Chapter Text
Damian didn’t know who put him in this situation. Or maybe he did know, he just didn’t remember… Every time he thought he had answers, and a criminal’s name to curse, it slipped away again.
Mentally taking stock of his situation, what did he know? Well, he was currently suspended in a contraption similar to a shark cage above possibly unsanitary, definitely cold water. His best guess as to a location was somewhere near the harbor, based on the smell of saltwater. He was indoors, but it was like a neglected warehouse, with a very long, large concrete pit of water. No heating, but at least it wasn’t as bad as being out in the open, October air. And ‘shark cage’ would be a generous term for his incredibly cramped prison. More like a lobster cage, minus all the junk on the inside. And more flat, like the small bird feeders you’d put blocks of bird suet into.
His knees, hands, and his face were scuffed up in spots where he had attempted to struggle out of the thing, despite how little movement it allowed him. Everything ached. It was amazing how much his whole body would ache, when all he was doing was being restrained into laying on his stomach, with absolutely no room to turn around or move in any meaningful way. Damian only had enough room to shiver, cold and wet, as he tiredly stared down at the water. His utility belt was gone, and with it, his tracker.
What was getting less clear to him as he remained stuck here? The count of exactly how many damn times the rope attached behind him to the cage suddenly slackened, plunging him into the icy liquid below without any warning. Time after time, he would be dropped, held under almost long enough for his lungs to give out, then reeled back up, gasping and coughing. It was as if he were a worm stuck on a hook, although the culprit wasn’t fishing for something below the water.
Their voice would taunt him, try to goad him into crying out for his father. To be more specific, to cry for Batman. His captor didn’t seem to know the specifics of their relationship, only that he was a Robin. A Robin that needed his Batman. Damian refused to give him any satisfaction from his misery, although he couldn’t stop himself from letting out sounds of respiratory distress whenever he was pulled back up into the air again. Time after time, he was told that he would be let go if he just pleaded for help. He was told that Batman was on the phone, listening to him, begging Damian to just say something so that he could be released already.
He could believe that his father was on the phone, even if Damian couldn’t hear him. ‘Begging’, he had just a little more difficulty believing. And that this villain would actually release him after such an easy demand was met?
Completely unbelievable.
Damian rested his stinging cheek a little more on the strong yet thin metal bars, his eyes slowly closing in exhaustion. It was hard to sleep in this state, but it was getting more and more difficult to stay awake. It had definitely been at least a day and a half of this, and he couldn’t take much more. He desperately tried not to succumb to fatigue, since it was almost a guarantee that he would be awoken by a harsh fall and a cold, uncomfortable embrace.
But he was quietly beginning to fear the reality that breathing wasn’t coming as easily now… It felt like his chest couldn’t rid itself of every bit of water he inhaled, and it was only building up in feeling more and more. He hadn’t been able to take in a deep breath for a while now without feeling like he was choking.
He was so tired… and cold… The bouts of coughing used to help keep him awake, but he didn’t feel like he had enough air or energy to cough anymore…
“I’ve grown tired of this.”
A thought that had occurred to Damian so many times over the past however many days. But he suddenly realized it wasn’t his own thought. It was the voice. With a hint of panic in it, rather than boredom or weariness.
Was father cl-
And the cage dropped yet again.
. - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - .
Gotham Harbor. He had heard the splashing of water in at least half the phone calls he took from the burner phone sent to him two days ago, which wasn’t enough to go on at first. Batman had no clue where to look, until he heard what sounded like a faint boat horn in the background of the last call. For two days and six hours, he had no clue what was being done to his son, what torture he was being told to cry his way out of. He could only imagine.
It was the middle of the night, and Tim and Jason were still checking on certain areas in the city where private residences would have pools or signs of high water usage. The boat horn could be misleading, after all… Possible misdirection…
The GPS of the Batmobile pinged three specific locations all of a sudden. Barbara’s voice echoed from the speakers around him, “Batman, it has to be one of these. They’re the only spots along the waterfront that don’t currently have active security or employees. Basically abandoned, or at least unused at the moment. And all within the signal range of the calls.”
One of the dots started flashing as Dick quickly said, “I got this one.” He wasn’t far away, also searching the harbor area while on the Batcycle.
Bruce tapped the closest one, routing the Batmobile to it. “I’m on it.” The vehicle’s engine roared as it kicked into a faster speed.
Words couldn’t express the anxiety he was feeling right now, even as his face remained as stoic as ever. The Oracle didn’t make pinpointed guesses without good evidence. But he hoped this was it. No more phone calls, no more games… He wanted Damian back.
The Batmobile came to a fast yet silent halt outside a large, roofed dry dock that was in mild disrepair. Some faint light could be made out through the very small windows running along the top. A promising sign. He leapt out of the car and found his stealthy point of entry through a shattered window beside a door.
It was dim inside and completely empty of people, but he could hear the slight hum of electricity. Then suddenly, a loud splash sounded out from further down the structure. It couldn’t be coincidence.
Batman dashed down the length of the dock, the dark water gently lapping against the concrete walls below him, too dark and polluted to see the bottom. Leaping through machinery and structures blocking the way, he was soon reaching the end. He got closer, seeing what looked like a crane with a cable leading into the water with unsettled water still rippling around it.
Was Damian…
He didn’t have time to think, only time to act. If he had time to think, he would be torn between hoping his son wasn’t at the end of that cable underwater, and hoping that he was so that the boy could finally be recovered.
In the nearby control room, where the lights were left on, Batman flung himself at the levers and buttons, trying any combination to get the crane moving. Nothing that moved was working, leaving one jammed lever. He gave it a shove with all his might, accidentally breaking it out of its slot. And yet still nothing with the crane changed.
No time.
He ran out of the control room, coming to the edge of the water-filled dry dock.
Bruce took a deep breath and dove in without hesitation. Deep enough to dive, though he didn’t have to swim down very far. Fortunately, yet also unfortunately, he found what he was looking for.
In the murky water, his suit insulating him from the cold, Batman grabbed onto a cage resting on the concrete bottom. A small, familiar form lay trapped within, completely motionless and facing downwards. The man spotted two locks keeping the contraption closed, and immediately tried to force them open. First with his hands, then with a tool from his belt. He was running out of air already, and he couldn’t get it open. No way to get it open like this.
Batman took out his grappling hook and cord, eyeing the angle of cable that ran from the back of the cage to the neck of the crane above them. He took careful and hopeful aim, and fired the hook above him with one hand, while gripping a thin bar of the cage with the other.
It caught. The cord tightened. Within seconds, they were lifted clear out of the water. The weight of the cage and its contents were more than manageable for Bruce’s strength. As carefully as he could, he swung himself towards the edge of the dry dock, dropping the cage then landing beside it.
It set off immediate alarm bells that Damian wasn’t reacting in any way to this.
“Robin!” he shouted, kneeling beside the cage while getting out a few tools that could cut the locks. “Robin, answer me!”
It took a combination of finesse and strength, but he managed to pry the locks open, releasing the back of the contraption. Bruce pulled his limp son out of it, finally freeing him from one part of this horrible ordeal. Any visible skin was practically ashen. His lips and fingertips were blue.
He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing.
Batman pinged Barbara over comm as he laid Damian flat on his back on the concrete and tilted his chin up. “I need a point of entry to the Batmobile as close as possible, and Doctor Leslie Thompkins on the phone. I found him,” he hurriedly said, and went into chest compressions. He was firm yet gentle, afraid of breaking the boy’s ribs. Yet even more afraid of not being able to save him.
“Got it,” she said, the worry obvious in her voice despite her short reply. “I’ll notify everyone else after.”
He transitioned to rescue breathing as he heard the Batmobile grow closer on the other side of the walls nearby.
Then back to chest compressions. “Damnit, Damian… breathe,” he growled, not caring that Barbara could most likely hear him over the still open comm link. The last thing he was worried about was causing her more panic at this moment. Not when the kid wasn’t coming to.
Rescue breathing. The Batmobile’s front laser system shot into the thin metal wall not far away, carefully avoiding them.
Chest compressions. The weakened section of wall fell as the vehicle drove through it, only about fifteen feet away. The car’s door popped open, the sound of a ringing phone emanating from within.
Breathing every bit of life he could try to give into his son. Sounds of the Batcycle echoed from further down the harbor, getting closer.
Pushing on his chest repeatedly, hoping it would rise and fall on its own again. The call in the Batmobile went to Dr. Thompkins’ voicemail.
“Shit,” Batman grunted, losing hope.
It was then that Damian lurched, finally heaving up an unhealthy amount of water from his lungs. Bruce turned him on his side, going to pat him on the back and run his fingers through the kid’s wet hair as he coughed and hacked uncontrollably. There were no words to describe the relief he was feeling, even though they were clearly not out of the woods yet.
“You’re okay. I have you,” Batman murmured, pulling Damian up against him. If Damian knew his father was there, he didn’t show it. He fought to keep his eyes open, shivering and shuddering as he wheezed short breaths. Speaking through the comms intentionally this time, Bruce said, “Oracle, call Doctor Thomp-”
He was cut off from completing the sentence as the phone started ringing through the Batmobile’s speakers.
“It’s Dr. Thompkins,” Barbara quickly said as Batman lifted Damian up to carry him to the passenger side seat. He was a cold, trembling ragdoll in his father’s arms as he was gingerly deposited into the seat.
The man leaned over him to press the ‘answer’ button, just as Dick’s motorcycle approached on the outside of the dry dock structure. Water from the batsuit dripped all over the interior, but that didn’t matter at the moment. The Batmobile had seen far worse damage before.
“What’s his status?” Dr. Thompkins' voice immediately responded, as soon as the call was connected. She had already known that Damian had been missing. When a Robin was missing, she was prepared and on standby to the best of her abilities until further notice. No time for phone call niceties, not even a quick apology for not waking up fast enough to answer the call on the first attempt.
Batman reclined the seat so that Damian would hopefully be even marginally more comfortable, and made sure to turn up the seat heating just a little. Nightwing squeezed through the opening between the Batmobile and the edge of the hole in the metal wall it created, ready to help. Though, as soon as he saw his younger brother, he froze in his tracks as his heart leapt into his throat.
“He was locked in a small, cage-like apparatus and submerged in the water of Gotham Harbor. Unresponsive when I pulled him out, needed CPR. Safe to assume that he’s been repeatedly submerged in cold saltwater over the past few days,” Batman said, explaining the situation he had come across as well as he could. He gazed over the kid, unable to settle on the first thing to describe about his appearance. “He’s…”
“Bruce, he can’t breathe!” Dick suddenly said, shoving aside his father figure to sit the passenger-side seat back up more. Of course the boy’s breathing pattern was still shallow and ragged, but Bruce hadn’t realized that it had turned to short gasps as he was talking to Leslie. As soon as Damian was sat back up, he let out some chest-rattling coughs and took in ever-so-slightly deeper breaths in relief.
Nightwing took over in talking as he shot a look at Batman, silently telling him to get in the driver seat and be ready to go. “Dr. Thompson, it’s Grayson. Damian is incredibly washed out in complexion, his fingertips and lips are practically blue. There’s… there’s a bit of a fluid-like substance coming out of his mouth when he coughs, it’s pink-ish in color. Doesn’t look like watered-down blood, and looks slightly thicker in consistency than water. He’s shaking and shivering harder than I’ve seen him do before, and having trouble breathing. Breaths are short and shallow. He seems slightly conscious, but isn’t making signs that he understands what’s going on around him. Need any other details? If not, we’ll get him to you as fast as we can.”
“No, that’ll do. Thank you,” she replied. By this time, Batman has returned to his seat and buckled in, giving a nod of thanks to Dick.
“I’ll follow you,” he said, buckling in his little brother and closing the door quickly.
Bruce waited until Nightwing was safely clear of the vehicle before going to back out and set the destination in the GPS. As he did so, he said to Leslie, “En route to the Bat Cave med bay, ETA is sixteen minutes. Meet you there.”
“No!” she replied with as much urgency and authority as she could. “You are bringing him to Wayne Hospital, immediately!”
“We don’t have changes in clothes, or a civilian car, and the culprit is still at large! I need security, along with your help,” he argued back.
“Your med bay is not equipped with what I have a feeling I’m going to need, or the professional assistance I already know I’ll require! I can’t even handle this at my clinic! This is serious, Bruce!” she argued right back, raising her voice.
“I’ve weighed out the risks-” Bruce started to reply before being interrupted.
“You don’t have the medical schooling or experience to responsibly weigh out those damn risks. I do, and I am telling he needs facilities that only the hospital can reliably provide!” she shouted at him.
Batman glanced over at his son, who weakly coughed as he faded in and out of consciousness. With the movement of the Batmobile and the darkness of their surroundings, it was hard to tell whether or not he was shivering still.
Leslie continued, “Listen, you tell me where you want me to be, and you know I’ll be there. This isn’t an ultimatum, this is my personal judgement based on my own experience. But I’m telling you now, if you take him to your med bay and I don’t have everything I need, he’s going to die. He will die. That’s it. That’s how it is. I believe that we all need to handle this at the hospital. I’m getting into my car now, Bruce. … Where am I meeting you?”
He knew what he needed to do, even if it meant relinquishing control and a degree of safety. With a muttered curse, he set the Batmobile’s GPS to its new destination.
. - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - .
“I’m not far behind them. Thanks for the heads up,” Nightwing said over his earpiece comm to Oracle, who had just informed him of the change of destination.
“If he’s risking the hospital… Dick, how bad is it?” Tim asked.
He went silent, unsure of what to say as he weaved through traffic. He wanted to let all the details come spilling out, but he didn’t know if that would be better or worse than being vague. “... Bad,” he eventually let out.
“Dude, please don’t make us walk into this situation blind. I need to know what to expect,” Tim begged him. Jason was on his way to the dry dock at the harbor, coordinating with Barbara to try to get more evidence and leads, but Tim couldn’t work without having hopefully some reassurance first. He’d see how much he could help Jason, but chances are he’d leave that to rejoin his adoptive father and little brother at the soonest opportunity.
Dick heaved a sigh, and simply said, “I haven’t seen a living person the color he was, and his breathing was….... I think he’s been nearly drowned over and over… This all could go either way.”
He shouldn’t have said that last sentence, but he couldn’t help it. Damian was no ordinary child, but he wouldn’t feel optimistic about any of the older brothers surviving being in that state.
No one said anything else over the comms for a few moments as the information sunk in.
“We’ll keep each other updated,” Barbara gently said. It was the best they could do at this point.