Work Text:
Damian Wayne knows that he has roughly 2.8 litres of blood in his body. Or, had. He also knows that he can only stand to lose 15%, or .42 litres before he goes into shock. This may not end too well for him.
When his father’s adopted sons had told him this drug ring was too dangerous to go after by himself he had scoffed in their face. Of course they wouldn’t have been able to handle this when they were 10 years old, but Damian is so much better than they ever could be. Damian needs to prove himself to his father without killing; what better way to do so than fight crime as he always sees them do?
Damian found it laughable how easy it was to ditch his trackers. There were three hidden in Drake’s “borrowed” robin suit: one under the “R,” one under the mask, and one in the sole of the right boot. He figured there must be one in the communicator as well, so he decided to leave that, too. The only way for his housemates to find him, he concluded, was if they tracked the drug ring’s whereabouts. However, by that point, Damian will have handed them over to the police alive and breathing.
Perched from a vantage point, Damian could tell there were 12 hostiles, six armed. This would be easy. Hooking his grapple on the top of the cargo boat, he swung down feet first and kicked two assailants in the head. He used the force of their now-unconscious bodies to knock out a third one. He launched into a backflip towards one lone gunman while unsheathing his katana. He swung at his arm, attempting to knock the semiauto out of his hand. Gun clattering to the ground, Damian launched a swift roundhouse to his head knocking him out cold. Four down-eight left.
Three more had heard the commotion from the other side of the ship and began to run over. Damian shot his grapple back up and waited for them to gather together. Once they were, he threw down a smoke pellet and jumped down. Slashing two of them in a horizontal motion across their sides—making sure it was not deep enough to be fatal—he grabbed the back of their heads and smashed them together. He then crouched down, swung his foot around in a circular motion behind the third assailant’s knees, causing him to fall with a crash. Damian grabbed one of the unconscious’ guns and stepped firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. He used the gun as a blunt object, delivering a swift blow to the back of his head with a thump.
Two left in the control area of the boat, with the remaining three with the cargo. Damian headed for the two up in the front first, to buy him some more time while they were still docking. He throws a batarang through the window, stunning one and confusing the other. He leaps through the now shattered window, katana ready. He swipes at the one that was not stunned, to keep him off his feet. He smacks his head against the control panel, out cold. Damian sheaths his sword, kneels down, and beats the remaining hostile’s head into the ground with a satisfying bounce and thump. Three left.
Damian heads for the cargo hold. He does not stop to assess the status of the thugs, as he is well equipped to handle such meagre opponents. Bursting through the doors, he swings the cord of his grapple to tie up the legs of the nearest gunman. His gun rattles to the floor as he falls onto his stomach. Certain the gunman could not escape his restraints, Damian heard the echoing click of a gun reloading. He leaps to the side, bullet grazing his abdomen. He plants one of his feet onto the nearby shipping crate and launches towards the man shooting while successfully evading bullets. He pulls his sword, and uses it to deflect incoming bullets. Lurching forward, he uses the backside of his sword to smack the gun away from his hands. The angle Damian was at, however, caused the force of the strike to knock his sword out of his hands. Damian adapted quickly and flurried his opponent with punches until he was dazed, then out. Damian threw a smoke pellet to throw off the last gunman. He uses his inability to see Damian to his advantage, and it was no issue knocking the last one out.
Damian does a quick check at the cargo before going back to the cave to announce his victory. With his back turned, and the sound of the waves crashing against the harbor’s docks filling his ears, he was regrettably distracted and did not hear the tied up hostile undo his restraints. Nor did he hear his own sword get picked up. He hadn’t noticed any of this until a sickening squelch reverberated through the cargo hold. Damian barely had time to look down and see his sword—his very own sword that grandfather himself had gifted to Damian—sticking straight through his abdomen until it was swiftly pulled out. Had Damian not been foolishly unaware of his surroundings he would have done a simple muscle contraction to move his vital organs out of the way. Alas, Damian’s damage assessment was looking much more grim than it should have been.
Blood was gushing out of his small body at an alarming rate. His attacker, seeming surprised at his own actions, dropped Damian’s katana and promptly fled the boat. Damian was not afraid of death. He had seen hundreds die in the league. He had taken several lives himself. No, it was not death that scared him. What did cause a deep, tight anxiety to fill his chest, though, was the thought of disappointing his father in such a way. And what a shameful way for Damian Al Ghul Wayne to die indeed: slain by a lowly drug-peddler. This simply would not do.
Unfortunately for Damian, it was becoming more and more difficult to gather his thoughts. Shock, right. He focuses all the energy he has to hit Drake’s emergency beacon. He is pitifully grateful that it is Drake’s. Part of him fears if he had his own, his housemates would not be so eager to come to his aid. Surely Drake was not out patrolling at this time, but with his location and the known information of the drug rings, perhaps his housemates could put two and two together.
Damian can feel himself be pulled by sleep. He worries of what his father will think if he does not wake up. It becomes much, much more difficult to keep his eyes open, and they slip close. Distantly, he can feel pressure on his abdomen. There is a voice around him. Is it Mother’s? No… no. That’s foolish, his mother would not come down to see such a failure. It is the oldest of his father’s children, Grayson. What is Grayson saying?
“Damian, please, open”——”You’re so young, please—”
Damian can hear Grayson’s voice shake. Why? Damian has been nothing but cruel to the whole lot of them, why would Grayson care so much?
Damian would think on this more, but the inviting hands of sleep pulling him down is just too tempting. Damian is unsure if he will wake, but now he does not have a choice in the matter as he feels his mind let go.