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Damian ran.
His boots hammered against the cracked pavement, each step uneven and filled with exhaustion. His breath tore from his lungs in ragged bursts, and his legs shook with every desperate step. He had been on the run for weeks, long enough for time to be measured in nights, and in the distance that he could put between himself and the life he abandoned.
Long enough that he foolishly believed he might never be found.
It was only a matter of time before someone caught him.
And of course it had to be Grayson.
The worst possible person.
Damian ducked his head and pushed through the crowded street, weaving between adults, dodging hands, and slipping past briefcases and shopping bags. The air smelled of smoke, rain, and car exhaust. A cacophony of noises surrounded him. Horns, conversations, and music were all around him, but all he could hear was the thundering pound of his own pulse.
He didn’t look behind him.
He didn’t need to.
He could feel Grayson’s presence like a heat on the back of his neck. He was closing in.
Damian’s chest burned. His shirt clung to his skin. His hair, long and unkempt, stuck to his forehead. He only carried a small dagger. No mask. Nothing but his worn clothes and a secondhand backpack that bounced painfully against his spine. He’d had to ditch everything he’d initially brought after he noticed multiple trackers on them.
All he needed was distance.
Distance between himself and Grayson.
Distance from the family he had left behind.
People shouted as he shoved past them, forcing his way through the compressed flow of sweaty bodies. His lungs screamed. His vision blurred for a second, black spots crawling like ink at the corners of his eyes, but he kept going.
He burst free from the crowd of pedestrians, stumbling onto a relatively empty stretch of sidewalk. He glanced behind him.
His stomach dropped.
Grayson was still there.
Not in uniform, not moving with the effortless acrobatics of Nightwing, but still fast. He was pushing through the crowd with apologies and frantic urgency, his eyes locked onto Damian like he might lose him if he blinked.
Damian cursed under his breath and sprinted harder.
He shouldn’t have been able to find him. Not after weeks of constantly moving, sleeping in abandoned buildings, and avoiding cameras. Damian had been careful.
He thought he had been careful.
Damian swallowed hard. Running had made him sloppy.
Behind him, the thud of footsteps approached with frightening speed.
“Damian!” Dick’s voice cracked through the noise. “Please, stop!”
He couldn’t stop.
Not now.
Not ever.
Damian’s chest ached so sharply it bordered on agony. His throat felt raw, like he had swallowed sand. But he forced himself to keep going, choosing the next street at random and sprinting into it.
His thoughts fractured around the same truth, pounding in time with his heartbeat.
He can’t take me back.
He dodged into a narrow alleyway between two buildings, leaping over a fallen trashcan, slipping past a rusted fence. Anything to put space between them. Anything to disappear again.
The alley split.
Damian swerved to the left, colliding with an overly large dumpster bin. Metal rattled loudly as he stumbled and slammed shoulder-first into the ground.
Pain radiated down his arm. No doubt there would be a large bruise there tomorrow.
Damian forced himself up.
He had to keep running.
The alley curved sharply, then opened into a wider space. It was boxed in by tall brick walls and a single fire escape far above his reach.
A dead end.
Damian skidded to a halt, breath wheezing.
“No…” he whispered under his breath.
A thud sounded behind him. Damian spun, pressing his back to the wall, heart hammering against his ribs
An elongated shape approached from the alley.
Damian froze.
Grayson.
Damian cursed under his breath. Then he heard it.
“Damian.”
Richard’s voice. Quiet and breathless. Worn down by the weeks of searching and running.
He stood a few feet away. Close enough to catch Damian. Far enough away to give him room to choose.
“Come here,” Richard said softly, holding out his arms.
Damian kept his gaze fixed on the ground
“I can’t,” he whispered. Damian trembled. “I can’t go back.”
He wasn’t sure if he meant the manor, or Bruce.
“I know you’re scared,” Richard said. “I know you think you don’t belong. But you’re wrong.”
“You don’t understand,” Damian snapped, his voice rising in panic. “I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back. After what Father said—”
“Bruce was wrong,” Richard interrupted firmly. “He was angry and scared and terrible at handling either. But he never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”
Damian shook his head, backing up until the cold wall pressed against his spine.
“I can’t be like you,” he said bitterly. “I can’t be what he wants.”
“And I’m not asking you to be,” Richard replied.
Damian’s fists clenched.
He had two choices, surrender or run. And he wasn’t going down quietly.
He lunged.
Richard expected it.
In one swift movement, Richard sidestepped, grabbed him, and swept him to the ground. Damian hit the pavement hard, the air being knocked out of him. He gasped and crawled at the ground, trying to push up, but Richard pinned him effortlessly.
“Let go!” Damian shouted, thrashing. “Let go of me!”
“Damian,” Richard said, voice barely above a whisper, “stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You didn’t come for me,” Damian venomously spit out, his eyes burning. “You came because Father told you to.”
“That’s not true.”
“Liar!”
Richard pressed a hand against Damian’s shoulder.
“You have no idea,” Richard said gently, “how many nights I didn’t sleep because you were gone. How many times I thought—”
His voice cracked.
Damian froze beneath him.
“How many times I thought I’d find a body instead of you.”
Damian stopped struggling.
His chest rose and fell in broken, uneven breaths. His eyes burned, but he furiously forced the tears back.
“I’m not worth all that,” he whispered.
Richard didn’t hesitate.
He pulled Damian into a fierce, crushing hug.
Damian stiffened. Then slowly, painfully, his resistance collapsed. His fingers curled into Richard’s shirt, gripping just as tightly as his older brother.
Richard’s voice was raw against his ear.
“You’re worth everything to me, Dames. You’re my family. My baby brother. And I’m not losing you again.”
The words hit Damian hard.
He swallowed back a sob.
“I’m not going back to the manor,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m sorry I left, but I’m not going back.”
“You don’t have to go back to the manor.”
Damian looks up.
“You can come back to Bludhaven,” Richard explains. “You can come back to me.”
Damian hesitates.
“I have a spare bedroom you can stay in,” Richard says, not letting up his intense gaze.
“I want you home, Dami.”
For a long while, they stay huddled together, while Damian thinks it over.
Finally, he inches forward, leaning his forehead on Richard’s chest as he nods.
“Take me home,” he says simply.
Richard stands up, lifting an exhausted Damian into his arms.
Damian didn’t fight it.
Not anymore.
He rested his head against Richard’s shoulder, eyes half shutting as the adrenaline left his body. His fingers tightened around the fabric of Richard’s jacket.
He held Damian carefully, as if he were something precious.
Something worth saving. Something worth coming back for.
And for the first time in weeks, longer than that if Damian was truly honest, he let himself believe it.