Work Text:
It was raining outside.
“I’ll walk home,” Damian hold told the school staff member after his third phone call. It was hard to look her in the eye and confront the pity. Damian didn’t need to be reminded that his family didn’t care about him, that he was the last thing on their minds, and that he’d been unwanted from the very beginning.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she’d said after shooting a look at the window. “It looks like it won’t start raining for the next few hours. I trust you’ll get back home before then?”
Damian had stared into her almond eyes, examined the maternal care in them, and wondered why his own mother didn’t look at him like that.
“Yes, I’ll be home by then,” he’d answered.
It was a lie.
Damian didn’t know how long it’d been when the rain finally caught up with him, but he’d been halfway home by the time it came down. It pounded down hard. Each drop brought about a prick of pain, violent and unforgiving. Damian tried to conceal every piece of his skin in his jacket, but his ankles were exposed to the elements. It hurt bad enough to provoke search for shelter, but he couldn’t see anything down the road. Damian was given no choice but to find cover underneath the trees. It certainly wouldn’t have been his first choice if he’d been given any other options. However, Damian knew he couldn’t be picky, and the rain was soaking through his jacket.
Damian took step on uneven ground.
It would’ve been better to just stay at the school.
Damian didn’t know why his father hadn’t answered his cellphone, why Alfred wasn’t around to pick up his call at the manor, but this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Alfred had forgotten to pick him up from school once before. Damian had tried to remind him with a phone call, but Alfred had been too occupied with a case. Father was on a mission half-way around the world, Alfred had been too deep into the cave to hear the phone ringing upstairs, and thus Damian was abandoned at school.
Damian stopped mid-trek when he realized there was no shelter to be seen. It didn’t matter that he’d entered himself into the forest. It wasn’t any better than sticking to the road.
Damian turned around and tried to find his way back.
It wasn’t his best decision to wander when he could barely see a yard in front of his feet.
Damian stopped after thirty-minutes of hiking, and his shoes sank into the mud beneath him. It was a reminder of the mess he’d gotten himself into. In that instant, he realized that he had no one to blame except himself, and that he’d broken about every survival rule. It was common sense. Don’t leave the road. Don’t go into the forest. Don’t hike the unpaved path. Don’t hike uphill when it’s raining.
A bitter laugh bubbled up his throat as he backed into a tree. Violent shivers ran up his body. Damian tried to preserve whatever body-heat he could by making himself small. He sunk down the tree and sat down on the ground. He stuck his hands into the sleeves of his jacket and tried to hug himself tight. It was a fruitless effort. His hands ended up poking back out.
Damian didn’t know how long he sat in the rain, it felt like an eternity, but he remembered when it stopped hurting.
It was… nice.
Damian felt the heat fade away, the cold slip from his bones, and then warmth wash down his body. It was embracing and loving. It filled his heart and caressed his spirit. It was… it was relaxing.
Damian melted into the warmth, sighed, and never inhaled again.
Damian’s senses turn back on, one by one, and gently rouses his mind back into consciousness.
Damian’s eyes slowly return to full capabilities, taking on a sharpness he’d never possessed before, and focus on the ceiling above him. It was well-within his knowledge that he hadn’t died underneath a roof, and that he’d passed away in a dreary-looking forest. It was why the vision of an average ceiling surprised him. It wasn’t a foggy sky, a clutter of leaves hanging above, or anything of the like. It was the familiar sight of the penthouse. No where near where he’d taken his last breath.
I was certain I had died.
Damian sat up without a thought on his mind, glanced around the room, and let the moment sink in.
It takes him a while to clear himself off the bed and stand up.
Damian takes his time exiting the room. He feels stronger than usual. His steps are steady and precise. His energy levels were surprisingly high. In addition, he didn’t feel the slightest bit sick. A tender mercy after having sat out in the rain for hours on end. Damian didn’t know how long he’d been outside, but it felt like a good length of time. It had been far too long for him to survive without side-effects. Damian would have expected a fever, a lapse of energy, or maybe physical weakness. He woke up with none of those things.
Damian steps out into the living room and examines his surroundings. It’s mostly empty save for the figure sitting at the dining table. He was hunched over his laptop with poor posture. His hair ran ragged and wild. His eyes were dark, and his face was pale. The only sound echoing throughout the room was his fingers tapping against keys. They were sluggish and wearied. Damian could only wonder why his brother looked so tired.
Damian stood in place for a minute or two, uncertain as to how he was to confront this situation, or what questions he was supposed to ask. It was all coming up blank.
Damian’s ultimate decision concluded in a single step forward. It had been within his intentions to join his brother at the table. Instead, Dick’s fingers abruptly stop typing, and his head snaps up. It was as if all his senses had fired up in that single moment.
Dick stares.
Damian squints his eyes.
“Grayson, you look terrible,” he says.
Dick stumbles out of his chair, makes a scene of nearly tripping over himself just to get to Damian, and then falls onto his knees.
“Damian,” Dick calls out in surprise, “you’re awake!”
“Yes,” Damian agrees, “I wasn’t expecting to wake up in the…”
Dick grabs hold of Damian’s face and stops him mid-sentence. Damian is confused as his brother turns his head side to side. Then, he tries to get a look at his neck. A curious choice.
“Grayson.”
Damian had every intention to pull away and save himself from his brother’s inspection. Instead, he freezes before he can say anything else, and watches tears trail down Dick’s cheeks. It wasn’t an every-day occurrence. Damian can’t even recall seeing Dick cry once, actually, and that’s what made this more bizarre. Dick was the type to silently mourn. Damian had been by his side at such times and watched him bottle everything up. It sometimes came leaking through as a sad frown but… never tears.
Dick’s hands slip from his cheeks, wrap around his shoulders, and pull him in.
Damian makes a surprised noise when Dick bumbles backwards onto his butt, brings him in tighter, and stuffs his nose into his hair.
“I thought I had lost you,” he whispers.
Damian tries to pry himself away, mostly to look Dick in the eye and demand for an explanation, but Dick’s arms strengthen around him. Damian learns, after his second attempt to separate, that Dick wasn’t willing to let him go. Instead of a prolonged struggle, he relents himself to his brother’s embrace, and tries to comprehend the man’s emotional state.
“I was so scared,” Dick’s voices quietly as he rests his cheek on top of Damian’s head, “and I… I almost didn’t make it in time.”
“Grayson,” Damian’s tone is softer this time, “what happened?”
“I found you in the forest. I…” Dick pauses to regain his composure. It doesn’t do much good. “I didn’t want to believe you were gone. I did everything to bring you back.”
“Well, I suppose I have you to thank for my survival,” Damian says.
Dick pauses again, chuckles lifelessly, and stares out towards the wall.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
Damian tries to shift in order to get comfortable. Once Dick realizes he isn’t trying to get away, he loosens his grip for Damian’s benefit.
“I tried calling father,” Damian says, “and Alfred wasn’t answering the phone.”
Dick’s eyebrows furrow with stress, his lips press together, and his jaw tightens.
“I realize now that I probably should have stayed at the school.”
“Maybe,” Dick agrees half-heartedly, “but it wasn’t your fault.”
“I am entirely responsible for my own actions.”
“Bruce should’ve been there for you,” Dick growls out venomously, “and I shouldn’t have heard about your disappearance from Alfred. I can’t believe none of them even thought to check your trackers until… gods.”
Dick takes a moment to let the anger take its course, run through his trembling body, and then fade into some semblance of control.
“I think you should stay here for a time,” he suggests.
“Is something wrong at the mansion?”
“No, nothing’s wrong with the mansion,” Dick sighs, “but I don’t think those people are exactly fit to take care of you. In fact, they’d be wholly unprepared for your condition, and they might even do something everyone would regret.”
“I’m unaware as to what my so-called condition is.”
“It’s a matter of vitality,” Dick says reluctantly says. “I need you to take a few remedies before you even think about leaving. It’s not fit for transportation. It’s delicate stuff, hard to make, and hard to store.”
Damian eyes his brother skeptically, pulls himself away a few inches, and then crosses his legs.
“It’ll just be for a few days,” Dick promises. It’s near desperate.
Damian gazes upon his brother, searches his pleading eyes, and sighs.
“I suppose,” he relents.
Dick beams. The tension leaves his shoulders, and his worry vanishes.
“Thank you,” he breathes, though something about it feels wrong, “thank you.”
Damian takes Dick’s remedy every day, for one week, and notices a difference.
It certainly restores his so-called vitality. Damian feels bursts of energy throughout the day, an inhuman strength that has his grip breaking glasses, crushing doorknobs, and pressing in permanent finger-dents into his books. It was bizarre and suspicious. Damian knew of no remedy that could give someone monstrous strength, make it so that he never needed to sleep, and sate his hunger to a paranormal degree.
It was something that he needed to confront his older brother about, but Dick was always bringing up things to distract him from asking questions. Damian was swamped with case work. Dick dumped everything he could on Damian. He gave him just about every task imaginable. Damian was unwillingly caught up in writing up reports, checking data, and proofreading Dick's past documents.
It was difficult to pin Dick down when his thoughts were derailed on repetition.
Damian, in the end, wasn’t the first to bring up the matter about remedies.
“I didn’t realize we were so low,” Dick had mentioned after a fridge inspection. “I thought it would last longer than this.”
Dick gnawed on his bottom lip, Damian’s gaze was drawn to it, and for some reason that was what tipped him off that this wasn’t normal.
Dick stopped chewing on his lip, turned to Damian, and gave him a weak smile.
“I’m going to have to call in for some more,” he had said.
It started to make a lick of sense when he called Constantine.
“Witchcraft,” Damian deadpans as he eyes the visitor in the room. “I should have known these remedies had magic involved.”
Constantine ignores Damian, slaps a duffle bag onto the table, and then pulls out a cigarette. It occurs to Damian as strange when Dick doesn’t tell him to quit it.
“I’ve got everything you need,” Constantine mumbles, “and it’ll last you another week.”
Constantine shifts his weight, lights his cigarette, and brings it up to his lips.
“After that though,” he confesses, “you’re going to have to fend for yourselves. I can’t keep calling in favors.”
Constantine puffs his cigarette, eyes Dick, who looks despondent, and examines him for a minute.
“I’m guessing your little brother doesn’t know the first thing about his situation, calling his ‘remedies’ witchcraft, and whatnot.”
Dick looks up for the first time, puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and gently requests that he leave the room. Damian fixes his brows together. He refuses to move stubbornly, but then weakens when his brother squeezes his shoulder pleadingly.
“I deserve an explanation, Grayson,” he says as he turns away for his room.
“You’ll have one, soon,” he promises.
It wasn’t much of a promise. Dick doesn’t tell Damian anything about his conversation with Constantine. Damian hadn’t even been able to make out what they were discussing through the walls. Constantine had put up a barrier of silence, making it impossible to eavesdrop, and thus he was once again left in the dark.
In the end, Damian had made it his own responsibility to figure out what was going on, and he was tired of waiting for Dick. Damian takes his remedy the next day, like a good boy, cracks his fingers, and gets to work.
It doesn’t take him long to find information.
It went without saying that Damian was stunned to find what he did.
DAMIAN WAYNE STILL MISSING
It’s been months since Damian’s disappearance from school, but several search parties are still on the hunt for him. Bruce Wayne has issued a million-dollar reward for finding his son intact and alive. I don’t think it would be far-fetched to say that all of Gotham has been motivated to find Bruce’s wayward heir.
Damian couldn’t read the rest of Vicki’s words.
In fact, he couldn’t even speak for the rest of the day, and Dick noticed.
Damian didn’t know how to go about confronting Dick with the information he’d found.
In the deep crevices of his mind, he wanted Dick to bring the matter up, but he had doubts. Dick was taking his sweet time letting Damian get ‘adjusted.' In fact, he was more concerned about their diminishing supply of remedies rather than catching Damian up on the situation. It went without saying that he'd yet given Damian any proper explanation.
Damian wanted answers more than remedies, but his concerns slowly shifted as the days passed by. Ever since they’d run out of stock, Damian had been feeling hungrier than usual. Actually… he’d been feeling insatiable. He was losing his strength. It was getting hard to walk normally, to function properly. His skin was getting paler by the day. His throat, dry and parched.
Dick was leaving the house every day, scrambling. Returning at late hours.
Damian couldn’t tell what happened after a couple of days of this nonsense. His concerning lapse of memory came to a head when his teeth were stabbed into Dick’s wrist.
Damian came to awareness with an abrupt jolt.
Dick was holding onto him, murmuring into his hair, telling him to take what he needed. Damian could barely comprehend what he was doing or where they were. How he'd even gotten to be this close to Dick was a mystery.
“It’s alright. I’ll be fine.”
Damian feels blood rush in his veins, gasps at his depravity, and snaps his fangs out of Dick’s skin. He then scrambles backwards on the… bed? They were on a bed. When had he climbed up the bed?
“No, no, no,” Dick sounds desperate as he snatches Damian’s arm. Damian struggles weakly as Dick tugs him back in. He wrenches his face away when Dick brings his wrist back up to his face. “Eat until you don’t need anymore, Damian.”
“Grayson,” Damian gasps once more in terror and panic. “Richard.”
“Shh, shh, just one bite, Damian.”
I can’t,” Damian begs, “I…”
Dick shushes him again and pushes his wrist into Damian’s space.
Damian nearly-sobs when he can’t control himself and pierces Dick’s skin again. Dick braces one arm against his back and mumbles soothing words to him. Damian can’t make out a word even as his senses begin to sharpen.
Damian takes one last sip when Dick’s arm weakens against his back and forces himself to withdraw his fangs. Dick, still alive, still breathing, hums as he leans himself back against the headboard. He gently encircles Damian into his arms and presses the boy against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Damian croaks as he listens to his brother’s beating heart.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. This is all my bad. You did nothing wrong. You never did anything wrong.”
Dick looks at the wall across from the bed and shutters in a breath.
Damian lays against his brother for a time, feels his lungs inhale and exhale, and then realizes that he had no such motions. Damian’s lungs were steadfast, had been for some time, and he’d only noticed now. They only moved when he deliberately tried to make a breath. Even then, it didn’t satisfy him or do anything. It was an artificial movement.
“I think I died,” he realizes.
Dick squeezes his eyes shut.
“I died in that forest.”
“Yeah,” Dick answers. “I found you before the others.”
“Father… he…?”
“Didn’t start looking until sometime after he realized I hadn’t reported back to him,” Dick rasps. “I think it finally set in that you were missing and that you weren’t just off running around somewhere." Dick breathes shakily with reserved rage. "I hate that he never thought to check if you were okay. I hate him.”
“He never wanted me,” Damian admits quietly in the dark of his room.
“Sure never acted like it,” Dick chuckles mirthlessly, “but I wanted you, Damian. I’m sorry that my selfishness turned you into… into what you are now. I just… I just couldn’t stop thinking about how he never deserved you. I’d pass him by in the cave, watch him work on new cases, and think about how he wasn’t spending a single thought on you. He didn’t even know you had died. He only started to care after the fact.” A shallow breath. “I never let him know, though. I just let him sit in his misery, wondering if you were still out there somewhere, and… did something unforgivable to bring you back. I’m sorry.”
Dick leans his head down, presses his nose into Damian’s hair, and buries his face there.
Damian closes his eyes, fists his hands up into Dick’s shirt, and tries to ignore the emotional pain. It shouldn’t matter to him as much as it did. He shouldn’t care about his father’s feelings. He’d already known his place a long time ago. Why was he still letting this get to him? Why did it hurt?
“Richard,” Damian croaks.
“I’ve got you,” Dick promises. “I’m not letting you go. I’m going to take care of you from now on.”
Dick keeps them pressed together, possessive, selfish, and whole.
“I’m never giving you up ever again.”
Damian believes him.