Work Text:
Dick
Damian shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie.
He felt the ache of exhaustion deep within his bones. He’d been on his way to the kitchen wearing his warm, heavy hoodie; ready to make a tea to take to bed. Once he had entered, Pennyworth had taken a single amused look at him and casually mentioned that Richard was visiting.
Well, for Nightwing business. But it was still Richard.
Damian had indeed taken the hint and changed his path towards the Batcave. Now he stood at the top of the stairs, watching Richard work from the Batcomputer. He wasn’t in Nightwing attire, thankfully, so it couldn’t be that urgent. Instead, he wore a comfy shirt and sweatpants, a protective jacket for his motorbike ride draped on the back of the chair.
Huffing, Damian shook the nervousness away. It was easier to give into the brain fog that prevented him from making intelligent cognitive decisions. At least, for these matters. He took one stair at a time, not hiding his footsteps as he drew nearer to his brother. He hugged himself, hiding behind the warmth of the fabric as the cold of the Cave settled in. How Richard could sit there in short sleeves was beyond his understanding.
He stopped right next to Richard, frowning (not pouting) as the man took his time to finish off the sentence he was typing.
“Hey, Dami.” Richard greeted, not looking away from the screen. “Long day?”
Damian huffed, holding himself tighter. Richard should know what he desired.
Richard raised a brow and glanced at him, but nonetheless kept working.
The boy tutted, taking a loud and aggressive step forward.
“Yes, Dami?” Richard asked, still typing.
Gritting his teeth, Damian was close enough that he was touching Richard. He decided to nudge the man.
Finally, the imbecile stopped working and turned to look at Damian with a stupid fond smile.
Again, not pouting, Damian pressed pointedly against Richard’s side.
Instantly, the world shifted and Damian was being hauled up and placed into Richard’s lap.
Gathering his bearings, Damian tutted loudly. He still settled himself down further, sitting himself sideways on Richard’s lap. He kept his own arms around his cold body and brought his knees tightly close to his face. Damian leaned heavily into Richard, letting go of all his weight. He sighed, closing his eyes and focusing on the thuds sounding from the warm, broader chest.
Richard, waiting for Damian to get comfortable, wrapped his arms snugly against the boy. He settled his chin on top of Damian’s head, letting out a hum of contentment. He breathed in deeply, feeling the smaller face flushed against him shift from the motion.
Damian shut his eyes as Richard moved his arms away, fiddling with Damian’s hood to bring it over his head firmly, securing it over the boy’s face and his eyes as far as it could reach. Next, Damian felt the motorbike jacket being draped on top of him. As though Richard could tell that Gotham’s cold was becoming near painful for him again. That the central heating of the Cave was still not enough to combat the brutal cold for Damian.
The jacket smelled even more so like the cold in the city. Damian frowned to himself under his hood, twisting his face and burrowing it further into the warmth from Richard’s chest. Pushing his cold nose into the comfort of his brother.
Something pressed against the top of his head. It could not have been a kiss, it couldn’t have been… maybe Richard had bumped his chin into him accidentally.
When he felt Richard’s arms leave him, Damian allowed it, only considering that they still cocooned him. Going around him to continue to type and work on the computer. But they still bracketed him. They still held him.
Listening to the clattering of keys and Richard’s heartbeat, Damian allowed himself to slip away into sleep.
Tim
They were everywhere.
Ninjas were pouring out from every corner, every crevice. Damian deflected strike after strike, pushing away the hits that got past his defences. The swords sliced through his skin in a familiar way. Too familiar.
Like they always did at home.
Damian didn’t want to go back home.
To Nanda Parbat. To Grandfather’s unruly wrath. To Mother’s unforgivable tyranny. The violence they forced Damian to commit. He couldn't do it anymore. The pain, the suffering. It was too much.
He didn’t want to return. But Grandfather had sent his loyal ninjas. And they wouldn’t. Stop. Coming.
Damian cried out as he whipped his sword around, blocking an attack. Only to feel a sudden kick slam into the side of his ribs. He choked, finding his footing and swiping his sword back around to defend himself.
He’d been split up from Father. Damian had gotten distracted. Or… or Father had abandone—
No. No Father wouldn’t have left him.
Or had he? Was he finally tired of Damian? Of his sharp edges and undignified demeanor. Had he seen the ninjas and vanished in relief that Damian would finally be dealt with appropriately? The way Damian always deserved.
Did Father not want him anymore?
Could Damian blame him? Even Damian did not want himself anymore.
He felt a blade slip behind him and a burst of pain erupt from the back of his leg. He held in his cry as he buckled, sweat budding on his brow as he continued to fight through a haze. The ninjas never ending.
Should Damian give up? Let one of the ninjas drive their weapon into his body? Finally make Father happy?
“Robin!”
He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to. He didn’t.
If the alternative was to allow himself to be—
“Robin, I’m here.”
Then Damian would prefer that—
There was a prick in Damian’s neck. Had a ninja gone for the throat?
“Robin, Dami, it’s not real.”
Damian wasn’t real. He didn’t want to be real.
He didn’t want to go back to Grandfather.
“I won’t let him take you. I swear. I’ll never let Ra’s touch you.”
With a roar, Damian raised his blade to strike his opponent, but he stumbled, his sword falling through air.
He whirled around to find the next ninja, but there was no one there either. Heaving in a breath, he was quick to promptly swish the weapon behind him where the enemy was surely hiding, but once more his sword touched nothing.
There were no ninjas. There were no bodies.
In the corner of his eye, he spotted one.
Not a ninja, Red Robin. Standing alone. Hands raised outwards, weapons stored away. Defenseless.
“You’re safe, Robin.” He whispered. “You’re here in Gotham. No one is taking you anywhere.”
Damian’s sword clattered on the rooftop.
“You’re going to be o— oof!”
Damian threw himself towards his brother, wrapping his arms around him as quickly as possible. Damian shoved his face into the hard Kevlar, muffling the choked scream slipping out of his throat. His fingers desperately clawed Drake’s back, scrambling to secure purchase and hold onto his cape. Gagging through the gasps.
This was pathetic. Impractical. Neither could fight like this.
Drake’s arms wrapped around him just as tight. Not pushing away. Not making any noise of disgust. Not scolding Damian for his foolishness. He just held on. One arm securely around Damian’s shoulders and the other tucking the younger’s head deeper into his chest.
Muffled, desperate, Damian gasped. “He’s coming. The ninjas— he will—”
“You’re safe.” Drake’s voice was solid. Strong. “I have you.”
Drake was his enemy. His rival. Damian would sooner empty his cat’s litter tray in the teenager’s bed than ask for help.
But Drake was also his brother. The only one of the Robins to earn Grandfather’s respect. The only Robin who Grandfather might actually fear.
If anyone could make sure no one took Damian away then…
“I don’t want to go.” Damian wheezed. “Please, I’m sorry. I know I’m bad, I know, but I don't want to go, Drake, I don’t.”
“I am not letting you go.” Drake promised. “You’re not going anywhere. You belong here. With us.”
Damian felt the arms tighten uncomfortably but couldn’t bear the thought of them loosening. The air cooled the heat and wetness on Damian’s cheeks as he felt Drake sway them side to side.
“You’re not bad. You’re ours.” Drake said, chin resting on Damian’s sweaty hair. The distant sound of Batman’s cape swishing across the rooftop barely registered in Damian’s ears. “We’re not letting you go. I’m not letting Ra’s take you anywhere. You’re with me. I have you, Dami.” The arms tightened. “I have you.”
Alfred
The door rattled the car when Damian slammed it shut. He tugged aggressively at the seatbelt, bringing it around himself to click it in. He glared as he did so, deliberately avoiding Pennyworth’s gaze from the driver’s seat; aware of his judgement.
“If you could not harm the vehicle, that would be marvellous, Master Damian.” He drawled as he pulled out of the parking space.
Damian kicked the passenger seat in front of him, scruffing up the interior with his shoe.
“Master Damian.” Pennyworth warned tightly.
Damian kicked it again. The man had no agency over him. There was no requirement for Damian to exchange pleasantries. He simply wanted to go home and bury himself under the bedding.
“What is the matter—”
“I hate this stupid school.” Damian snapped, losing his control. “I hate the insipid students. The moronic teachers. I despise America. I hate this country. The lack of culture. The passive aggressive white supremacy in everyone’s tone. I wish I never came here!”
He panted, eyes blaring at the back of Pennyworth’s head. Daring the man to defend this land.
Yet Pennyworth did not respond. He kept his watch on the road in front of him, but the irritation had melted off of his shoulders.
When he spoke finally, his voice was light. “It is natural to miss our homes, Master Damian.”
The child scoffed, folding his arms together tightly. “You know nothing.”
They didn’t speak of it anymore. Silence blanketing the rest of their journey.
After a rest, where Damian laid in bed reading an old story from his childhood, the scripture in his mother tongue, he felt calmer.
As in not as aggressive. The lump within his chest morphed into something more sorrowful.
Pennyworth called for dinner. So Damian was forced to roll out of bed, slipping the book beneath his pillow, forcing the Arabic to the back of his head once more while he prepared to communicate in solely English and nothing more. As this country demanded he did.
With a slump in his shoulders, he trudged down to the kitchen, his mind elsewhere. He recalled his mother’s songs, the inside jokes that only made sense in his language, the intense smells of incense that were placed in gold intricate cups.
Of the food he’d eat, distinct flavours on his tongue, his hands messy as typical cutlery was set aside. He could smell it now.
He could… smell it now.
His head whipped up and Damian focused on the table in front of him.
Bowls filled to the brim of kofta, kebabs decorated with salad around them, Arabic pitta wrapped in cling film next to the vegetable kabsa.
Damian stared in wonder, eyes flitting across each dish from his childhood. Fragrances of spices from what once was home.
An arm wrapped over his shoulders.
“It is nowhere near what you might be used to. I was unaware how… complicated some of these recipes could be.” Pennyworth informed him.
Damian’s jaw had dropped at some point in astonishment. He shook his head in disbelief. “This is… this is perfect. How did you…”
“Trial and error. More error than trial I must admit. The kebab and koofta are vegan so there might be even more discrepancy in taste and texture.” The old man admitted, insecurity layered in the back of his voice.
Damian didn’t even try to correct his butchered pronunciation. Instead, he leaned in against Pennyworth heavily. The sorrowful lump from earlier rising up from his chest and into his throat.
Pennyworth’s grip on him tightened. More familial than professional.
“Thank you.” Damian said breathlessly. “No one has ever done this for me.”
Pennyworth cleared his throat. “I believe you mean… shookran?”
Damian couldn’t help but grin. “Shukran.” He said fluently. “I apologise for—”
“Think nothing of it, child.” Pennyworth squeezed him into the side hug. “We all feel homesick sometimes.”
Hungry and content, Damian leaned into the hug with a small smile.
Jason
In all fairness, this plan had seemed full proof when Damian had written it out.
Now, sat in a dirty alleyway in the November chill, he was beginning to think otherwise.
The entire family was full of stress working on this new case of child trafficking. Ever since they came across the organless floating body in the harbour, nothing had felt right.
Therefore, Damian had taken in upon himself to solve this case once and for all. As soon as he figured out who the criminal mastermind was, he would contact the others for help.
Until then, he waited, undercover. He only needed to sit on the cold and wet ground until one of the traffickers came by.
A biting breeze blew through, windows of the buildings looming above Damian clattering from the force of it. The child attempted to breathe deeply, huddling closer into his body as he tried to protect himself from the cold.
Some of the homeless children he had the misfortune to come across had jackets, perhaps it would not have seemed too out of the place had Damian brought one and ripped it up a bit.
Unfortunately, Damian had assumed that playing the part better would make the criminals come quicker. He had smeared dirt on his face and arms, tussling up his hair before dressing himself in a thin T-shirt and shorts. Tearing them up and rubbing the clothes into the ground for a better effect.
Now his heart went out to the children who were truly homeless because this was awful.
Damian wrapped his shaky arms tightly around his knees, his teeth clattering together.
It had not yet snowed in Gotham but with how cold it was it might as well have.
The uneven ground had built puddles from the earlier rain, soaking Damian’s shorts. His skin felt tight around his bones. He blew his breath out into the little cave he made in his arms, trying to trap hot air.
In a childish desire, he wanted his father.
Damian wished to give up right now and return home. To cuddle up under a thick duvet and turn the Manor’s heating up as high as it could go. He wanted to change into the abominable pajamas Richard had bought him which were fluffy and soft. He yearned for Alfred’s steaming hot chocolate. With vegan marshmallows. Damian wanted to turn on the tracker now and call his family.
But Damian had that option. The homeless children the vile men were trafficking did not. So for them, Damian held on and waited to be taken.
Finally, when Damian’s muscles felt like they would collapse from shaking, a large figure approached the mouth of the alley.
The steps were heavy, and due to the cold, Damian didn’t need to fake the way he pulled into himself.
The voice that came from the man contradicted the weight in his steps. It was warm and hushed, covering over Damian’s hollow frame.
“Hey, hey. You’re gonna be alright, kid.”
Damn it.
Todd.
The buffoon came closer, kneeling down near Damian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear. I just wanted to make su— fucking hell. Damian?”
The younger boy sniffed, digging his nails into his skin, the cold absolutely painful. “Todd.”
Todd’s face contorted into something furious and Damian did very well in not reacting to it. The man couldn’t scare him. “Where is Br— what are you doing?”
“I a-am,” the words were challenging to force through his clattering teeth, “t-trying to lure in the t-traffickers.”
The idiot hissed viciously, tugging at his jacket. “Of all the stupid things you could do. What was gonna happen after? You think this is the same as your usual thug? These people would have hurt you, Damian.”
It was difficult to focus on the annoying words, especially when the jacket was draped over Damian’s body. The warmth was infinitesimal; but nevertheless well appreciated.
“Shit, you’re soaked through. You’re freezing, you dumbass.”
Yes, amazing observational skills.
Damian’s world tilted when arms larger than himself lifted him up from the unforgiving ground. Damian’s legs instantly wrapped around Todd while his arms stayed tucked into his own body, trapping them between himself and Todd’s chest. One of Todd’s arms stayed under Damian’s seat while the other wrapped around the boy, pulling him flush against the man.
“You actual idiot,” Todd mumbled, his hand rubbing Damian’s back frantically though the jacket. “You don’t even realise the danger you were in, do you?”
At that moment, Damian couldn’t care less. Letting his forehead fall between the older brother’s collar bones, breathing shallowly. It was so cold.
He felt when they moved, Todd muttering something about a safehouse. Damian couldn’t bring himself to think. His cognitive abilities taking a backseat.
Damian felt himself begin to warm up in Todd’s arms, his brother’s grip tightening to pull Damian closer when a fierce wind blew past. The man continued to mutter profanities, threats and promises as he walked. The background noise and sway of his steps along with the gradual warmth building up was enough to tug Damian into a light slumber.
Cass
Laying on the couch, Damian turned his face so that it pressed against the cushion, scrunching his eyes in an attempt to ward off the migraine.
His brain was pounding against the bone of his skull. Damian’s jaw ached, perhaps from the tension he held it in. The biting pain shooting from his molars probably was not helping matters either. His cheeks were hot and his breaths came out rapidly.
Damian flinched at the featherweight touch on his forehead. The slim fingers raking up through his hair made him settle back down. The nails were pointed, trimmed into a design. It felt like Mother’s hand.
From the gentleness alone, when the same hands laid down a cloth to cover Damian’s eyes and protect them from lights, he knew it wasn’t Mother.
He didn’t greet Cain with any words, instead a single breath huffed out. Not begging but close.
With a blister pack of Rizatriptan set on the coffee table, there was nothing anyone could do but wait for the medication to take effect.
When Cain’s hands retracted somewhat, a tight panic set in Damian’s chest. The raking nails in his hair had brought some comfort from the anguish. He didn’t want them to leave. He whined lowly, pathetically.
“Shh,” Cain whispered. “Not going.”
His breaths were coming out warm and sharp. Her voice was still too loud.
“Up a little,” she guided him, lifting him from his shoulders to create a gap for her to slip in. Sitting herself on the couch and bringing Damian’s head back down, resting on her thighs. Every tiny movement had his expression twisting in pain.
Deliberate, steady hands settled into his hair and pressed. His scrunched expression fell, eyes still covered and mouth falling open in a sigh.
Cain’s nails scratched his scalp, then switching so the heel of her palm would dig into Damian’s temples. Her calloused hands rubbed his forehead firmly. Her thumbs pressing into the base of his skull and down his neck.
The never ending pain seemed to alleviate gradually. The medication working alongside Cain’s hands that knew exactly where to go and how much pressure to apply.
Damian whined once more. Quieter and more embarrassed.
“You’re welcome.” Was all Cain said in reply, not pausing in her massage as she bent low to leave a peck on his brow.
Bruce
Damian climbed out of the Batmobile mechanically, eyes flitting around the space through his mask, scanning for threats.
None registered within the Cave. The only movement were the bats above and Father stepping out of the vehicle as well. Still, Damian stayed tensed, breaths short and quiet as he remained on high alert.
He followed Father down through the Cave as the man pulled off his cowl and approached the Batcomputer, telling Damian to go get changed while Father wrote his report first.
Of course, the report, as always. It was expected as soon as they came back to the Cave. In order to ensure nothing impacted their first witness statements and analysis.
Father, as usual, was going first. To allow Damian ample time to change and shower. He had to shower. He could feel the sweat that had dried and clung to the back of his neck. The smell of smoke from the earlier fire wafting off of his hair and uniform. Damian was required to set his uniform aside for Pennyworth to handle.
However, before the report but after the shower he needed to assess any injuries. Have Father look him over as Pennyworth had already retired for the night. Check Father in case Batman was hiding any of his own injuries.
He also needed to find time to stretch to avoid sore muscles in the morning. Damian still had to complete his homework before the weekend was over. That could wait till tomorrow. His pets couldn’t, he had to responsibly check on their wellbeing. Not that they needed it but he should do it, shouldn’t he? He also promised Jon to spend time with him tomorrow afternoon.
And the thought of that irrationally prodded the back of his head. He needed to sleep quick so that he could wake up early enough to eat and start his homework and fulfill his chores before meeting Jon; but he couldn’t yet sleep because he had to still change and shower and write his report and check any injuries and brush his teeth and—
There was so much to do.
“Son?”
Damian’s breath hitched. His gaze darting over to Father who was frowning at him. The computer light glaring behind him. Father had removed his upper armour, leaving him in a black undershirt.
How long had Damian been standing there? And how had he not noticed? There was still so much to get done.
His muscles were still tensed, rigid and ready to fight or fly. An effect from the adrenaline that had soared through him when rescuing the civilians from the burning building.
He could hear his breaths, quick and sharp. His hands clenched and unclenched. Teeth gritted. He was wasting time. He needed to… was he supposed to check for injuries first or shower? Which would be quicker?
Damian twitched at the echo of steps, glancing back at Father who was making his way towards him. Behind him, the report was open.
Father had written barely one line. Half a sentence. He hadn’t even started. There was so much to still do.
“Hey,” Father whispered once he reached Damian.
He could start removing his uniform. That would be efficient of his time, right? If his fingers could cooperate… were they shaking?
Father knelt down in front of him into a crouch. “Hey,” he repeated and Damian felt a light hand on his arm.
His breath hitched. “I… I need to…”
“I know,” Father nodded. “It’s okay right now.”
“No but I need to go. I have to—”
“I know, son.” Father brought his other hand around, resting it on Damian’s back. Before he could process fully, Father was using that hand to push Damian close.
Damian found himself pressed against Father, large arms circling around his body. One hand came to sit on Damian’s head, the width of the hand covering the back of Damian’s entire skull.
He gasped in a sharp breath. He couldn’t stand here. He had things to do. His body tensed at another hiccuped breath. He shook in Father’s arms. There was so much to do.
Father’s nails raked through Damian's hair and the boy stilled further.
“Shhh.”
The fingers carded through his hair once more, nails dragging lightly against Damian’s scalp. Again and again, Father repeated the action.
The vibrating tingling beneath Damian’s skin hushed, mellowing slightly. He felt as his shoulders dropped and his eyelids fluttered. His back curved inwards, his spine’s rigidity softening.
“You did so good out there,” Father whispered. “You did such a good job, son.”
Damian felt his body limp. The aggressive adrenaline that was violently pounding through his veins depleted abruptly. He fell against Father, his face consequently burying itself into the crook of Father’s neck.
“There you go.” Father hummed. Damian felt Father shift and before he realised it, he was lifted up. Damian allowed it, swallowing down through his still too-tight throat.
He frowned when he felt Father settling down, laying Damian on top of him. Damian recognised the trek they had taken, knowing without looking that they were both on the medical cot.
“I am uninjured.” Damian mumbled, face still in the little quiet corner he had made for himself.
“I thought this was comfier than the floor.” Father said and resumed running his blunt nails over Damian’s head, resulting in Damian shuddering from the sensation and immediately cosying in closer to Father. No choice but to give in to the cuddle.
Nevertheless after a moment too long, Damian’s heart stuttered. “There’s so much to do.” He admitted beneath his breath, weakly pushing away against Father.
Father used a hand to press Damian back, bringing him down so Damian’s head was resting against his chest. The deep, solid beat of Father’s heart thudding against his ear.
“Not tonight,” Father’s body rumbled through his warm chest. “Tonight you rest, son. Tomorrow is a new day.”
“But our reports?” Damian mumbled as Father continued to scratch him comfortably.
“It can wait. You sleep first. Everything else is tomorrow’s issue.”
Damian replied in a weak whine, his eyes blinking shut. He frowned when Father eased his Robin mask off, but relaxed as he then massaged the red skin around Damian’s eyes.
“I’m here,” Father promised. “Sleep.”
Damian took another breath, unable to remember what he had been so worried about.