Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian didn’t exactly want to work with Catwoman, but Dick had been the one who suggested her assistance. Diana needed help retrieving an ancient artifact contained within Gotham’s Museum of Science. It was in the restricted section—the archives—encased within a decorative vase that once called Greece its home. Its magic was dulled because of the vase’s containment, but it was still capable of seeping out dark miasma. Diana had told them that it was toxic to humans, metas, and immortals alike. It needed to be removed quickly, but she didn’t have the capability to join them. Wonder Woman was too busy tracking down Circe, the woman responsible for the miasma, so it was up to local vigilantes to track down the object.

Catwoman was an expert at breaking into museums. Damian was forced to follow her lead as they crept into the archives. He wasn’t a fan. He was perfectly capable of doing this without Catwoman. He’d been trained to be an assassin. This was part of his skillset. Catwoman didn’t need to show him how to sneak into a museum, and Dick’s distrust in his capabilities was insulting. Damian had full intent to interrogate him about it. Damain might be relatively new to the family, perhaps two years at best (compared to the others), but he should have proven he was useful by now. He didn’t need a petty cat burglar to show him the ropes.

Damian was grumpy as they inspected the archives. It was full of things that Damian was afraid to touch, mostly because they held historical value, so he mainly kept an eye for any decorative looking items. He also opened a few drawers for inspection, but that was for curiosity’s sake. He doubted a drawer would fit a vase. Not these ones, anyways. The majority of them contained pinned up butterflies and other specimens.

“I spy, with my little eye, our object of interest,” Catwoman purred.

Damian turned to look in her direction and saw her standing in front of a vase sat atop a pedestal. It’d been tucked into the corner, so Damian could barely see it peek out.

Catwoman stretched out a clawed hand as if to grab their prize, entranced, but then she hissed with a visible recoil. Damian watched as black miasma oozed out of the vase’s top, spilling through tight little crevices, and falling down to the floor like rolling smoke.

“I feel sick.”

Catwoman took a few steps back before clutching her stomach and gagging.

“Is it a physical side-effect?” Dick’s voice was collected despite Selina’s obvious distress.

“I have no idea.”

Selina took a few more steps back as Damian moved to join her location. Dick joined them as well, inspecting Selina with a critical look, and Damian could only tell because he knew Dick well enough to read him. It was still hard to figure out what he was feeling behind the mask, but he’d been working long enough with his brother to guess.

Selina shuddered. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. 

“I think I feel better now.”

She straightened herself up, confused. Her arm fell from her stomach.

“Wonder Woman did say it was toxic,” Selina confessed. “I think it renders one sick rather quickly.”

“That’s a problem,” Dick said.

Damian, Selina, and Dick stood silently as they contemplated their options.

“I could test it again,” Selina offered.

“And cough up a hairball?” Damian spat. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were clearly discomforted.”

Selina sighed and crossed her slender arms. “Your veiled concern is appreciated.”

“Veiled concern? I’m not—”

Dick held up a hand to silence Damian.

“Let’s focus on the matter at hand.” He lowered his arm. “How are we going to transport the artifact without adverse side-effects? We need to approach this cautiously.”

“Well, perhaps we should cover it up with a blanket,” Selina suggested seriously.

Damian scoffed.

“It’s a magical artifact. I doubt its effect will be dulled by a blanket. I don’t imagine there’d be any blankets around here to begin with.”

Selina inspected her ‘nails.’

“Then what do you suggest, skunky poo?”

Damian’s brow twitched. Selina gave him a charming smile. He was annoyed at her. It was plainly visible on his face, but as she waited for an answer, he gave it deliberate thought. “Well,” he rationalized aloud, “no one can get close to it without getting sick. However, if one were to take my abnormalities into account—”

“No.” Dick’s refusal cut him off. “We’ve talked about this. No putting yourself in harm’s way just because you have a healing factor.”

Damian looked at him and his brows creased. His domino mask creased with them.

“It would be beneficial to the mission if I—”

“I said no.”

Dick wasn’t kidding or playing around. His tone was non-negotiable. There was a hint of frustration there too. He didn’t like Damian’s suggestion.

“Look at you, going into protection mode,” Selina laughed, pushing Dick playfully on the shoulder. “There’s no harm in a little nausea, is there? Robin can handle it. This isn’t like the time he threw himself over Hood to protect him from shrapnel or—”

“It’s the spirit of the matter,” Dick cut her off with his insistence, “so lay off, both of you. We’ll go about this in a different way, without compromising Robin.”

Damian scowled and Selina shook her head as if she were disappointed. It was clear that she didn’t care much to begin with, and that she was just putting on a show for them.

“We might have to come back another night.” Dick looked over at the exit. “We weren’t prepared enough for this. We’ll have to invite someone who has experience with handling cursed artifacts. Probably should have done that to begin with.”

Damian huffed.

“I hope it’s not Constantine.”

“Constantine? I’m afraid we’ve never met,” Selina spoke.

Dick took the lead as they walked out the exit. Damian trailed behind his two adult companions like a sulking child. “Let’s hope you never meet him. He’s an idiot.”

Dick snorted. “You think everyone’s an idiot.”

It was early in the morning when they returned home. Damian went through the usual, which included undressing, taking a shower, redressing, reporting his injuries, and then sitting down for a secondary report regarding the mission. Dick typed in all the details on the batcomputer, which would be used for their father’s usage at a future date, and he also made certain to get Damian’s opinion on certain tidbits. Damian filled in on his perspective before Dick completed the document.

“I’m going upstairs now,” Damian declared after Dick clicked the save button.

Dick swiveled in his chair and stopped him with a look.

“I think we need to talk first.”

Damian closed his eyes in preparation for the oncoming headache he’d have to endure.

“Is this about me?”

“Damian, your blood might have lazarus juice in it, but that doesn’t justify putting yourself through dangerous circumstances. I thought Bruce had this talk with you last week. Jason sat you down the week before that, and Tim made you write an essay for him. I’m tired of you brushing everything off and offering yourself up as a sacrifice. It’s not how we work. It’s never how we worked.”

“Richard, there are advantages to be had with the use of my anatomy,” Damian protested. “I don’t understand why everyone wishes to prohibit me from using them.”

“It’s because it still hurts you.”

“I don’t understand how that’s an issue.”

“Damian, you might have a healing factor, but the pain is not worth the end results.”

Damian stood up and took a frustrated step forward. He sliced his hand through the air. “I’m no stranger to pain, and neither is anyone else in this family! I don’t get why you get to put yourself in danger, but I’m told to stay away from risky situations!”

Dick stood up and took a few steps of his own. Dick only stopped when he was in front of Damian. Damian tilted his head back to look up at him.

“It’s because you’re not a good judge of what type of danger you need to stay away from, so we tell you to stay away from all of it to compensate.”

Damian scoffed in disbelief and let his hand fall to his side. He curled it into a fist.

“You don’t trust me then.”

Just like I thought.

He glared at the ground. He was disappointed and frustrated. It’d been two years since he joined the family, and he’d done everything to show them that he was capable. It felt like his efforts were wasted because no one took him seriously. Dick’s reaction was evidence of that.

Damian was surprised when he caught Dick’s eyes in his vision. He realized his brother had crouched down to level their eye contact.

“Damian, I trust you with my life,” Dick spoke sincerely.

Damian looked up and stared at him.

“What?” He whispered. That couldn’t be right. He must have misheard him. “But you just said—”

“Do you know how much it hurts to see you struggling? To hold you in my arms, to know that I can’t do anything but wait for the pain to pass?” Dick’s eyes seemed to wilt. “I’d do anything to keep you from being in pain, Damian. Anything. Especially if it’s unnecessary. So don’t go telling me that you’ll deliberately hurt yourself. That’s not what I want. That’s not what anyone wants. We can do this mission without putting you at risk, okay?”

Damian struggled to find a response.

Dick must have taken pity on him because he gave him a sad smile.

“I know you have my back Damian, but you have to know that I have yours too. I won’t let you do something stupid like—make yourself sick to carry a vase out of a museum.”

Damian realized his brother was being genuine. His fingers twitched (why, he didn't know) and his hand started to raise and—

“Oh. You’re back?”

Tim’s groggy voice echoed down the staircase. Dick turned his gaze to spot him on the top of it, which Damian copied, and Tim likewise gave them all of his attention. He also had lost any decency since he neglected to put on a shirt. He must not have realized he’d forgotten to do so after stumbling out of bed. His pants were also hanging off his hips. His boxers were red. Damian rolled his eyes. Would it kill his brother to freshen up before leaving his room? It was possibly too difficult with the mess he called a closet. 

“Tim. Good to see you’re up. Damian and I were just going to head off to bed.”

Tim scratched his stomach lazily. “Right. You’ve been out all night.”

Dick stood up and pressed a hand against the back of Damian’s head. He encouraged him to move. Damian let his older brother guide him to the staircase.

Dick’s hand only fell away when Damian began his ascent. His older brother fell behind him. He gave Tim a fond look over Damian’s head. Damian ignored the two and pushed past Tim, striding out into the library. Tim huffed and Dick gave him a friendly pat on the arm. He smiled at him. Then, he too emerged into the library.

Damian was in a rush to head to his room, but Dick managed to catch up with him. He matched his pace.

“So,” he began, tipping Damian off that something unlikable was about to happen, “remember how I talked about me holding you in my arms?”

“Richard."

“I’m just saying that now that you’re healthy—maybe you could make it up to me for all the times I had to worry about you and let me snuggle you up in my—”

Damian swore and then picked up his pace. Dick caught up with him with a longer stride, and then Damian was full out running to his room. He swiftly shot himself through the entrance and shut the door behind him.

Dick laughed loud and hard.

“C’mon, Dames!”

“No!”

He didn’t appreciate the teasing.

But.

He did appreciate his brother’s honesty.

Maybe he’d have to rethink how he was going about the whole walking Lazarus Pit thing. Again. For the fifth time. Or else he'd be risking yet another lecture from another family member. 

Damian slid down against his door and then buried his head in his hands. 

"This is going to be difficult," he admitted to himself. 

Chapter Text

“I’ve got the location in my sights,” Dick said from the rooftop over. “Can’t believe this shack of a motel belongs to Trigon worshippers.”

Raven concealed her arms within her cloak and eyed the motel moodily. Dick stood next to her with his binoculars, tinier than the last version, and updated with an advanced form of night vision. Father had wanted Dick to have his best tech for this mission. Trigon wasn’t a force to be messed with carelessly.

Damian tugged on his hood and gazed over the building. It looked like a dump. There was junk everywhere. The parking lot was filled with trashed cars. He wondered if half of them were operable, but they had to be if they were parked. They were an eyesore, much like the yellowed walls.

“Hey, not everyone’s got the funds for a shiny looking base,” Jason defended.

Damian tried to pretend he wasn’t there even though they were standing right next to each other, but it was hard to ignore Jason when he was leaning a little to close to the edge. Damian was forced to keep an extra eye on him for his own safety.

Dick agreed over the comms before tapping his ear twice. “Red? I don’t suppose you’ve got those satellite images ready yet? I sent you the coordinates a few minutes ago.”

“I’m getting them up now,” Tim replied from the cave, “and I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Dick spoke grimly.

“It looks like all that red spray paint on the rooftop isn’t just graffiti. It’s a giant summoning symbol. I couldn’t tell at first, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it is.”

“I can check,” Raven suggested. “The buildings around here aren’t too tall, and I’ve been floating closer to the ground to avoid being sighted. I probably should have checked the motel beforehand, though.”

“Well, looks like they’re all holed up in there, so you wouldn’t have been—hold on. There’s a couple of robed men outside in the back, near the gated trash bin. They’re making something. Molotov cocktails, I think.”

“They’re about to stage something,” Jason assumed.

Raven floated higher until she was hovering above the building and Dick pressed his lips together with concern. Jason kicked the dirt off from his shoes, using the ledge to scrape the wedges, as if there was nothing more important to do, but Damian knew that was his way of redirecting his tension.

“It doesn’t look like they’re expecting anyone though.”

“That’s a good thing, we’ll catch them off guard,” Dick said.

Raven scanned her eyes across the building and frowned. She didn’t relay her findings immediately. She took her time re-evaluating the details before informing everyone of what she’d discovered over comms. “They’re going to use the whole building as a portal. For Trigon’s minions. I’ve seen this symbol before. They intend to summon an army and bind them into servitude.” She sighed. “Fools. No one can make a servant out of Trigon’s legion. They must have been misled.”

Dick opened his mouth to speak until an explosion of fire shattered several windows.

“Raven, let’s investigate that explosion, now,” Dick ordered before he leapt off the building his grappling baton. Raven didn’t need to be told twice before she followed after him.

Damian didn’t think twice before pulling out his grappling gun, but then Jason’s hand was tightening around his wrist. “I don’t think so squirt. It’d be better if we stayed behind.”

“Hood, the building exploded. We don’t have the luxury to observe!”

“No, he’s right,” Dick’s voice rang on the comms, “it’d be better if you stayed behind. I don’t want anyone else getting caught up in this. We have no idea what happened and—oh wow.”

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked.

“Bomb gone wrong, I bet.” Dick’s voice was muffled. “Don’t think they knew what they were dealing with.”

“A bomb? Nightwing!” Damian hissed anxiously. He struggled to pull his wrist out of Jason’s grasp. Jason only held on tighter. He tugged him backwards a step and Damian turned sharply to glare at him.

“Stay. Here.”  Jason glared in return. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time you dealt with an explosion.” Jason released his grip and Damian tore his hand away. “You’ve got a thing for playing hero when you don’t need to.”

“I saved your life that day,” Damian hissed.

“Yeah, in expense for yours,” Jason scoffed.

“I don’t see why you take issue with that.”

“I don’t see why you take issue with that?” Jason repeated bitterly. “I didn’t even know you had a healing factor and you—you—” Jason grit his teeth. “We’re not doing that again.”

Damian and Jason stared at each other before Jason heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face. The comms seemed to fade in the background, even though Dick was reporting his findings. Damian looked away, hands clenching into fists. Five minutes passed between them, an awkward amount of time. Damian got tenser the longer Dick stayed in the building. He wanted to help him, but he knew he couldn’t let the conversation end here.

“I don’t regret it,” he said.

“What?”

“What I did that day—it wasn’t wrong.” Damian bore his eyes into the flaming building in front of them. He saw his older brother emerge, carrying cultists out. Raven was doing the same, though she did so with mystical abilities. “So don’t act like your life isn’t worth something.”

Jason was quiet for a moment. He rested a hand on his gadget belt.

“I could say the same damn thing for you.”

Jason didn’t sound too pleased that he had to say such a thing. Damian wondered why he’d follow up such a statement by putting his free hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes to him, when they’d both been tense just seconds earlier, ready to bicker, and fight on Damian’s part.

Damian and Jason share another moment of eye-contact. It made the world slow down. Damian almost couldn’t feel the heat of the burning hotel or hear the sounds of emergency sirens rolling down the road.

“Kid, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you,” Jason said, “and you can live it without squirming in pain because you decided to save my sorry butt.”

Damian responded quickly.

“The pain I went through was only momentary.”

It was the closest he could get to your life is worth a lot to me.

Jason read between the lines because he snorted and drew his hand away.

“I wish you weren’t so stubborn,” he huffed.

Damian’s lip quirked at the corner, and he opened his mouth to say more.

Raven interrupted him by landing next to him without warning, joined by Nightwing, who narrowly managed to dodge the appearance of cops.

“Looks like this mission solved itself!” Nightwing announced cheerily. “Didn’t think this would turn into a rescue operation, but hey. That’s vigilante life for you!”

“So, everything’s done and over then?” Jason asked.

“Aside from background checking everyone, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. I’ll be paying one of the cultists a visit in prison for interrogation, but unless new information comes out, I think it’s safe to say they’ve combusted their own organization.”

“Basically, you don’t need me anymore, and I’m free to go home now?” Jason asked. He called for his motorcycle by digging into his gadget belt and tapping a button. “Kind of a waste of time. Thought I’d be doing more than babysitting.”

“Shut up, Hood,” Damian spat.

Jason smirked at him and then slammed a hand down on his head.

“Good luck dealing with this troublemaker.” He ruffled Damian’s hair and Damian whacked his hands away with a scowl. “Call me if you need help pulling him out of a hole—or whatever he manages to trip into.”

“I call you all the time for help, so forgive me for being skeptical of your invitation,” Tim’s voice came through the commline.

Jason’s answer to that was to pull the comm out of his ear and toss it to Dick. Dick caught it with a tired smile. “Thanks, Hood. See you at dinner tomorrow?”

“Pfft, no,” Jason sounded disgusted before he glanced down at the street. “Nice try.”

He hopped off the rooftop and scaled down the building. Damian watched him and Dick took Jason’s place next to him. They both made sure he got onto his motorcycle safely, and then they watched him soar down the street. Cops shouted at each other and pointed in his direction, but no one moved to chase him.

“He’s just embarrassed.”

Damian looked at Dick and then at Raven who would have seemed to be impassive if she didn’t arch a brow. Damian could barely see it underneath her hood.

“Well, let’s go home,” Dick announced. “I’ll call you up soon for a report, Raven.”

“Alright,” she agreed.

The three separated. Damian followed Dick until they located the batmobile, and then they hopped in smoothly. Dick had his foot on the gas before Damian had a chance to buckle his seatbelt, and then they were roaring down in the opposite direction of Jason’s path.

“Watch. He’ll show up,” Dick smiled knowingly. “Probably under the guise of fixing his gear or stealing something from the cave.”

Damian leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes.

Chapter Text

It burned.

Damian hurt everywhere. His nerves were on fire—his skin aflame. The cushions were itchy, and the carpet wasn’t any better. He crawled his way to the bathroom. He thought the tile would give him relief. Unfortunately, he didn’t find much comfort in the change of his environment. The ceramic was too white, and the tiles seemed to glare into his eyes. He felt sick in a way not many were capable of—like a metal pot with boiling water bubbling over the surface.

He could feel his blood burn through his veins and simultaneously mend them back together. It was so agonizing that he could barely utter a sound, so wracked with pain that body was incapable of functioning.

It’d started two minutes ago, and he knew it’d last for another five. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. By all accounts, Damian should have died at birth. He should have been cast aside like the other test tube babies—the failures. He probably wouldn’t be here today if his mother had not infused him with the Lazarus Pit. That was why his blood was entirely unusual. That was also why he had these episodes. 

It felt like an eternity before two minutes passed into three. Involuntary tears ran down his cheeks and plopped onto the floor into a puddle of green. He wondered when the pain would end, biting his tongue so hard that his mouth started to fill with the taste of iron.

“Dick!”

Tim’s voice barely registered in his mind because he couldn’t focus on anything except for his own suffering. Damian saw the faintest view of a person’s legs, carefully maneuvering around him, towards the toilet, and Damian distantly realized his brother had joined him in the bathroom. Tim made no move to touch him, however, knowing better than to do so, and instead sat himself on the toilet with a hard expression.

“Tim?”

Dick joined them soon after Tim had shouted out for him. Damian heard him share hushed words over his prone body, but he had a difficult time making out anything that was spoken. Dick shuffled off towards the bathtub so he could sit on the ledge. It made for a strange sight. Damian was coiled up in pain in the middle of the floor, and his brothers sat nearby without lifting a hand in intervention. Damian imagined some might call this cruel, but his brothers knew how to handle his episodes.

Dick continued to speak softly to Tim as Damian was devoured by an all-consuming fire. Damian refused to whimper, especially around his brothers, but that didn’t stop the tears. It felt like he was being burned alive.

Damian stayed on the floor for an excruciating amount of time, though it was short, but eventually the burning faded into nothingness. He took a moment to catch his breath, to feel out the aftermath. His limbs were sore, horribly so. His bones seemed to ache, and his head wasn’t any better. The only positive thing was that his tongue was already mending itself, sealing off the wound he’d bitten into it.

Dick seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere because he suddenly crouched down at Damian’s side. He carefully rolled him onto his back, peering into his face. “Is it over?”

Damian looked him hazily in the eye and gave him a barely-there nod. Dick wiped Damian’s bangs away from his face. They should have been sweaty since he’d been on fire just a second ago, but they were devoid of any moisture whatsoever. “Okay.” Dick carefully scooped his arms underneath his body. “Ready?”

Damian didn’t answer before Dick was lifting him up off the ground. Tim had stood up to help Dick should he need it, but Dick successfully plucked Damian up without the extra support.

Tim followed Dick out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

“I’m going to put him in his room,” Dick said. “Bruce will want to know what happened. Could you handle that?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Great, try the comm lines. He hasn’t been answering his phone.”

“Or his texts,” Tim mumbled.

The two parted and Dick followed through with his words. They traveled up the stairs, and then down the corridor. Damian had his eyes closed the entire time, mind fading with each rocking step of his brother’s gait. He always felt exhausted after an episode. This time wasn’t any different.

Dick entered Damian’s room and rounded his bed. He gently deposited him onto the mattress, extra careful with his handling. Afterwards, he grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it. “Hopefully you won’t have another one of those for another two months at least.” He sat himself down on the edge of the bed. “One day you won’t have them at all—if Bruce’s leads work out.”

Damian thought it was fantasy more than anything else. Father might have his best interest in mind, but Damian didn’t have faith in his pursuits. His father might be actively pursuing retired League scientists, and collecting up all the data Talia had on Damian’s mishappen brothers, but where would he succeed when all others have failed? Damian was cursed to live like this for the rest of his life. He would go through horrific pain and that was the reality of it. There would be no miracle cure or magical pain-killer.

Damian’s breath evened out as his mind drifted upon the topic—his mind slowly shutting his world into darkness. Dick’s hand was still wrapped around his own, a reassuring comfort in a life full of misery. He wondered how Grandfather could call him a miracle child when he felt anything but. What kind of miracle lives in a body like his? The Lazarus Pit was always fighting him, and his body fought to contain everything. The only reason his body was successful was because the Lazarus Pit simultaneously healed him, creating a vicious cycle of existence.

As the sensation of Dick’s hand faded with his consciousness, Damian wondered why his brother even bothered.

Dick wasn’t there when he woke up, which wasn’t unexpected, given that the man had a life of his own he needed to care for, but Damian wasn’t surprised to see Tim sitting nearby. Tim was leaning back in Damian’s desk chair, engrossed with his phone, and the phone’s screen was the only light in his dark room.

Damian stared at him for a good length of time before he opened his mouth to speak, but his throat squeezed his voice out into a hoarse sound. Damian didn’t manage a word out before Tim was standing up from his chair, and then he was dipping his weight into the side of the bed with a cup in hand. Tim had been prepared for him, and Damian had the feeling it had to do with previous incidents. It wasn’t the first time he’d found Tim in his room.

“Take a slow sip,” Tim instructed.

Damian took the cup from Tim’s hand and did as instructed.

Tim didn’t say anything as Damian lowered the cup to peer into the pool, even if he could barely see it, and the two sat in a weird silence that prevailed often in their conversations. It could oftentimes be described as mutual respect, but sometimes it was nothing more than a lack of things to say.

Tim finally broke that silence when he recalled important information.

“Bruce is coming back from his trip,” he said. “You’ll see him in two days. One, if he bribes the right people.”

Damian took another sip of water before resting the glass in his lap. He slid a finger over the rim and kept the other hand secured at the bottom. “He shouldn’t even bother.”

Quiet. Then, “Why would you say that?”

Damian frowned. He shook his head.

“We all know this is a waste of time. Why look for a cure that doesn’t exist? Why spend invaluable time on me when there are more important things to do?” He looked up at Tim. For what, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t understand why he’s going through all this trouble.”

“Damian. He’s going through the trouble because it hurts to see you in pain.”

“But I can handle it.”

“Not really. I wouldn’t really call something like, let’s say, lying prone on the bathroom floor ‘handling it.’ You go through this sort of thing like—what—once a quarter?”

Damian didn’t say anything. He glared at his water glass.

“He dropped everything just to focus on your case. That means something,” Tim continued. “Would Bruce abandon his life’s purpose if he didn’t think you were worth his time?”

Damian brought the glass up and tried to take a sip. He could barely drink anything, so he set it aside on the bedstand. His hands shook and he tried to stuff them between his legs and chest. “But why?” He croaked. “I’ve done nothing but give him problems. Why would he do all this for me?”

“You know why.”

Damian did.

He loves me.

Tim stood up and moved back to the desk chair. He sat himself down again. He did so without allowing his eyes to stray. “Seriously. It’s kind of a given that we’d do something about your situation. Kinda’ tripped yourself into it by being involved in a family of vigilantes. My only regret is that we didn’t start acting sooner.” Tim spun the chair around so he could pick his phone up from Damian’s desk. Without looking at Damian, he promised, “One day, you won’t have to worry about having episodes anymore. So don’t give up on yourself when we’re just getting started.”

Damian felt touched even though he couldn’t see the point of pursuing something that would never be solved. He genuinely believed he would never be rid of his episodes. Not after a lifetime of living with them. But—

“Thank you.” For showing me that you all care.

“What was that?”

“You know what I said, don’t play coy.”

“Sorry, just couldn’t believe my ears for a second there.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Get out of my room. You’re no longer welcome here.”

Tim spun in the chair again to face Damian.

“If you kick me out, I’ll just send Dick back in here. He wanted to make sure someone stayed with you for the night so—”

Damian’s face twisted. If Dick came in here, that meant he’d be suffocated in bed. He wouldn’t be able to do anything except for stuff his face in Dick’s chest and wait for morning. Sometimes Damian enjoyed feeling trapped in Dick’s embrace, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Especially when he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Fine. You can stay.”

Tim almost laughed but he didn’t because Damian glared daggers at him. Tim instead settled to hide look down at his phone and pick up where he left off. Damian watched him for a short time before laying himself back down and turning his back in Tim’s direction.

It took him a while to fall back asleep, but when he did, he felt safe.

Chapter Text

“Bastards,” Jason murmured.

Damian hung onto him deliriously as the man attempted to support his weight, but then he gave up because they were walking too slow. Jason spoke his apologies before lifting Damian off the ground. Damian’s head spun like the world around him. It was hard to think straight with the lights blurring above him, fixture after fixture, like some kind of film reel, and Damian wondered why they were moving so fast.

“Nightwing? Oracle? Is someone online?”

Jason cursed. Damian felt every step that Jason took because it jostled his body atop his shoulders, but then they slowed down after a cold wave of wind hit his skin. Damian felt the difference of outside versus inside automatically. It was cold, yes, but it was open. It was freeing. Damian could hear street cars screeching off in the distance, and typically the noise irritated his sensitive hearing. Damian found the opposite to be the case in this scenario. It was almost calming.

“Red?”

Jason kept them going, running aimlessly, or at least that’s what Damian supposed. It sure felt like everything was aimless. Damian couldn’t think right now. Jason would have to do the thinking for the both of them, and the talking since he was still reaching out to people on the comms.

“Finally! I need pickup, now.”

Jason slows his pace until they stop altogether, and then broad shoulders were replaced with curved metal.

“I only have my bike and it’s not going to fit Robin. He’s out of it.”

It went quiet for a moment, perhaps so that Jason could hear what was being said, and then he was talking again. Damian listened as his voice faded in and out. It sounded muffled even though he was close by.

“League’s work. They were draining his blood.” Pause. “Yeah. About twenty of ‘em. Did you really think I’d let them walk? They know about Robin. You think they’re going to lay around until Martian Manhunter erases their minds or until Superman kisses them?” A scoff. “There’s no factory resetting these guys. They’re immune to that sort of thing.”

Damian rolled his head and tried to get a good look at his brother. His vision wasn’t working with him right now. It was hard to even keep his eyes open. It was also so cold. Why was it cold?

“What? B-Man? I thought he wouldn’t be back until—hold on. I’ve got company.”

Jason whipped out his pistol and aimed it to the north. Damian could barely see the outline of the gun in his hand, and he tried to follow the direction. It was pointless.

“Nice of you to join us.” Jason sounded less than pleased despite his words. “I had one more bullet left.”

Damian heard a gunshot before he heard the body thud to the floor. Jason didn’t say anything as he approached the body, out of Damian’s view, and Damian could only imagine what he was doing. He was likely crouching down, or perhaps he was nudging the man with his foot.

He’d killed someone. Another someone. Many of them. For Damian. Because Damian couldn’t stop himself from being captured, and he’d forced his brother’s hand. He did this to him. He existed, and Jason was involved by association.

“Look Red, I don’t care if Batman isn’t going to like this,” Jason growled. “I’m not letting a miserable piece of trash get his hands on my brother and treat him like a blood pack. He’s not an object. They’re just going to keep coming for him until they die so you better believe that... B?” Jason groaned. “Skip the lectures please. We’ve had this conversation several times.”

Jason stopped talking to listen and then he tapped his foot against the ground. Damian felt a tear slip out of his eye and he turned his head to look up at the smoggy stars. The tear slipped down the side of his face.

“Seriously? You on drugs or something? You don’t sound anything like Batman.”

Jason returned to Damian’s side before crouching down.

“Oh, kid.” Jason’s voice fell as he inspected his face. “You—yes he’s fine. Stop yelling in my ear! Damn. I already sent the coordinates. I’m turning off comms.”

Jason did exactly that before Damian was his main focus. He shrugged off his jacket and flung it over Damian’s body. He then coaxed him to turn his face.

“Let me get a look of that face of yours, squirt,” he murmured. “Now you’re all red.” Jason wiped his face gently with the back of his fingers. “At least that’s better than pale. Right? You’re going to be fine. Overprotective Pops is on his way to pick you up.”

Jason began to withdraw but Damian weakly rose his hand. He couldn’t grab Jason’s wrist like he wanted to, but Jason did him a favor by slipping his hand into Damian’s. “What? Are you hurting somewhere?”

Damian took a breath. “S-Sorry,” he spoke shakily. Weakly. Wearily. “D-D…Didn’t—want y-y-you—”

“Want me…?” Jason encouraged.

“K…Ki-Kill. F—Fah—Father is go—going to…”

“He’s not going to do crap,” Jason said, voice low and dangerous. “I did what I had to Damian, and I’d do it again. Those guys deserved worse for what they did to you, but we had to do things my way this time. Quick and easy. Better than letting them roam around.” Jason squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to speak. I can tell you’re cold.”

“So cold,” Damian agreed with leaky eyes.

“Hey now, no crying,” Jason murmured. “We’re going to warm you up pronto. Scoot over.”

Damian couldn’t physically scoot over without stumbling over himself and Jason knew that. He probably hadn’t meant anything he’d said, judging by the way he pulled Damian upward to squeeze him into his side. When that didn’t work too well, Jason abandoned the bench entirely. He slid them both to the ground and then tugged Damian into his lap. He tucked his head underneath his chin and then readjusted the jacket around his shoulders. It was awkward with his position, but he managed it just fine.

“Never seen you cry before,” Jason said softly. “Don’t think I want to see it again.”

Damian agreed. He’d rather never cry in front of his siblings, but he couldn’t help it this time. He was cold and weak and thirsty. Everything was wrong with his body—absolutely everything. He couldn’t get it to work with him, and he could barely think straight. He didn’t even want to be here right now. He didn’t want this blood. He didn’t want to be Talia al Ghul’s son or even a miracle baby. He hated the expectations. Hated everything—hated that everyone was always concerned for him. If he couldn’t put his gifts to use, then what was special about him? Nothing.

And yet people still loved him.

Like Jason.

He shivered and found comfort in Jason’s warmth. He wanted to ask him why he even tolerated him, or why he’d gone out of his way to silence his enemies. Jason had better things to do, surely, than track down a lone Robin, and get him out of an abandoned apartment complex.

“Hurts me in ways I can’t even describe, kid,” Jason continued. “You deserve to be out of this life, in a comfy cabin in the middle of nowhere with hundreds of animal companions and—well. Whatever it is that you’d like to have.”

“Sounds… stupid,” Damian whispered.

“Ouch, that hurts my feelings,” Jason laughed, “but I guess we’ll just have to settle for home base. You’ve got plenty of animals there too. Batcow, Titus, Alfred…”

Jason continued to speak, on and on, perhaps for Damian’s benefit, or perhaps for his own comfort. Damian didn’t know. What he did know was that he was starting to fade, eyelids growing heavier the longer he stayed in place. He eventually closed them and drifted, but then his sleep was rudely interrupted when new hands plucked him up from the bench. He'd woken up as fast as he'd fallen asleep, or at least it had felt like it. This time, there was no Jason talking to him. There was nothing. 

Here's a thought, when had he gone back to laying down on the bench? Actually, had he just imagined Jason holding him this entire time? He was beginning to doubt his reality.

“Who…?” Damian tried to open his eyes and look at whoever was holding him. He got a good look at a black cowl and pointed ears. “Father?”

Father didn’t answer beyond a noise of confirmation and then Damian was delicately placed into a car seat. He sighed as his father buckled him in, hands navigating around his body to keep him secured safely. Then fingers were brushing across his hair and traveling down his arm. Father pressed on his pulse. He kept his fingers there for a minute.

Once he was done, he leaned down to press a kiss into Damian’s hair. He let it linger before slowly parting, closing the door behind him.

A voice echoed in the car. Tim was on speaker.

“Did you retrieve Robin from the coordinates?”

“He’s in the backseat. We’re heading back to the cave. Prepare the medical bay, he’s going to need it.”

“Was already on it.”

“Good.”

Father pressed on the gas and Damian heard the engine roar.

Chapter Text

Bruce felt a myriad of emotions.

It was difficult to pull through with ration and reason. Bruce could feel a cold fury swirling in the pit of his stomach, stretching out for his heart with digging claws, but there was also a turning in his gut. It was the origin of concern and worry. It roiled in his innards and trembled throughout his body. Bruce could feel it crawling up his skin—could feel it in his muscles—tense as they were.

If Jason hadn’t killed those men, maybe he would have done it himself.

You think you can just touch my son and drain his blood? Use him as a walking blood bank?

His jaw tightened as he watched Phantom Stranger stand next to his son’s cot. He was on edge. He knew Phantom Stranger was one of the better ones—a person with good motivations. Still. Seeing someone so close to his son in a vulnerable condition didn’t give him good feelings. No—having the urge to grab Phantom’s shoulder and roughly pull him away was certainly not a good feeling.

“What’s he going to do?” Tim asked.

Dick leaned over to answer Tim’s question. They both stood behind Bruce. They preferred to keep their distance as Phantom Stranger examined Damian, unlike their father. “He’s going to transmute Damian’s blood.”

“What? He can do that?”

“Apparently. He doesn’t even have to chant either.”

Phantom raised his hands to hover over Damian’s body and Bruce stepped forward without even realizing it.

Phantom paused. “There is no need to fear. I will bring no harm to him. If you do not interfere, this will be much smoother. For all of those involved.”

Bruce clenched his fist and forced himself to withdraw.

"Deep breaths, Batman," Dick murmured.

Phantom waited for a moment before he was satisfied, and then his hands began to glow a static blue. He slowly lowered them until they were pressed upon Damian’s chest. When the energy spread onto Damian’s body, Bruce felt helpless. For his whole life, Damian had been in pain. Bruce could only comfort him for a fraction of that, and even then, that wasn’t enough. Damian was still forced to suffer in a body that fought against him. He was struck with agonizing pain that could never be soothed.

He'd searched far and wide for a cure. He’d traveled to backwater villages and consulted foolish mystics. He’d spoken to every far-fetched doctor and misguided scientist. He’d interviewed Zatanna and John Constantine. He’d spoken to Etrigan and Raven. He even sought out Enchantress.

Phantom Stranger was the one who had found him, spirit beaten, and heart deflated.

If this doesn’t work, if he does more harm than good, Batman thought, or more accurately, Bruce, the protective father of four boys, swore within his mind, then this man will regret ever stepping foot in my home.

Damian’s body glowed for a minute total before Phantom removed his hands and turned to face his company.

He inclined his head. That was all he needed to do.

Bruce pushed past him and hovered over his son’s body. He practically shoved Phantom away. Oops. 

“You’re done?” Dick asked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Phantom answered in the affirmative. “You would be wise to tread carefully from this point forward. He is no longer immortal. The burden of his life is now yours to bear. His to bear.”

“Oh, he’s totally benched then,” Tim said.

Dick elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’m just saying,” Tim wheezed. “He’s got a record for putting himself into danger. Besides. He’s got to recuperate from being kidnapped. Right?”

“He’s staying home for at least a month,” Bruce agreed selfishly. His eyes roamed his son’s form. He looked healthier. There was life in his skin and his breathing was smoother. The heart monitor was steady too.

“No way,” Dick guffawed, “he’s not going to stand for it.”

“And I’m not going to risk his life. Not until he understands the gravity of his mortality.” Bruce turned to look at Phantom. “Thank you.”

“I am always willing to lend my services for the greater good. This, I would think, fits the task well.” Phantom hid his arms within his blue cape. “I would not be opposed if you called on me in the future.”

“If you’re offering,” Dick spoke up, “then we’ll take you up on it.”

Bruce followed right after him.

“The Justice League could use someone with your skillset.”

Phantom went quiet, as if he were thinking about the invitation, but he shook his head. He’d already known what his answer would be. Evidently. He didn’t spend too much time thinking.

“No. There’s already too much for me to attend to without the addition of extra duties. Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline.”

Bruce suddenly felt ten times more peaceful and less bloodthirsty than before. Perhaps it had something to do with Damian’s healing. He would have to check his blood himself. Just to make certain everything went according to plan. Which in itself reminded him of performing failsafe.  

“I request that you stay until I draw Robin’s blood and analyze it.”

Phantom looked vaguely amused.

“I will agree to linger for twenty more minutes, but no more than that. Again, there are things I would attend to.”

“Great.” Dick reached forward with no boundaries at all and rested a hand on Phantom’s much taller shoulder. “Then you’ll have enough time to eat some of Agent A’s refreshments. He makes killer chocolate covered strawberries.”

Phantom took it well. A small smile graced his lips. Tim looked like he wanted to take Dick’s hand off of Phantom’s shoulder. Second-hand embarrassment was plain in his features.

“Chocolate covered strawberries?”

“Nothing else out there quite like it,” Dick said. “Not even the best bakery in Gotham could quite match up to A’s skills. You’ve got to get your hands on one. Tastes like home.”

“I see. I will have to try one then.”

“Seriously?” Tim asked.

“What?” Dick questioned. His hand slipped off Phantom. “You’ve got to admit, they’re the best of the best.”

“That’s not—ha.” Tim sighed. “Never mind. You guys enjoy yourselves. I’m going to stick by Robin until he wakes up. Probably best if someone is there to explain the situation to him.”

“No need,” Bruce interjected. “I’ve already assigned someone to attend to his side.”

“Who? Nightwing? He’s sort of assigned himself to something else already.”

“I can sit by his side if you want me to, Batman,” Dick put in. “I wouldn’t mind. Red could host Phantom in my stead.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t volunteer me for—”

“Just because you’re extra introverted Tim—”

“Me,” Bruce interrupted. “I assigned myself.”

“You? But you look dead on your feet.” Tim gazed at him questionably. “When was the last time you slept?”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder to give him a heavy stare.

Tim cleared his throat.

“Okay, touché. Guess I’m not really in the position to say anything.” He shuffled in place. “Maybe I’ll just accompany Nightwing then.”

“Good idea,” Bruce agreed. “And after our guest is gone, you can go to bed on time.”

“Oh, okay, hold on,” Tim rose to the challenge, “when have any of us ever gone to bed on time? Huh? Why are you singling me out when—”

“Okay!” Dick interrupted. He grabbed Tim by the arm and started to drag him away. “I know we’re all worried about Robin, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Time to relax, don’t you think?”

“Relax? Are you joking with me right now?”

Bruce listened to Tim bicker Dick’s ear off as his older brother dragged him away. Phantom trailed behind them, misplaced, and reluctant to prolong his stay no doubt. It was always odd to stick around people who were contending with one another, especially when they were family, but Bruce trusted Dick would smooth things over.

He’s trying to distract himself too, Bruce thought as he brushed Damian’s hair with his fingers, and this is the only way he knows how.

He knew his sons were just as worried about Damian as he was. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to be any longer. Not after Damian’s blood results.

“Just a prick, don't be afraid,” Bruce murmured.

Damian made no reply as his father grabbed his hand and gently poked his finger with a finger prick.

Chapter Text

Bruce sat in his office. Alone.

His stomach was full. He’d eaten green beans and chicken for dinner. While plain in meal standards, Alfred’s hands often made the most mundane food into flavorful masterpieces. He was always satisfied after eating Alfred’s cooking, but something was different this time. His stomach didn’t feel right.

Perhaps the unsettling feeling had something to do with Damian’s repeated absence. He hadn’t been showing up to dinner lately, opting to remain in his room. He claimed he had little else to do since he was benched, a restriction that he felt was unfair and unjustified. While he may not have spoken those exact words, Bruce could tell he was upset. Yet he also felt like he was missing something. Something important.

He knew that it was unwise to ignore such thoughts.

But what could it be?

He was supposed to be writing down his latest journal entry, but he’d stopped to contemplate Damian’s condition. He tried to recall the details of Damian’s body language—the little signs that gave away the secrets Damian was unwilling to tell. What was he missing? What had slipped past his attention?

He spent a good amount of time pondering upon the subject. Perhaps he would have spent the whole evening doing so, but any entertainment of the prospect was tossed out the window when he heard Tim’s hollering voice.

Bruce stiffened and shot out of his seat. He rounded his desk and exited his office. His steps were quickened. They were even swifter when he heard Damian’s wrenching yell. He didn’t know what was happening with his family, but he knew that he didn’t like the sounds they were making. Nothing good could be happening.

Bruce stopped when he spotted Tim wrestling Damian away from the staircase, which was covered with broken glass, chipped wood, and multiple vases that were not typically decorated in such a fashion. They were lined up like bowling pins. Some of them were knocked over. A couple were missing. The survivors were dangerously close to reaching the end of their life expectancy.

“Bruce,” Tim grit as he tugged Damian away from the staircase, who was wrenching around like a beached fish, flopping, squirming, and doing anything except for properly fighting back, “could use your help here!”

“What happened?” Bruce demanded as he crossed the space between them. “Damian?”

Damian didn’t answer because he was too busy biting into Tim’s arm. Tim cried out a loud protest before he was forced to release Damian, and then Damian was going straight back to the staircase for another round of make a gigantic mess. Bruce snatched his arm before he could get too far, and Damian cried out with frustration. Bruce didn’t know what to make of his son pulling at his arm with the force to dislocate his own shoulder, but he knew that his son wasn’t in the right state of mind to be acting so thoughtlessly. It was as if he were a wild animal.

“Damian,” Bruce called again, pulling him backwards with more force than before, “you need to calm down.”

Damian cried with offense.

He nearly wrenched himself free to fling himself across the distance but then Bruce readjusted his grip. His back collided with the wall and then he was bringing Damian into his arms. He slid down to the floor and maneuvered Damina around. The boy roared like a lion and swore and cursed at him. He wiggled and fought, even when Bruce pinned his wild flailing arms against his chest. He restricted his son’s movements as best as he could. His mind raced. His son needed to calm down. Now. Before he caused more destruction and chaos.

Bruce held onto Damian as long as he could, hushing him in an attempt to soothe, to calm, and for a good long while it didn’t work. Damian didn’t pay attention to him, not when he was so intent of freeing himself, but the tides turned after the longest five minutes of struggling. Damian’s fight began to falter as his muscles weakened with exhaustion.

Bruce hummed to him when the wrenching died down into half-hearted twitches, and then there was only quiet. Damian’s unsteady breathing was the loudest thing in the area. He was trying to get some air back in his lungs. Bruce loosened his grip just a smidge to give his lungs some room.

He looked at Tim over Damian’s head. They both looked clueless and concerned.

Bruce didn’t have to ask any questions. Tim started giving him answers without prompting.

“I found him rolling vases down the staircase and throwing picture frames over the railing. I tried to stop him before he hurt himself or broke anything else.” Tim leaned back against the railing and tried to recover himself. He looked beaten up. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions.” He ran a hand over the bite on his arm. It was pink. “Then he bit me. You saw that part.”

“Best to get it treated in the cave,” Bruce said, voice low for Damian’s benefit.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, but there was some reluctance in his voice. He didn’t want to leave. Probably because he wanted to get his answers, or maybe it was because he was worried for Damian. He wanted a conclusion, an explanation for his behavior.

Bruce understood that Tim had multiple reasons to remain, but the look he gave Tim communicated what he wanted for the situation. Tim stared at him for a tic before his lips curved downward into a frown. He stood there for a while. Just long enough for Bruce to actually understand what he wanted, even though Bruce was quite sure he already had a comprehension of it. When Tim realized that, he sighed and leaned off the railing.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” he murmured before dragging himself away from the crime scene.

Bruce gave him an appreciative grunt and waited for him to disappear. Without Tim, it almost seemed to be quieter than before. An odd thing, considering that they hadn’t spoken much to begin with.

Bruce let himself sit still for a while, with Damian trapped in his arms, until he felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to recover their senses, and then he released Damian with slow caution. The boy made no move to get out of his lap. He also didn’t leap to explain himself. He was mute and non-responsive.

“Damian,” Bruce called gently before maneuvering the boy in his lap. He aimed to see his face. That’s why he situated Damian sideways until his legs spilled out over his left leg and… he paused when he saw the tears rolling down Damian’s face. They surprised him so bad that his brain stopped functioning. Damian. Crying?

Was he having another episode?

Panic raced through Bruce’s heart and ran through his veins. Something was wrong. His son was in pain. How could he fix it? How—how could he make it better? Did Phantom Stranger fail to do his job correctly? Did something go wrong during the process?

Bruce stopped himself from trailing off and he took a rooting breath. He calmed himself. Now wasn’t the time to go off in his own wonderland and think of the worst scenarios. He was a detective. He could get to the bottom of this—find out the true issue.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, voice as soft as he could make it. He didn’t want to intimidate Damian or scare him away. His son was a proud boy. He might just get up and run back to his room if it meant avoiding a vulnerable conversation. “What are those tears for. Hm?”

He had a feeling this was more than just reckless destruction.

Bruce smudged a tear away with the back of his fingers and then eyed his son’s face. Damian refused to make eye-contact with him. He was staring off at nothing in particular; anything but his father’s peering eyes.

Bruce tried to brush away another tear but then Damian tore his face away.

“Stop,” he stressed, rubbing at his eyes furiously.

Damian’s lips wobbled and he tried to compose himself. He was trying awfully hard to keep his non-existent composure. Bruce watched his son slowly go through the process of bursting like a balloon. His tears started to come out faster. His breath quickened and his shoulders trembled. Then he tried to hide a bubbling sob-gasp. His attempt only failed as a strangled sound escaped his throat.

He hugged himself tightly and sobbed.

“Damian,” Bruce strained, “what’s wrong?”

He tried to nudge his face towards him, but Damian refused to comply. He fought stubbornly until Bruce finally managed to make eye-contact with him. Once Damian’s gaze was on his, his son couldn’t look away. He stared up into his father’s eyes vulnerably and miserably.

“I-If I can’t—” Damian began, looking uncertain as to what he was even going to say, or explain, “If I can’t… can’t… be something anymore—something useful—” His tears rolled down his cheeks in big fat drops. He moaned and took in a gasping breath. “Why did you do this to me?”

Bruce immediately understood what he was referring to.

“You were in pain Damian. Every month.”

“I could handle it,” Damian insisted, jolting with a hiccup of air, “but you—you never trusted me.”

“I did trust you. I do trust you.” Bruce cupped Damian’s cheek and searched his eyes. “But you were suffering. And it was getting worse with each episode. Each year. Did you think I’d just stand aside? You were already aware that I was searching for a cure.”

Damian ignored that last bit. Willful ignorance. He was more interested in thumping a weak fist against his father’s chest. “I didn’t think you’d succeed! But you did and you—you got rid of the only thing that—” Damian ducked his head and Bruce’s hand slipped. He hesitated with his next words. “What else am I good for? Nothing. It’s not fair.”

Damian thumped his fist against his father’s chest once more, but it was even weaker than the first. He tried to do it again. His hand fell limply instead.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he whispered.

Bruce tugged Damian in deliberately so he could tuck his head underneath his chin.

“Do you have to? What’s wrong with figuring things out as we go?”

“That’s not how it works,” Damian complained.

“I would tell you that you’re worth more than anything the Lazarus Pit could have given you, but I have the feeling that my words wouldn’t be taken to heart. Here’s what I’ll tell you instead. Your value doesn’t diminish if your abilities are taken away.”

“No,” Damian refused to believe him.

“Listen to me,” Bruce insisted. “If you weren’t valuable to me, do you think I’d do what I did? That I would even keep you around after everything was over and done with?”

Damian was stiff at the suggestion even though it hadn’t ever occurred in reality.

Bruce sighed and pressed a hand into Damian’s back.

Stubborn child, he thought, almost fondly.

He rubbed his thumb across in straight lines. Damian tried his best not to relax, but Bruce could feel him melt like butter underneath his ministrations. It took him some time, but he eventually slumped against his father completely. His tears soaked into the neckline of his cotton shirt.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Damian murmured. He'd given up on trying to make sense of the situation. Of why he wasn't getting a harsher punishment for breaking everything. 

“It doesn’t have to.”

Damian took in a shuttering breath and rested his cheek on his father’s collarbone.

A moment of silence settled between them. Bruce thought about all he’d done to get here. All the people he’d talked to—the places he’d visited. He’d done it all for Damian, and he would have done it again if need be. Nothing would have changed his decision. He’d do it five times over if it meant giving Damian the relief he deserved. Hopefully it’d stop his youngest from throwing himself into danger’s path in the process. That would be an added bonus.

He's selfishly glad that Damian isn’t going to go through painful episodes anymore. He’d figured out by now that Damian hadn’t taken it well, but Bruce believed this was the best thing that could have happened to him. His son would live a life without having to worry about the pains that often rendered him bed ridden. He’d be free to do things that he hadn’t been capable of doing before.

He’d also have to be far more careful.

Damian’s next words broke him out of his thoughts.

“Father?" He asked quietly. "Are you going to get rid of me now?"

Bruce growled possessively and wrapped his arms around Damian’s back. How could he even ask such a question? It was a miserable thing to think about. Him? Getting ‘rid’ of his son?

“Never, and don’t you ever dare ask me for such a thing. I won’t do it.”

He squeezed his son and was encouraged by the itty-bitty fingers that dug into the fabric clinging to the surface of his stomach. He hoped his actions were enough to back up his words. Damian had to know that he was telling the truth—that he’d keep him around because he was his son and he loved him. It didn’t matter what he was. Monkey, sea creature, or ghoulish being. He was still Bruce’s precious little gemstone—his lightning bug.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Damian spoke softly.

Bruce grunted.

“Good.”

Bruce kept his son within his embrace for the next twenty minutes. It was a long enough period that his arms began to grow numb, and at some point, he felt Damian's weight completely collapse against his own. He hadn't properly understood why his son wasn't holding himself upright until he heard his breathing settle into a pattern. Then it made sense. Damian had fallen asleep, most likely having exhausted himself from his emotional outburst. Bruce was distantly surprised that his son would ever sleep out in the open like this, especially when he was insistent on keeping himself on guard at all times, but he wasn't going to betray Damian's trust by pointing the matter out later. He would take this opportunity and treasure it for what it was. A true excuse to hold his son, without using the Lazarus Pit episodes as a provocation. 

He was glad Damian felt safe enough to sleep on him.

"Bruce?" Tim's quiet voice echoed down the hall. "Is it alright to come back out now?"

Bruce exhaled. 

"You didn't go to the cave." The realization wasn't shocking. "You heard everything?"

"Enough." Tim walked in and sat himself down on the floor. They must look like an odd bunch, sitting amongst destruction without batting an eye. "I think this has been a long time coming. He's obviously been going through some things. Even before his blood was transmuted." A pause. "Think he'll be okay from this point forward?"

"I can't say," Bruce admitted reluctantly, "but we'll be with him until there isn't a fear in his mind."

Tim propped up a leg and draped an arm across his knee.

"Yeah," he agreed, "we will."

They shared a gaze. Determination passed through them as if it were a physical thing that could be manifested. They were connected. In that moment, Bruce understood that Tim would do anything for Damian. Just like he would. Just like Damian would for them. 

He bowed his head and hid a smile in his youngest's hair. 

You feel that? Bruce thought as a protective feeling sweltered in the atmosphere. You've got an older brother who won't be leaving you alone. Three of them, actually. 

Tim would have only agreed if he'd heard Bruce's thoughts. Bruce was certain. 

He was content with the thought until something else came to mind. His eyes were drawn to the fresh pinkish mark on Tim's arm. He lifted his head and frowned. 

"Tim."

Tim already knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"No, I want to stay here," he dismissed like a petulant child. 

"Tim."

"It didn't even break skin."

The two attempted to argue quietly over Damian, stirring the boy who was known for being a light sleeper. When he shifted, Bruce immediately shut himself up to attend to him. He hushed the boy and comforted him like a sleeping babe. He rubbed circles into his back with the pressure of his palm. Damian sighed and leaned back in. 

Bruce shot a glare over Damian's head. 

Go, his eyes insisted, or else I'll get up. 

Tim did his best to outlast the glare, but he saw the wisdom in Bruce's insistence. It took him a while, but he eventually relented. Murmuring something under his breath, he got himself up and dragged himself to the cave. Properly this time. 

Now that both boys were taken care of, Bruce could breathe again.