in his rescue.
“I am fine,” Damian snapped. “I simply stubbed my toe. That is all.”
It didn’t seem like anything else had happened, and it was possible it could have happened. If Damian had stepped down wrong he could have easily jammed his toe unprotected as it was with no shoes.
Dick nodded.
“What happened to your shoes?” he ventured.
Damian clicked his tongue in dismissal, “They took them of course. A precaution against my escape.”
That was unexpected, but again made sense.
He nodded, "Ah, I see. Well, I don’t have any extra shoes in the car. They’re not really a Batman essential tool.” He almost offered to carry Damian again, but held back. It would only be rejected again.
His brother shrugged, “It does not bother me. There were many times I went barefoot as a part of my training. Grandfather believed you should be able to deal with any terrain without the help of shoes if necessary.”
Dick frowned, “That’s a little extreme.”
“It is useful now.” Damian pointed out, “Come, I do not wish to stay here any longer than we must.”
“You know,” Dick ventured. “I really wouldn’t mind carrying you.”
Damian shot him a glare so dark Dick was happy his brother had nothing sharp on him. He held up his arms in defeat.
“Alright, alright, if you're sure.”
"I am." Damian repeated.
As he finished heading down the stairs, Dick did give the room a once over, checking for any remaining thugs, but only found the men he’d already knocked out still zip tied and unconscious. Or maybe feigning it, Dick didn’t really care either way. He wanted to get Damian into the car and be out of here, with the men forgotten in the wake of a tip to the GCPD.
His brother trailed behind him as they left the room, moving so slowly Dick actually stopped at one point to look back. Damian had stopped, and was staring out at the room with a strange expression on his face. Dick wondered if it was the drugs, pulling at his attention. He wondered when Damian had eaten last, or had anything to drink. Was he dizzy? Did he--
Damian turned and caught Dick staring. He scoffed at the worry, and started forward again. Together, he and Damian moved out onto the docks proper.
The car was a bit of a walk, but Dick didn’t mind. He dropped to move beside Damian just wanting to be next to his brother. He kept an eye on him from his peripherals, happy that he’d had Alfred add that little bit of extra sight to the cowl.
He thought the cool night air and movement might make Damian a bit steadier on his feet now, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He continued to stumble every few steps, so maybe he wasn’t shaking off the drugs? And that made Dick also remember how hard they used to hit him. Some guys didn’t know how to properly choose a dose for kids and Damian was small. What if he was just powering through it, and inside he was feeling terrible? His chest ached to just lift the boy from where he was and hold him close.
Uncertainty swirled in Dick’s chest. He liked to think he knew Damian pretty well at this point. He didn’t know everything about the kid, but he knew how he acted, and most importantly how he reacted to certain things. Tonight was registering as a failure in his head, and if Dick did anything to even hint he thought Damian had failed or was weak? It would only make it worse. He knew that.
But also, every molecule in his body vibrated with the need to comfort his kid. To wrap him in warm arms and promise him it wasn’t his fault. To do everything Bruce used to do for him, and take the terror that was a kidnapping and soothe that fear down to nothing.
He quite simply did not know what was right. Which action would be best. But he knew what Damian was comfortable with, and he leaned into that. He only hoped it was the right choice.
They reached the car and climbed inside. The whole ride back Dick kept trying to get Damian to talk, just to keep the boy awake and aware. Damian gave monosyllabic answers when he even bothered to respond and glared at the road ahead.
It only tightened the knots in Dick’s chest. Had he made the wrong move letting Damian walk? Had he shown his brother the opposite of what he’d wanted? Made him feel unloved?
He hated not knowing the exact right thing to do. More often than not, Dick was sure he messed up. Try as he might to get Damian to believe him, to understand he cared, and to accept his love he knew a lot of what he said slipped right past the kid. He was hoping tonight might be different.
When they reached the bunker, Damian was first out of the car, and made a beeline for the showers. Dick wanted to call him back, but bit his tongue. He’d let his brother have some time alone. He probably needed the quiet to process everything and feel safe again.
Dick turned to Alfred, who had stood from his place at the computer to approach Dick.
“Hey.” he said, holding up a hand, “Found him.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, “And?”
“And he’s okay? I think. I’m honestly not sure.”
“Did you talk with him?”
Dick shrugged, “I think I’ll let him shower and then whether he likes it or not he’s getting the biggest hug I can give.”
Alfred hummed, then frowned at Dick, “You’ll only be giving that hug if I can keep you from bleeding out. Goodness, why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?”
Dick blinked at him and remembered again, the gunshot wound. He’d been so wrapped up in his worry for Damian it had hardly registered. He wanted to laugh. When Bruce would ‘forget’ a wound Dick had always thought he was lying. Now he found some truth in those words.
“Would you believe I’d forgotten about it?” Dick said, looking up to watch the last of Damian disappear into the Bunker’s locker room.
Alfred didn’t roll his eyes, but he might as well have with the look he shot Dick, “Up on one of the gurneys. Get your whole shirt off while I collect the needed supplies.”
Stripping off the armor and undershirt that made up Batman’s uniform was painful. Dick’s shoulder and bruised ribs yelled at him as he tugged each item up and over his head, but he supposed he probably deserved that. He really should have warned Alfred ahead of time.
The butler returned, wheeling a small cart of supplies and Dick gave him a sheepish smile at Alfred’s look of shock. Not only was his arm still freely bleeding, but he already had a series of nasty bruises forming over his chest.
“That one was a wooden plank, and that was a whole shipping container.” Dick said, pointing them out, “They were smuggling guns as well as being kidnappers.”
He sat back and chatted lightly with Alfred, telling him the finer details of the rescue as the man worked to get his arm clean and stitched up. Then as he checked Dick’s ribs for breaks, frowning here or there, and at last examining the back of his head.
A few painkillers later and he was eyeing the locker rooms for a shower of his own.
Dick figured it couldn’t hurt to wash the grime of the night off himself, and Damian wouldn’t leave the bunker without him. His brother would want to debrief, and see that Dick had gotten his own injuries taken care of.
He let Alfred know his plan, asked him to keep an eye on Damian if the kid came out before him, and hopped off the gurney to head to the locker room. He entered a much quieter room than he’d expected. In fact, it was silent in the room, with no sounds of a shower running at all. It was possible Damian was done already, but Dick also knew his brother tended towards long showers when he’d had a hard night. And this was most certainly a tough one.
“Damian?” he called, and moved with purpose, making enough noise his brother would know he was coming.
Damian didn’t respond, and worry spiked Dick’s heart. Had he slipped and fallen? Was something more wrong with Damian than Dick had initially realized? He hurried now, moving over to the lockers where they kept their gear and extra civilian clothes.
He found Damian seated on the ground with one leg pulled up towards his chest, fingers grabbing at the underside of his foot.
“Damian?” Dick couldn’t help but sound surprised, “What’s going on?”
His brother’s head shot up, eyes wide.
He looked terrible. Under the much brighter lights of the locker room Dick could really see just how worn out Damian was. His eyes were ringed with dark bags, his complexion pale, and his pupils still far too large for Dick’s comfort. The last twenty four hours had been hard on him, and yet he’d still pushed through all that just so he could seem okay.
“Damian, talk to me.” Dick said, moving to kneel beside him.
As he did so, he got a good look at Damian’s foot and he gasped. It was covered in blood, with a large piece of dark wood jutting out at an ugly angle. The skin around the splinter was irritated, red and puffy from Damian putting weight on it with every step.
“What on Earth, Damian why didn’t you tell me this happened?”
Damian opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He was breathing too fast, to the point he was inhaling and exhaling in rapid succession, tiny little puffs that were nowhere near enough air.
“Hey, hey, calm down Damian.”
Only Damian did not calm down. His breathing only sped up. Instead of managing clear words he let out a high whine that almost sounded like a keen if Dick didn’t know him better.
He was at a loss for what to do. Damian didn’t break down like this. He didn’t panic. He rarely cried. And now that he was doing all three Dick had no idea what to do. No idea what caused it. He’d been fine? Shaken and in need of some comfort yes, but not on the verge of a total breakdown. Even the splinter wouldn’t be enough to make him this upset, right?
But then again, Damian was excellent at hiding things, especially if he thought it would make him seem weak. He’d probably been trying his best to power through until he could find some alone time, and if something else was wrong--
“I.” Damian breathed in the word. He gasped, and then tried again, “I--” this time it came out in a gasp of air.
“I did not think it was this bad.” he managed at last, his words heaving with every breath.
Dick reached out for Damian, but the kid jerked back.
His hands squeezed his foot, knuckles turning white, along with the skin under his fingers, “I did not wish to inconvenience you further. I was not in need of the same medical attention, you were.” he said, still trying to explain.
Damian looked pointedly at Dick’s arm and then his bruised chest. Dick should have realized that the moment Damian had noticed any injury earlier he would have clammed up. He always did, spouting nonsense about it being Robin’s duty to take care of Batman, like that meant he could just pretend he wasn’t hurting.
“I’m alright.” Dick lied, “And even if not, there is no reason you should think your pain ranks below mine. Especially with an injury like this.”
“It is a splinter.” Damian spat, “I have had splinters.”
He swallowed, his cheeks were splotched with red, and Dick realized his eyes had gone glassy with unshed tears.
Dick frowned at him, “Not like this.”
“I thought--” Damian’s breath hitched, “I thought I could remove it on my own, but.” and now Damian stopped to look down at the splinter.
It was much larger than a normal splinter. It was a chunk of wood, definitely broken off during Dick’s earlier fight and left carelessly on the concert where it could be stepped on. It was as wide as Dick’s index finger, and at least as long as half its length.
Dick was kicking himself for not ignoring Damian and just carrying him anyway.
“I can’t.” Damian’s voice warbled, “I can’t get it out. I can’t get it out. I can’t.” his breathing was rapid now, short gasps like he was drowning.
Then all of a sudden, the tears building in Damian’s eyes spilled out and he wailed, the noise high and loud and so utterly forgien to Dick’s ears it froze him for a moment.
Damian scrabbled at his foot with one hand, his little fingers digging at the splinter, trying to pull at the wood, “Get out!” he yelled, “Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” he screamed at the wood like his words would move it.
“Damian!” Dick cried, grabbing his hand, but he only dropped his hold fully on his foot and started picking away at it with his other hand, and Dick had to grab that one too, hoisting them up as Damian started squirming and screaming.
“No!” he shouted, “No! I have to do this! I have to be able to do this! If I can’t remove a simple splinter then I---what am I?”
He tried to tear his hands from Dick’s but it wasn’t happening. Dick’s hands were wrapped securely around his wrists, they were so small he could easily loop his fingers around them in a tight grip. Damian yelped, and Dick remembered belatedly that his wrists were bruised from the ropes. He dropped them like they were on fire.
“I’m sorry.” he said, but Damian wasn’t listening.
Already he was grabbing his foot again, holding it to stare down at the splinter, and Dick was sure if he gave Damian the chance, he’d lean over and start biting at the thing.
He leapt forward, and tugged Damian into his chest, making him drop his foot. His legs were pulled under him as Dick dragged him close, pressing their chests together in a bear hug.
“Calm down.” he demanded, voice firm in Damian’s ear, “Just calm down and breathe for me, Damian.”
For a moment, Damian continued to wheeze against him, still wild with fear and panic, and then at last he started to still, fingers grabbing at Dick’s arms not to push him away but in desperate need.
For a moment there was silence and total stillness between them, then Damian buried his face in Dick’s chest and sobbed. His whole tiny frame heaved as he wept, silent little gasps into Dick’s chest, with his tears making the most noise as they plopped onto the floor below them, pooling together.
“I should be able to do it.” he said, his voice so small, “It is the least I can do after you--after I caused you so much trouble.” he looked up, green eyes ringed with red, “You could have died.”
Dick felt tears prick at the back of his own eyes at that. He was furious with himself, the day, and the world again. Here Damian was so worried about Dick, when it was Damian that could have died. Damian that was in danger. Damian who had been the victim here.
“Oh, kiddo.” Dick whispered, then leaned down to press a kiss into his hair, “I’m okay. And you’re going to be fine too.”
He scooped Damian up into his arms, and for once the boy did not fight it. Damian leaned close, his hands balled into fists against Dick’s chest. Face tight as he tried to hold back further tears.
Dick carried him out of the room and back into the bunker proper to face Alfred, who turned, mouth open probably to tell Damian to stay. He saw the two of them and gaped for a moment before composing himself.
“What happened?”
“Damian’s got quite the splinter.” Dick said, “Let’s help him get it loose.”
Damian was stone faced as Dick set him on the cot he’d just so recently vacated. His hands opened up long enough to grip at the sheet underneath him and ball up wads of it tightly between his fingers, his grip white against them.
Alfred frowned at the splinter and then Damian, “This will hurt, but I need to clean the wound to see how deep it is lodged.”
Damian nodded once, and then set his gaze ahead of him as Alfred pulled out the hydrogen peroxide. Dick reached a hand out to tease one of Damian’s away from the sheet. He looped their fingers together and squeezed gently.
When Alfred poured the liquid onto Damian’s foot, he squeezed Dick’s hand so tight it hurt. And he didn’t let go the whole time Alfred worked on his foot, especially when he mentioned having to make a small incision to get the wood out.
Dick did his best to distract Damian. Quietly he told him the story of one of his own terrible splinter incidents that involved his palms full of them when he’d been trying to climb a tree. It wasn’t nearly as rough as Damian’s but he played up many aspects of it trying to get his brother to laugh. Damian didn’t but his face relaxed marginally as he listened.
At last, Alfred finished up wrapping Damian’s foot, then looked over him. Damian sighed, and nodded. Dick grinned at the wordless exchange. Honestly Alfred could convince anyone of anything. Damian settled in to be fully examined, and have any other injuries looked over.
When they were fully done, and Damian sufficiently worried over, Alfred left Dick alone with the kid.
“So.” Dick said, after a moment, “You feeling a bit better?”
Damian shook his head, staring down at the new bandages on his wrists.
Dick could understand that. He looked beat. Honestly, how Damian was even still awake at this point was a miracle to Dick, he should be exhausted after everything. Dick had let him get that way, he’d let Damian push himself to the point of being so overwhelmed he’d broken down.
“Hey, why don’t we skip the shower tonight, and get you to bed?” Dick suggested, reaching out to tousle Damian’s hair.
“I would like that.” Damian said, still not looking up.
“You know you are never a burden to me, right?” Dick told him, voice quiet, “You can admit any injury or weakness no matter what’s going on with me, and I will not see it as anything less than you trusting me.”
His brother pressed his lips together and nodded. Then after a moment of silence, “Thank you, Richard.”
Dick reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair, “Of course, Damian. Anytime.”