Chapter Text
The rain fell in sheets, but Damian couldn't exactly feel it.
Not with his very own blood in his hands. How could this happen? He was very cautious this time, heck he even listened to his brother- adopted one, with the whole ''patrolling rules'' thing! And seriously, who loses to a average robber? Let alone getting stabbed in the stomach. He feels dizzy in a ridiculous amount, he has to get up and bandage himself otherwise the injury will get infected.
Damian ironically died too many times to understand what it feels like to slowly or fastly die. He's not a fool he knows he's dying right now. He's bleeding out in a building, an abaonded one which Gotham has too many.
It does't matter if he puts pressure on the wound and wait for help, it's too late now. The sharp pain that aches and burns his skin is slowly diseppearing, so is he.
He's kinda disappointed.
...
He wants casablanca lilies for his funeral flowers- they look nice.
He just closes his eyes and.. hopes to rest peacefully.
He didn't know what to expect, anything other than.. well that.
''Siighh, yeah that one question is really hard, but I guess ı'm glad i did it. anyway..-''
''What?'' Damian did not believe what he saw rather than what he heard. What? Why was he here? If he recalled right then this was a little while ago before he got stabbed in the chest and bled out to death. Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin were talking about splitting up to catcha certain group of robbers because they split up, they wanted to catch at them at the same time.
''Brat, have you not been listening to me?'' Red Hood sneered, what is going on?
Now every one of his broth- ADOPTED brothers turned to him, all exchanging corcerned looks even beneath the mask.
Okay he remembers what this was about, play cool.
Play it cool.
''The question you're talking about is a 7th graders quesion, Todd. Are you a crass?'' Damian exclaimed as if he was just announcing a fact. Maybe don't play it that cool.
Uh-uh don't play it that cool Todd is staring down at you like you just insulted his mother.
Before Todd can say something and possibly break out a fight between the 15 year old and himself, Nightwing grabs Red Hood's arm, well forearm if you look closer but Damian ins't focused right now.
“Save it. We don’t have time for whatever this is,” Red Robin grunts.
The tension hangs for a second, sharp, awkward, definitely Damian’s fault but it fizzles the moment their oldest brother clears his throat.
“Alright, you all know the plan,” he says, tone clipped but calm, like he’s desperately pretending the last fifteen seconds didn’t happen. “Four routes, four eyes on the city. No solo heroics. Call if you need help”
There’s a round of nods some more annoyed than others. Damian keeps his gaze somewhere between his boots and the wall, hoping the floor will swallow the memory of his comment.
“Good,” the oldest says. “Move.”
And just like that, the group splinters: one to the rooftops, one to the alleys, one toward the river, and Damianis still stinging from the stare-down heading into the dark on his assigned path.
At least out there, no one can hear him say something stupid.
Hopefully no one but probably not.
Damian splits off from the others, trying to shake off the leftover awkwardness like dust on his jacket. The city air is cool, sharper than he expected, and it only makes him more aware of how fast his heart’s going. Great. Totally calm. Super chill. Nothing says “competent” like replaying your own dumb comment on loop. Why is he even getting emberassed about that? It was well deserved, for the most part.
He reaches his patrol spot a narrow stretch between two buildings, half-lit, half-forgotten. Not dangerous, but not exactly comforting either. He exhales, steadying himself.
You’re fine. It’s just a route. People once walked through here every day and don’t freak out, he thinks, even though that knot in his chest refuses to loosen.
He steps forward
and freezes.
A tiny noise slips through the dark. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a faint scrape, like something shifting where nothing should be moving.
Damian swallows.
“…Okay. That’s… new.” He finds himself saying, not-so-in-character. Why is he scared?
He straightens his back, pretending he totally didn’t just flinch.
And then he takes another cautious step, listening. Trying to hear whatever he can.
The scrape comes again, followed by a low grunt.
Damian edges closer, keeping to the shadows. When he peeks around the corner, he spots them three figures huddled near an old loading door, silhouettes sharp under a flickering streetlight.
They’re talking. Loudly.
Great, he thinks. Criminals with zero volume control. My favorite.. trash.
“I’m telling you, boss said the stash is supposed to be here,” one of them whispers, except it’s not even close to a whisper. It’s more like an aggressively confused stage voice.
“Well it ain’t!” another snaps. “Unless the building magically grew a second basement overnight.”
The third guy sighs, long and dramatic. “Can we not argue? We’re already behind schedule. And my feet fucking hurt.”
Damian blinks. Wow. Truly the elite criminal minds of the city.
The first goon kicks at a crate. “We gotta to find something shiny, right? Or was it something heavy? Or—”
“Buddy,” the second interrupts, “if you mess up the instructions one more time, I swear I’m leaving you here.”
Damian leans in just a little more, pulse quickening.
Okay..goofy or not, these guys are definitely up to something. And who is their boss?
He just has to figure out what, preferably without them spotting him and turning this night into a group project he never signed up for.
And he has to figure out.. That.
He was dead mere minutes ago. Did he space out? Was he experiencing deja vu? Is this a dream? Or a nightmare, maybe.
Whatever this is— he will figure it out.
He hears someone mumbled sounds right behind him, but he's too focused on his own thoughts that he doesn't even hear the metal hitting his head— fuck!
A sudden, explosive sting it's so sharp, fast, like electricity shooting through the skull.
A heavy thud is layered with sharpness, Damian feels so numb but it hurts so much at the same time.
Warmth spreads over his body, he can't get up. When did he fell to the ground? blood trickling feels weirdly warm and sticky, it's running thinly.
sounds are warping, vision is blurring, the brain is buffering.
A pulse of pain cuts through,harder and sharper than before.
His thoughts gets foggy, it's like trying to think through a badly loaded webpage. Things don’t connect right.
Those goons he called goofy a few seconds ago..their voices are blurring those voices stretch, blur, feel muffled, as if everything’s happening from the end of a long hallway.
Damian feels like the world is slowly dimming or losing its contrast.
He tries to make sense of what’s happening
something’s wrong.
"Oh.. Huh."
His body feels heavy, like gravity suddenly doubled one random Tuesday.
Moments slip so fast and so slow at the same time. He blinks, and whole chunks of time feels like he's missing.. Something.
Oh he wakes up.. Again!
Not peaceful, not gentle — more like getting yanked out of deep water. It's like his brain is rebooting mid-error.
Everything feels wrong-but-familiar.
The roof looks the same as earlier, but his body still remembers the pain and panic.
His memories don’t line up.
“Wait—I was just—didn’t I—??”
The timeline feels folded, like two versions of reality is overlapping inside his head.
dizziness.
shaky limbs.
weak knees.
The world blurs at the edges first, colors draining or going too bright. His hearing gets muffled, and everything feels kind of floaty.
“Was that real?” Damian hears himself speak, as if his mind and mouth work separately.
It hits in waves.
First, the world starts flickering like a glitchy screen sounds stretch, colors smear, faces blur.. Familiar faces blur.
His body feels suddenly far away.
As if he's plotting himself through lag. His knees go soft, softer than before..his fingers go numb, and he can’t tell where his feet are anymore.
Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin are grabbing his shoulders feel both close and miles away.
"Damian? Damian!"
He feels their hands, the tug, the panic in their voice
It’s like all of it is happening underwater. Slow. Warped. Muffled.
Everything lets go.
Sound cuts out.
Light drains away.
But the warmness doesn't.
When he wakes up, it's quite the blur.
Nobody is at his side, he can he's in his room.
It's raining outside, but now there is thunder too. That wasn't there before.
He tries to think, who could have been doing this?
Damian starts to think about the people, the things he had ever fought. He really tries to think of them all.
Even his friends.
Amazo, Anarky, Aquaman, Barbara Gordon, Beast Boy, Beelzebub Entities or whatever is he supposed to call them?? Black Adam, Black Alice, Black Canary, Black Mask, Blue Beetle, Brainiac and his stupid drones, Bruce Wayne your very of father, really now? Brother Blood, Cassandra Cain, that's your sister for fuck's sake stop considering them as rivals. Cheetah, Clayface, Constantine, Crush, Deathstroke, Demon’s Brood, Demon’s Fist, Dick Grayson, he wouldnt. Djinn, she'snot.. she wouldnt do that to me now. Doctor Hurt, Duke Thomas, Emiko Queen, Red Arrow, Etrigan, Flatline, what are you thinking? we get along just fine. Gorilla Grodd, Green Arrow, Harley Quinn, Heretic, he's so fucking dead, why am ı thinking about that nobody? Hush, Jason Todd/Red Hood, he wouldnt, maybe he would?? Joker, yeah %50 chance. Kate Kane, Kid Flash, Wallace West, Killer Croc, Lord Death Man, didn't he like.. die? Lobo, Mad Hatter, Man-Bat, Maya Ducard, Mother Soul, Movement, Robins, Mr Freeze, poor man just wants his wife back- which I couldn't care less. Murder King, Mutant Leader, Nobody II,Nobody,Nyssa al Ghul, Parademons, Penguin, Professor, Pyg, Ra’s al Ghul, no he fucking died! Stop thinking about dead people. Raven, Red, Djinn, Red Tornado, Respawn, he's.. not here? right? Roundhouse, Scarecrow, Shazam, Sensei, Sivana, Starfire, Stephanie Brown, Conner Kent,Jon Kent, he's my friend, plus he's probably not even smart enough for that. Superman, Talon, Talons, Talia al Ghul, no. The Flash.The Master, The Shush, Tim Drake/Red Robin, for fucks sake, no! Trigon, Tusk, Two-Face, Ubu, Wally West, White Ghost, Wonder Woman, Zatanna,
Who else is there????
He thinks, half of these people, I didn't even threaten to bite them in months, heck years for some of them. So.. how?
Perhaps it was all just a dream, silly little dream! Something his mind was playing with him.
Well, the thundering weather wasn't there before so this couldn't possibly be a timeloop like Damian thought. No way.
Those things aren't real. Not here. Not Gotham. Not anywhere.
He tries to replay his last memory but it feels too real to be a dream.
He checks his body, like, shouldn’t he be injured?
I died. The thought hit him before he could stop it. Not fainting, not dreaming—dying. He remembered the impact, the panic, the way everything snapped to black. Yet here he was, in bed, skin unbroken, heartbeat sprinting laps.
“Nope. No way.” His voice sounded thin. He pressed his palms to his face. That wasn’t a dream. That wasn’t anything normal.
The room felt suddenly smaller. Like the walls knew something he didn’t.
Grayson pushed the door open with that older-brother mix of worry and annoyance. “Dude, you scared the hell out of us. You just collapsed-”
But the rest of his words blurred, like someone smudged the sound. Damian’s breath caught. The room dimmed at the edges.
Collapsed? No. I didn’t collapse. I died. I fucking died.
His eyes widened, vision sharpening unnaturally on Grayson’s face. his vision faded like ink bleeding out of a drawing. A low, buzzing roar filled his ears—like distant music turned up way too loud, vibrating inside his skull.
“Damian?” Grayson stepped closer. “Are you listening? You’re freaking me out.”
A swallowed, unable to look away. Every detail clicked into place with terrifying clarity.
It’s the same day.
His pulse pounded like a drumline. The world kept shrinking, turning darker, tighter. It embraced him in a way he didn't want to.
I’m in a loop.
A slow, shaky smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, half disbelief, half fear.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I get it now.”
Grayson took a step back. “Get… what? Damian you're just.. tired. Get some rest alright? We got take care of those gang menbers.''
Grayson blinked at him, confusion turning into that classic big brother sigh.
“Okay… yeah, you’re definitely not all here.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little blister pack, and set it on the nightstand like he was offering a peace treaty. “Take two of these. You probably just banged your head or something. Get some sleep, brother.”
A didn’t move. He was still sitting there, pupils blown wide, staring straight ahead like the universe just leaked through the walls.
The buzzing in his ears got louder, like someone turned the internal soundtrack to max volume. The room wasn’t dark anymore; it felt hollow. Like the world around him was a cheap set, and he’d just spotted the seams.
Grayson gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “You scared us, man. Don’t make a hobby out of it.”
He was halfway out the door when he paused. “Seriously-sleep. Hydrate. Stop looking like you’re about to predict the apocalypse.”
The door clicked shut.
And Damian finally exhaled, a shaky breath that felt like it dragged across broken glass.
Painkillers. Right.
As if that was going to fix dying and waking up at the starting line again.
He stared at the pills. They looked tiny. Useless.
The thought hit him hard, cold, undeniable:
This wasn’t an accident. This was.. what? A reset?
Damian’s hands twitched. Not from fear, well, okay, partly fear but also from this electric, creeping realization that everything he does now matters twice as much.
Time wasn’t just passing.
It was looping.
And he was trapped inside it.
Could he escape? Who is responsible for this?
Damian sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tapping nervously against his knees. No way was he going to repeat yesterday’s grand finale just to see if he’d Re- respawn again. Absolutely not.
There has to be another way, he told himself, dragging a hand through his hair. Something small. Something harmless.
He's not going to put a bullet between his eyes to prove a point holy crap. No
He puts those thoughts aside and goes to the bathroom.
Same flickering light. Same cracked tile by the sink shaped like a continent he once tried to name out of boredom. Same mirror, slightly warped, like it’s embarrassed to be associated with him.
He locks the door even though no one ever comes in.
He grips the edge of the sink and leans forward, breathing like he just ran even though all he did was exist again.
Damian in the mirror looks terrible. Not injured, the loop never lets injuries carry over, but exhausted in a way no reset can scrub clean. Dark circles. A mouth that doesn’t quite remember how to sit neutrally anymore. Eyes that keep flicking up, like they’re expecting the ceiling to fall in and finish the job.
He lifts his hands and presses them against the glass. Cold. Solid. Real. Unfortunately.
He knows what death is like, how it happens at the most unexpected moment. The moment one starts to have hope.
It's not like he's-
wait.
guess what.
The sink is running.
No. Not running. Overflowing.
Water sheets over the porcelain edge, quiet but aggressive, like it’s been doing this for a while and he’s the idiot who just noticed. It pools across the tiles, creeps toward the drain that is very clearly not draining, and soaks straight through his socks.
Cold.
He looks down. Blinks.
“…huh.”
That’s new.
His first instinct is panic. His second is annoyance. His third—loudest, most practiced—is okay, but is this a loop thing or a plumbing thing?
He steps back instinctively, heels skidding on wet tile.
“Nope,” he says, already moving toward the door. “Not my problem. I’m not dying in a bathroom again. I have standards now.”
He reaches for the handle,
“Oh wow,” a voice says behind him, casual, almost bored. “It’s really dark in here, Damian. Why are you just.. standing there?''
He freezes.
Every muscle locks like his body has just remembered something his brain is desperately trying to forget.
Slowly, he turns.
Tim stands just outside the bathroom. Half in shadow.
His brother tilts his head, peering past him into the room. “You know, this place could really use some shine.”
“No,” he says immediately. “No, no, no, don’t-”
Too late.
The light switch clicks.
For half a second, everything is painfully, brilliantly bright.
The mirror flashes white. The water gleams. The universe inhales.
And then—
ZZZ—CRACK.
Pain explodes up through his feet, violent and absolute, like lightning decided his nervous system looked punchable. His body locks mid-step, jaw snapping shut so hard his teeth scream. He doesn’t even have time to fall.
His last coherent thought is deeply, stupidly specific:
Oh my god. I forgot about electricity.
His vision whites out.
The light stays on.
Aaaaand fuck my life.
''Siighh, yeah that one question is really hard, but I guess ı'm glad i did it. any--''
''FUCK!'' Damian yells out, his scream can be heard the apartment next to them, or the pther, or the oth- you get the idea.
''WHAT is your problem? I was explaining some importnant shit!''
Now every one of his broth- ADOPTED brothers turned to him, all exchanging corcerned looks even beneath the mask.
Okay he remembers what this was about, play cool- HE CAN'T play it cool! This happened again!
Play it cool. ''I just remembered something- that is truly all. Sorry for interrupting you, Todd.. um yeah.'' Literally everysingle one of his dumbfuvk- sorry, dumb adopted brothers give him the average skeptical look when theyre not convinced but move on anyway. Thankfully the mission goes well, too well. Damian doesn't even finşsh tying up the robber when he feels is, that cold feeling. The one that gives him the chills. Because he realizes he's right infront of.. somebody? Who could that be? He looks at the figure trying to figure the person out when he also hears his big brother, Nightwing yell ''DAMIAN!'' He's not even worried about calling Damian by his own name rather than 'Robin' There's something on hid back and- Oh. oh. oh, crap. Yeah that's- that is most definelty a knife, a sharp pne Damian must admit. It just feels natural now. He didn't even feel it. The world helplessly spuns around him as he doesn't even try to fight it this time. He's sick. And, lord help me, if he 'wakes up' to Todd complaining about a damn question, he'll- he'll burn the fucking city.