Chapter Text
Run. Hide. Be silent. Never call attention to yourself.
The eerie stillness of the night was tainted by the very low sound of small feet. The speed of the run and the lightness of his steps did not stop the feeling of dread that flowed through Damian's veins.
Be quiet. Pay attention to your surroundings. If you fail, you die.
If it were about two years ago, he would rather die than admit that he was afraid, even if it was only for himself. Fear is a weakness. Weakness leads to death.
Never stop running. They will find you if you let your guard down. If they do, your fate will be worse than death.
His feet hit the puddles of water, but he couldn't really care less about his wet pants. Not when there were a handful of assassins behind him. Not when he was practically unarmed and alone.
Survive, Damian. You have to survive.
His mother's last words were still vivid in his memory. It was almost as if he could hear her whispering in his ear. Like an old lullaby that helps you sleep. In Damian's case, they gave him the impetus not to give up.
His chest hurt, breathing cold air did nothing to help his already poor health. He knew that if he continued like this, he wouldn't live as long as his mother wanted, but it was a thousand times better to succumb to a trivial illness than to live to be his grandfather's puppet. To be his damned receptacle.
That was why now, Damian couldn't let those bastards get to him.
Assassins appeared in his line of sight and instinctively he turned a corner, cursing as he stopped in front of a brick wall. A damn alley, great. That was all he needed.
Damian drew his mediocre dagger. It was all he had to defend himself. The league assassins approached, cornering him like prey. As the boy already suspected, there were eight of them. Eight well-trained assassins against an eleven-year-old boy, fair enough. Damian armed himself in a position, ready to fight.
One of them approached, he wore a jade green badge on his front, probably the mission commander.
— This game has gone on long enough, rebel heir. Come back with us and you won't suffer such painful consequences, accept the Demon Head's mercy," — his voice was impassive. Damian growled in response.
— Go to hell! — and attacked.
The next few minutes were an intense flash of kicks, punches, blade with blade, and blood. They were good, but Damian was incredible . It was no less to be expected from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghu. He moved like an ounce, taking advantage of his size to deliver low blows and his agility to make them effective. They were dead, all dead. Damian was panting as he pulled the dagger from the commander's neck. He watched the body fall limp, the eyes empty and glassy. He didn't want to kill them, they were just following orders, but it was too risky to leave them alive.
Damian turned away from the alley, watching with indifference as the bodies littered the alley. His body hurt like hell, maybe he had two or three broken ribs, it wouldn't be the first time. He lifted his shirt, only to frown at the huge, ugly wound that was there. It was a deep cut, if he hadn't deflected quickly, it would have gone right through his stomach. " Great, just what I needed " he thought wryly.
He had to get out of this town now, as soon as possible. Damian didn't know how long ago they had left on their mission to get him, but surely his grandfather would already be suspicious of the delay. He sighed in defeat; it had been less than a month since he had arrived in Detroit. It was not a city with the bluest sky in the world, but he liked the shades of gray during the day. However, that leaf had run out, again. It was time to run away again
Run, run, and run. Always running away.
Damian couldn't really say that he was living; for the most part, he was surviving. He wondered if it was really worth it, running from one city to another, state or another, country or another. Even from continent to continent. Five months ago he was in Japan.
It was not really the most joyful or satisfying lifestyle, he had already experienced hunger, cold and pain. But this was the most beautiful freedom Damian had ever experienced. I mean, he could wake up whenever he wanted, where was that ever seen? He didn't have to follow orders, he didn't have to prove anything. He wouldn't be his grandfather's puppet, he had his own life.
And at this point, Damian refused to give up. His mother had died so that he could escape. For a short time, he was even happy, before tragedy overtook him once again. Damian knew he was not someone destined for happiness, but every now and then he would let himself dream. He would let himself think about what it would be like if it were different. Until reality hit him again and he had to deal with his coldness. He was not supposed to be happy. Wherever he went, the mark of death was registered.
But then again, he didn't know why he didn't give up. Maybe it was for his mother. Or the sad truth that dying would do no good, that his grandfather's murderers would throw him into the pit and he would be back to square one, only worse this time.
Damian allowed himself to relax minimally when he arrived at his safe house. Well, it wasn't exactly a house. It was an old establishment, not abandoned, but it hadn't been rented out in a while. That is, luckily it had water in the old sinks in the bathroom and even a shower that worked, although it didn't heat up properly, it was more than enough.
He clicked his disposable cell phone to see the time. 3:35 am, the boarding station wouldn't open until 6:00 am, maybe he could try to get some sleep and staunch the nasty wound on his stomach.
Twenty minutes passed before Damian finished taking a shower and tried his best to sanitize the deep cut. Now he was lying on an old mattress, using the disposable cell phone as a light source for the notebook on his lap. The pencil was bad and the sheets even worse, but he could do something beautiful there. He drew his mother, her smile light on her face and her loose hair falling like waterfalls, framing her flawless face.
She didn't look like this when she died. Talia didn't die in a beautiful or honorable way, she was torn apart by her own father. All so that Damian could live this terrible fulmination all the time. But it wasn't her fault, no, it was his. It was always his. Talia may not have been the perfect mother, but she tried. She did the best she could, and that was more than enough for Damian to remember her with fondness and admiration. To remember her as his mother , whom he would always love.
When he was satisfied, Damian closed the notebook and carefully put it away in the bag beside the mattress. There wasn't much in there, a few changes of clothes he needed to wash, an MP3 player with headphones saved by crepe tape, and the other most valuable thing he carried. The little piece of happy memories.
Damian picked up and played the musical instrument lovingly. The dark wooden ukulele was still beautiful, the strings neatly arranged from the first time he had seen it. He liked to play it when he felt down, music always helped. It reminded him of her too, the person he could also call his mother. The second person he vowed not to give up for.
It was a cartoon instrument, so small. It seemed useless, and his grandfather would probably say it was. Completely different from the violin and piano he was forced to learn, this one was a simple instrument that carried the joy of simplicity in its strings. If Damian closed his eyes, he could still hear her playing and singing to him, teaching him how to handle the small strings. He learned fast and fell in love fast too. Pamela Sales was the name of the most beautiful woman he had ever met, along with his mother. She showed a little of what the warmth of love is like, of a simple life away from it all. How something as simple as a ukulele can completely change your day.
Her fingers went to the strings, making the D minor chord. Playing softly and with knowledge of the strings. He sang softly in rhythm with the music.
You used to say we were cut the same way
Two lost souls, wandered aimlessly until that day
I have no regrets, at least I try not to
I want to forget, at least I try very hard
His fingers moved calmly, unhurriedly, without planning, just following the melody. He closed his eyes and imagined another place.
I've tried so hard, I've washed away the tears
I've set myself free, I've put aside my fears
I've closed the door and I'm happy like this
You'll always be the day I fell in love
Damian thought about how much better Pamela's life would be if he hadn't crossed paths with her. She would still be alive, she would still be performing, and she would still have the living dream of performing for a larger audience. He destroyed that from her, he killed her. It was impossible to avoid the burning in her eyes.
Now, I'm here without you
I'll live without you
Now that you're gone, I have to go on
I can't look back.
The best part of me broke when I said goodbye
A single solitary tear escaped when he played the last chord.
And I'm here to say goodbye
~×~
In the end, Damian took a nap of about an hour and a half. More than he expected, honestly. He gathered up his things and then left.
He cursed softly as his badly bandaged wound throbbed, along with his ribs. His body was crying out for more rest than the few miserable hours he had spent there. But it would be stupid to stay in one place after an attack. The attacks were coming more and more frequently, was his grandfather finally losing patience? Damian desperately hoped not.
With great willpower, he stood up completely, his whole body aching.
He arrived at the station at 6:30, there were few people there. He walked slowly to the ticket booth, his eyes studying the travel options that flashed on the screen.
Ghotam appeared, and Damian unconsciously looked away. The idea of going to Ghotam to ask his father for help was tempting, but he had given up on it long ago. His father already had children of his own choosing. There were many more cons than pros. His father didn't even know he existed. What if he rejected him? Or worse, if he sent him straight to his grandfather? Besides, Damian attracted trouble like a light attracts moths. He really didn't need to cause an unnecessary fuss. He has done well so far.
— So, kid, where are you off to? — the girl asked impatiently for the second time.
Damian's eyes wandered again, until they landed on an option. Far enough away from Detroit and guarded by a bat allied to his father. Maybe the league would think a little before going after him. And he wouldn't exactly be in his father's territory. Decided then, Damian looked at her and handed over the money.
— Bludhaven, please.