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If he could hear mother’s footsteps, it meant she wanted him to be aware of her presence. She wanted to be seen.
Damian closed his book, putting it on his side. Mother didn’t usually enter his room without asking for permission, unless they had a fight and she was worried that he might run away. Nowadays, they were on good terms. He figured out other ways to show his disfavor that didn’t include treating his own house like a prison. Giving her a cold shoulder, for example, was one of them.
Mother couldn’t stand being ignored for more than a week. She would come to apologize or solve the matter in precisely 45 hours just so she could hear her son’s voice again. Damian found it cute. This display of neediness reminded him that Bryce, being the only child of a wealthy couple, didn’t like being deprived of the attention of the people she loved. She was spoiled, in a way, but not towards common situations.
Aside from her vague stare, she was steady. She didn’t come here to scold Damian or talk about his responsibilities with school. He was confused, trying to decipher what her arrival could possibly mean without saying a word. He had to train his investigative skills all the time, even if it meant using his own mother as a subject. She didn’t mind it, though. It was her who asked him to do that. She did the same with Alfred when she was his age.
“Mother.” Damian greeted, giving up after not finding enough clues. He had a guess, but he didn’t want to take the risk and offend her. “What happened?”
The scowl on her face was identical to his when he was frustrated with something he couldn’t control. That might be a tip. “I had…” She stopped, crossing her arms, getting in a defensive posture.
She had what? A fight with Gordon or Jason? Had she failed to solve a case? Damian could feel his sword purring with the thought of being taken to help mother clean her mess. She was so self-sufficient that it was rare for her to depend on him, or on anyone else. If that was the case, he would gladly provide his assistance.
“I had…” Bryce started again, vacillating. Damian did his best to hide his excitement. “A nightmare.”
Oh.
And what was he supposed to do about it?
Not in a rude aspect, no. Damian legit didn’t know what he should do. When he had nightmares, he waved them off as he knew they weren’t real. He thought mother did the same, considering how rational and down-to-earth she was. But she came to his room, at 11 p.m, with a rigid posture and empty eyes, to inform him that. Bryce was affected by whatever fantasy her brain created, and came to him for some reason.
Should he take her to the kitchen and offer warm milk? Should he invite her to watch a movie? Hell, he had no idea! What would Alfred do in this situation?!
“.…Do you want to talk about it?” Damian hesitated, reproducing what he usually saw on those popular movies Jon forced him to watch. It seemed he got it right, because she left the doorway and sat on his bed.
“It’s not that I’m not used to having them.” Bryce went on, grimacing. Her hands were on her lap. Damian held the right one, starting to play with her fingers, tracing her scars and veins. “In fact, I can’t recall a night when I didn’t have bad dreams.”
Damian winced at that. He knew what those nightmares were about. When he used to sleep in her room because his wasn’t ready, he used to hear her crying about her parents death, or screaming in fear of what the Joker could do to her if he was a bit more degenerated than he already was.
Sometimes he wished he could solve the last problem. He despised the clown’s obsession with his mother and what it represented to her, the particular fear he imposed on her on the rare times she couldn’t predict his actions.
If this was the reason she was here, Damian would have to go through his controlling training all over again to prevent himself from tearing the bastard’s heart off.
Mother took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “This one was different from what I’m used to.” She gave it a light squeeze. His hands were so small compared to hers. Softer, too, while hers was raspy. He dreamed of getting like this, someday. To have the body of a warrior.
“In what sense?” He asked, making sure his voice sounded as soothing as possible, not wanting Bryce to think he was urging her.
Mother made one of those pained expressions Damian only saw when she failed to save a civilian, or when a family member and she got into a serious fight.
“You died.” Mother blurted. “You died in my dream.” She dropped his hand to hide her face. She was breathing heavily against her skin. “It was so real. You died like Robin. A bandit killed you with a gun. Shot you in the head. I could do nothing but cry and–– and scream.”
Bryce had a nightmare about him. She went to his room to see if he was alive and confirm that it was all in her head. What if Damian wasn’t around? What if he was somewhere else, like Jon’s house? Would have she fallen into a dreadful state, thinking that it wasn’t a dream but a memory?
He had never felt so proud to have overcome his habit of running away.
The fact that he hugged her from the side and rested his head on her chest was not done with the intention of reproducing teachings. Damian did it because he wanted to be like that with his mother. “I’m here. I’m alive.” He affirmed as she returned the hug, resting her chin on the top of his head. “I swear I won’t die before you do.”
“You can’t promise that.” Mother tried to dismiss it, though hope hid behind her words. She wanted it to be true. She wanted to die before Damian did. ‘A mother should never bury her own child’ was the saying. But Bryce already did it once. She couldn’t do it again.
“I can. You know I can.” Damian said, giving a hint of what he planned to do to make it possible.
Luckily for him, mother was so mentally drained that she didn’t make the association. Good. She wouldn’t be in favor of him using the pit, even to fulfill that promise.
“Mother, do you want to sleep with me?” He said in a soft tone. Bryce nodded, and was about to get out of bed, thinking they would sleep in her room. “Here, Mama.” He corrected, stopping her from getting up. Bryce was surprised at that, as Damian didn’t like having people sleeping in his bedroom. “If it’s you, I don’t mind it.”
Mother was so reluctant it was comical — and a little bit adorable. It was similar to a frightened child. Damian felt like the adult in this situation, the one who would provide the support she needed, as she had done with him so many times. It made him proud to be there for her. To be seeked by her. He wasn’t known for comforting other people. In fact, it was the opposite of that.
But here it was Bryce, giving him the chance to improve. She was trusting that Damian would be patient and caring with her. And he would. For her, for his dearly mother, he would try to be better. He would try to connect with the feelings of the ones he loved. Starting, of course, with the most important person to him.
Damian took the right side of the bed, while mother laid on the left, wedging herself between the door and her son. He smiled a little at her instinctively protective gesture. Even though she was the one who needed to be looked after at the moment, she still preserved her arduous — and sometimes annoying — urge to protect him. For a second, father crossed his mind. He would kill to be in the position his son was in.
It filled him with a competitive satisfaction. Father always bragged how he was favored by grandfather ever since Damian picked mother’s side. How about he brag that he was the only man of the al Ghul who was allowed to see Bryce in her vulnerable state, and also share a bed with her? That would make him mad. He couldn’t wait for their next encounter to rub it on Tal’s face.
He frowned at seeing how stiff mother was, as if she was afraid of touching him. As if she would bother.
He could fix that.
Damian grabbed the blanket and brought it up, covering them both. Then he clung to Bryce, burying his face in her chest. Little by little, she passed her arms around his body, until she hugged him. When she understood that Damian wouldn’t go anywhere and that it was okay to be with him, she pressed him tightly, trapping him in a fierce embrace.
It was warm and soft. Her calm heartbeats, her scent. Damian loved to have his mother close. She gave him everything he never had in the League. She gave him comfort. Therefore, he was going to give it to her, too.
He drew circles on her back, beginning to hum an old song one of his first nursemaids used to sing to him, hoping it would distract her from the feeling of loss. Mother took a deep breath. The exhaled air ruffled a few strands of his hair. She was relaxing. Slowly, since everything was a bit slow for this woman with many emotional issues, but Damian didn’t mind. She could take her time to absorb it. He would wait for her, always.
After a long while, her arms began loosening up. They slipped and fell, but were still on Damian. She was falling asleep. He wasn’t tired, not anymore. He didn’t want to let go, either.
As he tried to sit up to continue his reading, Bryce grabbed him by the waist. “Don’t leave.” She murmured. Damian sat, allowing her to keep her arm around him. “Please.”
“You don’t have to worry, Mother. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” Damian emphasized, holding the book with one hand and keeping the other on her hair, playing with the dark and smooth locks.
Reassured by that affirmation, Bryce drifted off to sleep, aware that her boy was safe. Meanwhile, Damian couldn’t stop smiling, happy and proud to have been given the responsibility of calming and protecting his beloved mother.