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It all slips his mind when he’s in the middle of it.
Damian can’t die through traditional means, it’d never been possible with the cards he’d been dealt with, but there were certain workarounds. A stake to the heart, for instance. With all of his strength, he could barely deal with a rookie vampire hunter, half-turned and angry. He pushed with all his ability and Damian struggled to keep his hands away. He was pinned to the ground. He couldn’t roll to free himself or flip the man off of him. But he could wrestle with his hands and strain what strength he had.
“It’s your kind that turned my family into nothing but monsters,” the man spits.
Damian grits his teeth.
“Is it funny to you? Watching us struggle, watching your kind feed from us? Does it delight you to know that we’re weak? Does it make you feel good?”
Damian hisses.
“Well, it’s not going to make you feel good anymore.”
It was worthless to speak to a man who didn’t see a difference between a vampire that advocated for human rights and one that didn’t care for it. Damian found no pleasure in explaining his stance on vampire politics and he had no time to waste his energy on a human who was trying to kill him. He’s certain that the hunter would try to kill him anyways, regardless of stance. Nothing would convince him. Vengeful humans rarely had a change of heart. Damian would know because he used to be one. Vengeful until he was turned into the very thing he hated. No thanks to his eldest brother, a reclusive vampire with little love for mortality.
Damian’s thoughts drift away from his estranged family member, someone his father could never find the heart to kill, an occasional ally only where their interests aligned, and float back to his environment. It was laughable that he might die a dishonorable death in a trashed alleyway. Wasn’t this how his father’s parents died? It was only fitting that he shares their legacy. He might be fighting for his survival, but his thirst was strong, and his body fatigued. He begins to think that he might not make it.
Damian’s fingers flex around the man’s hands, threatening to loosen altogether, and it would have taken only a single second for the stake to impale his heart.
It never reaches his heart. Someone wrenches the man away, throws him at the wall, and hisses with sharp fangs. Dick Grayson. The last person Damian would expect to come to his rescue… after all the months of no-contact… the disagreements. The shouting matches and the nail scratches. Damian thought he'd communicated the message. Leave me alone.
Damian sits himself up with a wince and watches his brother stalk forth like a predator. The vampire hunter was in a daze, confused after having collided with brick. Blood ran down his forehead. Damian’s gluttony appeals to him and calls him forward. His mouth salivates and he imagines himself having a feast. He was so weak after all… and so, so, hungry.
The hunter seems to come to some of his senses after Dick is only a few inches away from him.
“You vermin,” he cries, “You vile monsters!”
Dick ignores his words, grabs hold of his throat, and slides him up against the wall. The man grabs for his throat and wheezes for oxygen.
Dick leans his face in close.
“Who said you could touch my Robin?”
“Richard, don’t kill him,” Damian chokes out underneath his blood lust.
“He hurt you,” Richard growls, “and he’s going to do it again if I let him go.”
“Richard,” Damian pleas weakly but nothing comes of it. Dick doesn’t listen to him. Damian watches the hunter’s struggle weaken with each second the passes by. Dick takes his sweet time taking the breath out of the man. Damian knows that the end is nigh when the hunter’s strength leaves him. His arms fall limp at his side and his head bobs forward.
Dick drops him. He thuds on the ground.
Dick observes him for a time, perhaps to make certain he wouldn’t get back up, and he does not turn away until he’s satisfied. Damian watches him helplessly until he is swept up off the ground. Possessively, he is cradled within Dick’s arms. It’s not a good thing. Dick has been fighting for Damian since he’d been turned, and the only reason Damian hasn’t become his is because of their father’s intervention. Damian wouldn’t be rescued this time around.
Still, he tries.
“Richard,” he rasps, “let me go. I have to return to the manor and recover my strength.”
Dick gives out a cold laugh as he carries Damian out of the alleyway. Lamp-posts flicker in the darkness. The street wobbles with uneven concrete. Dick pauses in the empty road.
“You think I’m going to let you go after holding you in my arms? Never, Damian. Never.”
“I can’t stay with you.”
“You can and you will. You don’t hunt for yourself, you won’t defend yourself against humans, and your,” Dick spits out the next word, “father… won’t fulfill your needs. Didn’t I tell you that when you were first turned?”
“You’re the one who turned me,” Damian retorts angrily. “Everything would have been fine if you didn’t put your teeth in my neck. I know you’ve been planning this from the beginning. Planning to keep me.”
Dick smiles with bloody fangs... as if this were amusing to him. As if Damian’s plight delighted him. Damian hated him for that.
“You were always mine, Damian. But human lives are fickle things. Short and boring. I would not live an eternity without you.”
Dick leans down to press his nose against Damian’s head. Damian frowns angrily. How dare he treat him gently when he was in the middle of kidnapping him? How dare Damian’s dead heart react with a beat? It was supposed to be on his side.
“You didn’t have to kill that man,” Damian sounds defeated. His voice lowers in volume.
“He would have taken you away from me,” Dick growls. “He deserved to die.”
Dick lifts his face back up, picks up in elegant step, and walks down the road. Damian knew he could do nothing at this point. His fate had already been sealed.
“Rest now, my fledgling,” Dick hums as he disappears into the night, cargo in tow, “and let me take care of you for the rest of time. No one will ever hurt you again. No one.”