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Damian had seen the cowl footage of Akhi fighting against The Riddler when he was twelve years old. It was impressive, for an untrained child. The footage was from Father’s perspective, and Damian followed along with the blurry tracking as Akhi splits mid air, kicking two idiotic goons in the face before reaching into his pockets and tossing colorful marbles across the floor. Akhi is giggling and he looks happier than Damian had ever seen him. It's a sweet sight, really. He remembers that footage as he copies the move on a few thugs in an alley, smirking when Batman gives him a nod of approval.
It all is going well, till someone pulls their gun out and shoots, hitting Damian in the thigh. Damian screams and collapses to the floor, but doesn't writhe or groan. He was only shocked at the initial pain. "Robin!" he can hear Father yell for him nearby, but Damian grasps at his bleeding wound. the bullet went all the way through his leg, he can feel it, and he can see the metal shining from where it slammed into the brick wall behind Damian.
"I am fine!" Damian calls back, reaching one bloodied hand into his utility belt to find his gauze, gritting his teeth as he unrolls most of it and wraps it around his thigh hastily. He stays sitting on the ground after his wound is wrapped, one hand compressing his wound while the other has a tight grip on his katana to ward off any wayward enemy who might think to attack a Robin when they're down.
It's not long till Father is at Damian's side, hoisting the boy into his large arms and carrying him to the Batmobile; the man speaks into coms, "Red Robin, Nightwing, come clean this up, Robin needs medical attention,"
"Father, I am capable of my own care," He doesn't attempt to free himself of his father's arms, but once he's sat in the Batmobile he's making way for the first aid kid. Father just sighs as he drives back to the cave. Upsettingly, Damian gets benched until his wounds are healed. including the bruises on his ribs, not just the hole through his leg. he just clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. He doesn't mind all too much, because that means he gets off from school until he stops limping (not that he really allowed anyone to see that anyway) and that means he can focus on his art.
So, that night he sits on the floor with his injured leg gently stretched out and resting on top of a thin pillow, and he's wearing comfy, paint stained sweatpants. Titus sits at Damian's side as he sits in front of the small and low easel. With gentle hands, Damian continues working on his painting. there are deep orange tiles in the background, and verdant green plants in the foreground. In the middle, Akhi. His gentle face and wide shoulder, eyes softer than anyone else had ever seen them. Damian was there as well, small and childish, only four years old. In the frame of the painting, Damian was looking down at the ground while holding Akhi's hand and Akhi was looking at Damian. it was photographed by Talia, and that was what Damian was referencing in the art. it was one of Damian's fondest memories, finding the photo and looking at how much Akhi seemed to love him.
He stay uninterrupted till dinner, when Alfred retrieves him and he finds himself with his family in the dining room. It's not everyone, Cain and her girlfriend, Brown, went on a vacation a few days ago and would be gone for at least another week, and Akhi never came to family dinners, not unless it was someone's (not Father's) birthday or someone had bribed him. Maybe Damian should bribe Akhi to come over, seeing as they had not spoken privately in several months. Damian would not speak it, but he missed his brother dearly.
"Damian, how's your leg doing?" Richard asks during the meal, (something different from Damian, seeing as he was vegetarian and everyone else had meat dishes. It seemed to be a curry, unlike Damian's hearty noodle salad) pointing at Damian with his fork and covering his mouth with one hand.
"I am fine, of course. It is a small wound, I do not see why anyone should worry," Is it bad that he feels a little jealous of their meal? He feels isolated, being the only one with a different meal. He would not eat meat, but he wished they also had something vegetarian so he could partake in the sharing of food; Tim reaching for part of Richard's tray or Duke stealing a bite from Tim. along with all his other traits and all his history, his choice had isolated Damian further.
"We worry because we love you, Dami," Richard smiles at Damian before taking another bite of his food. Damian suddenly feels a little sick, thinking about everything that makes him different. The ongoing conversations around him fade as he doubts himself. He regrets his birth, for a moment, because that is what makes him the most... wrong. If he hadn't been born from Talia al Ghul, he might have been more normal. He would not have been so violently inclined or have looked so unsettling. he might not have been Ibn al-Xu'ffasch, but perhaps the child of a lowly servant in Nanda Parbat, but thinking about it now, would that have been better? his death would have quick, seeing as got sick quickly as an infant and died. his first death. He remembers his mother's stories about it, her sadness when he died crying in her arms, face flush with fever, and he joy when he sniffled awake after laying dead for fifteen minutes.
Damian, probably due to the Lazarus Water in his mother's blood, had been born with an innate ability to come back to life from death. He had died many times, probably about ten, now, since he started training. he'd never died in Gotham, in his father's care; and he's never died in front of Akhi, at least not when the man had any ability to remember things. He had died once when Akhi was catatonic.
It was horrible and scary, Damian remembered. Akhi had been watching Damian during a training exercise, where Damian had to climb a tall structure. it must have been seventy foot tall, and Damian had made it almost to the top before it happened. Of course, since it was League, there was no harness. So, when Damian's footing slipped and he dangled, before his fingers slipped off too and he fell to the ground. oddly, even though he was only five years old, he did not die on impact to the ground. No, he fell on the ground, broke his back and internally bled as his Akhi looked at him in concern. He woke up five days later in his bed, with a note from his mother and Akhi asleep in a chair, watching him.
Damian did not want to die again. after he stopped, this past year had been mostly free of injury (he thought not of the two large scars on his wrists where Deathstroke had stabbed through him and pinned him to a wall; he was lucky he did not bleed out right there) and Damian had never felt more free. Damian didn't want to die, he wanted to live. Dying, he's learned, is terrifying and unnecessary.
"Dami?" Someone puts a hand on Damian's shoulder, and he jumps a little in shock. "You okay? You, uh, you kind of zoned out there,"
Silent for a moment, then a response, "Yes," He stands up, chair making an ugly noise as it slides against the hardwood floor, and then he turns to leave, the last of his dinner and the rest of the family abandoned. He finished his painting, and sets it near his window to dry in the cool winter air. Before he goes to bed, he shuts the window, watching the snow begin to fall.
The thing about Damian's immortality is that it came with another side effect; he had faster healing than most. So, a few nights later, his leg is completely healed and he's ready to patrol. But father doesn't know that, he expects Damian to still be injured until next week. So, digging through his closet to find his mock up Robin costume, before he decided on the baggy pants and tall boots and the hooded cloak. this one has longer pants and more sneaker-like boots, shorter like dress shoes almost. this one's cloak still has a hood, but there is not a yellow inner lining, just black. it's better to fade into the dark with, but Father had insisted he keep the red, green, and yellow more, even making Damian trim the dark-red-turned-bright tunic top with yellow instead of keeping to flat. this one's mask is black as well, along with the pants, sleeves, gloves, and shoes.
Once Damian graduated from Robin into Batman, he would no longer have to suffer these stupid colors, turning to comforting black. But tonight, Damian was Robin, his Robin. and no one could take that from him. He planned his patrol route away from Father, Drake, and Akhi. Richard was not in Gotham tonight, so he was not of worry. Father and Drake were dealing with a large drug bust near Robinson park, and Akhi never really left Crime Alley. it was ten at night, just late enough that Pennyworth would not bother him and leave his bedroom door shut, but not late enough that he risked Father checking on him after patrol.
He swings through the aptly named Robbinsville, really feeling the name. he is Robin, and as Akhi said, Robin is magic. he feels that magic as he jumps from nightclub to nightclub, feeling as though he himself is dancing in those neon lights and to the beat of loud music. The neighborhood is old, mostly in dire need of reconstruction, so most of the buildings are storage or clubs and a few apartments. the neighborhood isn't too loud.
Damian is dancing like a true Robin when he hears a yelp down in an alley, and dances down by to a nearby fire escape, hoping for some fun. Looking over the edge at the scene, he sees a medium level crime. "Come on! Fifty bucks!" There's someone in a dark, hooded jacket waving a box cutter at another person, who has fear stricken on their face and their hands raised defensively.
"I told you, I can't afford that! Put the knife away!" seems to be a drug deal gone wrong, not surprising in the clubbing scene. Damian decides to stay and watch, only willing to step in if someone falls into danger.
"If you ain't buying, you're selling me out!" The one holding the blade waves it closer to the other's face, who backs further into the alley. "You ain't telling no one what I'm selling if you know what's good for you, right?" The blade swings again, and slashes the, now victim's, cheek, who yelps again in surprise.
"What the hell, Mike? I thought we were chill, and you just raised your prices! I can't afford it, that's all!" But 'Mike' doesn't listen, swinging again, with more fervor, aiming to hurt. It's then Damian decides to step in before someone gets hurt. It's not the most honorable thing he had ever done on patrol, but it would be fun to intimidate these losers and maybe even rough them up a bit. He smirks as he jumps, landing on the ground behind the two men with a thud.
Not-Mike makes another noise of surprise, and Mike looks at Damian with anger that quickly turns to fear. "Drop the knife, dealer," Damian demands, and rolls his eyes when Mike tries to swing at him.
"Back off, bird! This ain't your business!" Mike swings, and Damian steps back, trying to think of the quickest way to disarm him without harming him too much – Mike may be an asshole, but Father would not have him harmed too much.
He clicks his tongue, "It became my business when you attempted to maim another–" he goes to continue, but his ankle rolls over an empty can on the ground. His foot twists, and in these shoes that he rarely wears, the foot is different. Damian falls to the ground just ask Mike takes a swing with his knife, and then there's a stinging pain – all in a split second.
And then, then there's blinding white pain. Damian, already on his knees, reaches for his throat. He can feel the separation of his flesh beneath his finger tips. Everything becomes blurry as tears well in his eyes, and before everything truly starts fading, he struggles to hold his neck shut.
"Shit- shit- did I kill him!?" Damian falls backward further, ending with his back on the ground and his legs bent and his feet on the ground. He kicks his legs, instinct telling him to find Akhi, Mother, or Father. His feet scrape against the ground and it becomes harder to move, and he becomes more drowsy.
He tries to wail, tries to reach for his emergency beacon; it's so close, only on his wrist. Nothing comes out of his throat but blood and bubbles. "You fucking killed him! You killed Robin, shit, Batman is gonna–" he doesn't hear the rest because the ringing in his ears becomes too much.
He doesn't want to die again. It hurts so much. He wants to be normal, a normal kid who's scared of all the things Robin is brave for. His hands fall and he can't see anymore. His vision fully blurs, and he's only conscious for a second more before he falls completely limp and splayed on the ground.
Now, Red Hood doesn't usually stray from Crime Alley unless there's something big going on; he's heard mutters from the college girls that Robin is jumping around on the rooftops of Robbinsville, so he goes to investigate. He's ready to chew the boy out for sneaking out while benched. He knew how dangerous it was to go out alone without backup. He sighs as he stops in front of a dingy club, leaning against a wall and waiting for someone to come out. It had been about three hours since he heard the report, he hopes the brat was still around so he could give the boy a piece of his mind.
A young woman leaves the club, stumbling a little, grunting, and then kicking off the heels she's wearing and holding them in her hand. She makes a small noise when she sees Red Hood standing in front of her. "Red Hood, sir, uh, what can I do for you?"
"Looking for Robin. He's supposed to be at home, but I heard some rumors he was out here tonight," He crosses his arms over his chest, lifting one foot and leaning it on the wall behind him. "Figured I'd give him a lecture and send him home, get him grounded for a few weeks,"
"Oh," The woman says, "I haven't seen anything, but I heard someone say he went down Clermont Street, and he hasn't popped back up since," Red Hood nods, turns away from the club, and walks to the street. Similarly to Park Row, Clermont Street was the original name of Mercer Ave. It was only renamed within the last year, so not many people had gone to calling it by the new name.
Jason finds himself by Clermont, but it's silent. There's no signs of anyone, other than a few pieces of litter on the ground. Jason grunts, upset that he can't find Damian, and then turns to leave, but then he sees something. Red. lots of it. Dark, crimson red like dark drying blood. Anxiety bubbles in Jason's chest, and he runs down the alley. In the middle of the blood is a black lump of fabric, fabric with a person inside. "No," He mumbles, seeing dark skin peeking from one part of the fabric. He rushes forward, though it feels like slow motion, and collapses on the ground next to the bundle. he moves the fabric - a hood - from the figure, revealing Damian Wayne's face. it's pale, not it's usual dark complexion, and his eyes are wide open staring up at nothing. they're green as always, but no longer swirling with his childish joy and life.
They're dark, bloodshot, and he can tell, terrified. "No, no, no," Jason puts his hands under Damian's neck and his torso, lifting the boy into his arms a little. "Ya Ruhi, answer me," But Damian doesn't move. there's blood dripping from his mouth, no, pooling from it. his neck has a deep cut, one so wide Jason could see inside to his throat.
Damian was dead. he died as small as he was the day he was born. There was no ceremony, there was no screams for him, no attempts to help; he was simply murdered in a dark alley on an unassuming day. "Damian, Dami," He moves his arm from under Damian's back to under his legs, lifting the body up. Damian's head is moved to rest on Jason's chest. his little arms and little hands hang limply towards the ground. He's tiny. He's only a boy. flashes of hot summer days and the clanging of swords come back to him as he stares at Damian.
He carries Damian back to his apartment. he can't take the rooftops with his arms full, so he's sure some people saw him. They probably saw his shaking hands and unsteady posture and the small body in his arms. as gently as he can before collapsing, Jason lays Damian on his bed. Guilt fills Jason. Damian had likely died alone in that alley. When was the last time the two had a sleepover, or the last time Jason made Damian his favorite vegetarian mapo tofu? When was the last time Jason had truly hugged Damian and held him close? Jason takes his hand and gently closes Damian's eyes.
He leaves Damian laying on the bed, not caring about the blood that smears on the covers. he finds himself in the bathroom, hands gripping the edge of the sink while he stares into the medicine cabinet. with a sad sigh, he grabs the first aid kit. he sits back down by Damian's side, and gently begins to stitch his neck back together. This is what killed him, Jason is sure. Damian is stitched back together, bandages covering the stitches. with a damp rag, he cleans the blood off Damian's face and from around his neck where he had lay in his blood. How long had this child lay dead before someone found him?
Jason holds Damian's cold, stiffening hand for what feels like hours, praying for some sort of sign of life.
(Underneath the bandages, the stitches had helped jumpstart Damian's revival process, which had always taken a bit of a long time to work,)
He doesn't know how long it takes before he's staring at his phone, staring at his brother's, Dick's, contact. He presses the call button with a shaky hand. "Jay? I just got some notes from B about patrol, but it didn't say you were there; what'cha calling for?"
"D-Dick," He manages to choke out, only after a long silence. He whimpers out a breath of air. "You need to come to my apartment, please,"
"What's going on?" He can hear shuffling in the background of the call, even through the thick and stern concern in Dick's voice. "I'm coming over, I'm in Blüd right now, but I'm literally going to my car right now,"
"Dick, I don't know what to do," He mutters, staring at the body in his bed. He's seen many dead people. He's seen the dead bodies of people he loves. He's seen the almost-dead body of Tim Drake when he was only a young teenager, but he's never seen the dead body of his littlest most prized person in the world; this child that he loves more than his own life, that he cares for more than Talia or Bruce or, hell, even Alfred, this child is his baby brother and he's just lost them. "I- I'll see you in a bit," He hangs up before he breaks further.
He sits there silently for what feels like hours, one hand holding Damian's cold and stiff fingers, and the other holding the boy's thumb. This uniform... Jason remembers the drawings. Jason had drawn his own Robin outfit, but Damian had given Jason a big, pretty, toothy smile and laughed, saying it looked ridiculous. He had drawn his own, more goth, version of Robin. Jason remembered how Damian had complained to him, saying that his father did not allow him to disregard the yellow and green, at least not just yet.
There's rushed nocking on Jason's apartment door, so hesitantly, he leaves Damian's side. Shaky legs lead him to the door, and he opens it. Dick has a pained and scared look on his face, and immediately begins to grab at Jason. his sleeves are pulled up and his torso is pat down for injuries, and Jason has to stop him. "It's not... it's not me," And Dick's face falls further.
"What's going on? Who is it?" A gear seems to turn in Dick's head, and panic sprawls all over his face. "Damian, no, is he okay?" There is tense silence.
"He's dead," Jason blurts out. "Damian is dead and I don't know what to do!"
Dick's bright blue eyes go dark. "What?" Jason grabs Dick's hand and walks him through the apartment to the master bedroom, where Damian's body lay on the bed. the moonlight and the dim bedside lamp illuminate him from both sides, the moonlight pale on the bridge of his nose and the table lamp warm on the blood that Jason couldn't quite wipe off. "No, no!" Dick rushes to Damian's side, grabbing his face and looking at his peaceful face. Jason thinks, 'is it sad that the only time Damian is truly peaceful, is when he's dead?'
Dick bursts into tears, grabbing Damian's body and pulling the poor child into his arms, collapsing on the bed and curling over the body. "Dami, my baby," He rocks himself, and the body, gently. "You let this happen?" Dick turned his head to Jason, who has let his stance leaning against the wall lead him to the floor, where he rests his head on his knees.
"No, no I would never," Jason stands in a panic, sitting next to Dick and rubbing his hand on the large of his back. "I would die before I let him get hurt, I swear," Jason chokes on his own emotions. "I found him like this, I swear," Dick opens his mouth to say something, but freezes suddenly. In some sort of horror, he drops Damian's body back onto the bed and pulls away from him. "Dick?"
"He breathed," Dick says, voice low and unsure, "I swear to god, I felt his breath on my neck,"
Before Jason can even check for himself, Damian whimpers. A sad whine full of pain. His fingers twitch and reach for his neck.